Macaron Madness in Paris

I’ve decided that if Paris were a pastry it would be a macaron. This revelation hit me recently while looking through photos of my trip to France in May where I worked my way through at least a dozen of these dainty confections.

Some would argue that the architecturally complex millefeuille or the decadent éclair are more sweetly symbolic of the city of light. Others might consider Proust’s sentimental madeleine a more apt gastronomic parallel. I disagree. Paris and macarons are a natural match.

For one thing, macarons, like the French capital, are gaily coloured and full of rich flavours. If there is a confection with joie de vivre, it is the light and airy macaron. And this little cookie is also packed with sex appeal. Don’t believe me? Just try walking past a display of these treats without being seduced into eating one.

Macarons are believed to have been invented in Italy in the 8th century and should not be confused with the American coconut-based cookies known as macaroons. Macarons are a delicate mixture of egg whites, icing sugar, granulated sugar, almond powder and colouring sandwiched together with jam or cream.

In this sense, macarons resemble the inhabitants of Paris in that they are thin-skinned and crusty on the outside – and ever so slightly intimidating -- but once you break through their brittle outer shell, these tasty pastries, much like Parisians, are all intense, gooey sweetness and love.

Despite the plethora of online content devoted to the subject of making your own macarons, the other thing they have in common with Paris is that it is impossible to recreate the real thing at home. There is just no substitute for the experience of eating a fragile arôme de Rose-flavoured macaron on the sidewalk outside Ladurée on the Champs-Élysées – just as nothing matches a visit to the city of Paris itself.

Another attribute that Paris and the macaron share is that both lend themselves easily to innovation. Each season, the city’s patisseries compete with each other to introduce new macaron fillings and ever more unusual and exotic flavour combinations. These often reflect new global gastronomic influences proving that the even the most classic of French confections, like Paris, continues to evolve and grow while retaining all the charm and taste that keep those who love it coming back for more.

Macarons now come in a seemingly limitless array of colours and flavours. Nowhere is this more apparent than at Ladurée, the venerable Parisian pastry shop and café where Pierre Desfontaines, in the early 1900s, first thought to take two almond meringues and fill them with silky smooth ganache to create what today, in essence, is a really classy Oreo cookie. Ladurée is Mecca for macaron-crazed fans in Paris. It offers dozens of flavours including the basics (and best sellers) chocolate, vanilla, caramel and pistachio plus seasonal flavours like anise, basil lime, lily-of-the-valley and white chocolate. Ladurée’s original flavours this year included cotton candy, apricot ginger, orange saffron and strawberry poppy flower.

Filmmaker Sofia Coppola is said to have been so inspired by the jewel-toned hues of Ladurée's macarons that she used them as the colour palette for her film Marie Antoinette. Macarons hadn’t yet been invented when Marie was queen of France, but if they had, my guess is she would have reconsidered her edict to "Let them eat cake” in favour of this addictive little creation.

My new favourite destination for macarons is the Patisserie Sadaharu Aoki on the Left Bank. The Japanese-born chef is a fusion master who has been shaking up the Parisian pastry scene in recent years. His sweets may look like classic French confections but they taste decidedly different. Aoki’s unique treats are infused with Asian flavours that include matcha (green tea), yuzu (citrus), sesame and sweet red bean paste. He also produces hazelnut, raspberry, chocolate, orange and other more conventional-tasting macarons favored by traditional palates.

But the award for most inventive macarons must go to legendary patissier Pierre Hermé. I arrived in Paris just as his wasabi and grapefruit macarons were making their debut. They join his other intriguing flavours of olive oil and vanilla, rose, and chestnut, and his best-selling chocolate and passion fruit. At Christmas last year, his seasonal macaron collection of black truffle, balsamic vinegar and chocolate foie gras sold out quickly.

There is no telling what intriguing taste combinations Aoki, Hermé and the other pastry chefs of Paris will come up with next. It seems macarons, like the city that made them famous, are limited only by the imagination.

Springtime in Paris and simple white fish

On a recent trip to Paris, I was invited to have Sunday lunch with an ambassador and his charming wife in their splendidly gilded residence on the rue de Faubourg Saint-Honoré. We spent a warm spring afternoon dining on the wide back terrace of the house. The terrace overlooked a small but elegant city garden shaded by a trio of old chestnut trees in full bloom. Beyond the back garden wall, we could hear someone lazily playing a guitar.

For lunch, we started with half a sweet, juicy cantaloupe, followed by a delicious but simple grilled filet of white fish topped with a pungent Provençal-style pesto sauce and accompanied by a silky green heap of fresh steamed spinach. We finished with more slices of cantaloupe and plate of tiny assorted pastries. While we talked, the ambassador’s wife discretely sketched our table scene in a small notebook beside her plate.

The whole dining experience struck me as what non-Parisians imagine dining in Paris to be – relaxed but elegant. Simple but classic. The menu – planned around fresh, readily available ingredients – also reminded me that food can be both sophisticated and delicious without a lot of preparation and fuss.

Back in Canada, I wondered why I didn’t make simple white fish more often for lunch – especially when fresh, thick filets of halibut were beginning to appear in local markets.

I decided to re-create a bit of Paris for myself by combining a recipe from one of my most trusted cookbooks, Anne Lindsay’s New Light Cooking, and a recipe for classic basil coulis I learned to make from Vancouver-based chef Eric Arrouzé.


Halibut with Basil Coulis
1 6-oz halibut filet (or any white fish that has been responsibly caught)
1 tsp fresh lemon juice
1 tsp olive oil
1 Roma tomato roughly chopped (optional)
1 green onion sliced on the diagonal (optional)
1-2 tbsp basil coulis

Basil Coulis
1 large bunch of fresh basil

1 cup extra virgin olive oil

4 garlic cloves, peeled and germ removed

Salt and pepper to taste

To make the fish:
Preheat oven to 400˚F. Place filet on piece of aluminum foil. Pour lemon juice and oil over the filet (along with the tomato and onion if you are including them) and add salt and pepper to taste. Fold foil up loosely and seal tightly. Place packet on a baking sheet and bake for about 10-15 minutes – depending on the thickness of the filet. Fish should flake easily when done.

To make the basil coulis:

Remove stems from basil leaves and place in a blender along with the garlic, salt, pepper and olive oil. Blend until the basil is completely liquefied and the oil turns bright green.

Note: any coulis you don’t use can be kept in the fridge for up to one week.

To serve, remove filet from foil packet and spoon basil coulis, to your taste, over the top.