Climbing Everest

Everyone has his or her great white whale - a mountain to climb, a stream to ford (getting very Von Trapp-ish here, sorry!) - that challenge that must be surmounted. For me, it is the French macaron. Not to be confused with the Passover macaroon, a coneshaped explosion of oversweetened coconut, or the Oberlander macaroon, not even sure what it really is, the French macaron (pronounced Ma-ca-Rone), in its contemporary incarnation, is a delicate sandwich cookie. Two cookies, with a crisp meringue shell and soft inside, with some sort of filling gluing thw whole mess together. With a minimum of ingredients, skill and technique is what makes these special. Or so I am given to understand. I had only tasted them once or twice, but I was determined to make it happen. After about a year and a half of procrastinating, I finally went for it yesterday.

AND IT WORKED! (Pardon my shouting; I am just a little excited.)

I followed the directions of many a macaron maker, finding that it was slightly less terrifying than I had anticipated. Both batches baked up exactly as they were meant to: crisp dome, merigue foot - AWESOME! (oops, sorry, got loud again). I stuck to the basic flavor - almond - and filled them with chocolate ganache. I felt accomplished and virtuous and wondering if it was just beginner's luck all at the same time. I enjoyed the process so much that I am looking forward to trying again, and also to trying different flavors and fillings. You will have to tune in to find out what happens next!

Here's to all of us making molehills out of our mountains.

Dvora