I enjoyed this latest offering from the good folks at Bravo, I really did. It might be because, with only five pastry-cheftestants remaining, more screen time was given to the food than the insecurities and tics of the competitors - although there were still plenty of those on display. Did Morgan deliberately destroy Yigit's isomalt vases with a well-timed jerk of his right elbow? Who cares? Yigit is starting to become annoying with his overblown sense of entitlement. At the same time, his emotional fragility (precipitated, apparently, by Heather's untimely aufing for the unforgivable sin of thick and unwieldy pastry bases) brought to mind the phrases 'man up' and 'grow a pair'. I also wished to tell him that it is inappropriate to be 'devastated' when the production crew takes your chocolate away - I think that is a response more suited to the news that you have just contracted a serious case of the Black Death or your house has been invaded by bedbugs.
Conversely, I appreciated Morgan and Zac much more than I generally do. Morgan's look of stupefaction at the idea of a 'celebri-tea' was too endearing to be believed and his subsequent reliance on supermarket magazines for celebrity-couple inspiration struck a chord (although his choice of Guy Ritchie and Madonna was so two-years-ago: he must have picked up some back issues by mistake). Zac stole my heart by choosing Julie Andrews and Blake Edwards, his perfectly proper pairing of Captain Von Trapp Crunch Cake and Pink Panther Pavlovas - dubbed 'a hoot' by She Who Isn't Gail - propelling him to a well-deserved win. Zac may lament his own dorkiness, but I thought he was just swell. What that says about my own dorkiness I leave for others to judge.
Perhaps I enjoyed this episode so much because it took as its central conceit my most favoritest ritual of all time.
I am a tea drinker, in case that hasn't been made clear by my scribblings to date. While it's true I drink two cups of coffee to get going in the morning (generally Ethiopian Yirgacheffe or Sumatra Mandheling at present) and might have a vanilla latte to mark high holy days, the majority of the time it's tea for me. Earl Grey, Lapsang, jasmine, sakura sencha, whatever - I find a good cup of tea restores equilibrium and promotes well-being in a way few legal substances are able to do.
Also, I love the edible bits and pieces that generally accompany tea - although it has been something of a trial in recent weeks to find gluten-free companions for my cuppa. Meringues and macarons are two of the most obvious choices and I am a big fan of both, so I was gratified to see them so prominently represented in this episode. I am compelled to point out, however, that the criticism of Morgan's macaron as 'too large' caused me to laugh uproariously and splash orange pekoe down my front. I happen to know from macarons, both as a fabricator and end-user, and I can say without fear of contradiction that many superior examples of the breed, found in high-end patisseries all over la France, are bigger than hockey pucks. They are most assuredly not ladylike or dainty. Eating one is akin to eating a cheeseburger - it takes some time and effort, with bits tending to fly everywhere in the process.
The very best macarons in the world come from Dalloyau, near the Bois de Boulogne in Paris. Of their noble offerings, the macaron a la pistache reigns supreme. The pale green meringue bookends for these delicacies are made with pistachios rather than the traditional almonds, and the buttercream novella in the center evokes mysterious Middle Eastern exoticism - A Thousand and One Nights all bound up in a simple teacake. I once carried two back to our home in southern England, a journey that in those pre-Chunnel days involved three different trains and a brisk sea voyage. Even flattened, twelve hours old, and covered with the fluff from my purse, the macarons were a triumph of simultaneous marshmallow and crispy deliciousness.
Which brings me to some exciting news. Next weekend, Toad is coming for a visit and - coincidentally - a marathon macaron-baking session. Fresh supplies of almonds and pistachios have been ordered from my favorite New Jersey nut shop and I am busy supplementing my butter and egg inventory. The sacred text, Hisako Ogita's I Heart Macarons, is at the ready. Flavors are still up for grabs: chocolate meringue with Cointreau-scented buttercream? pistachio meringue with rosewater gelee? coffee and caramel? basil with strawberry jam? The possibilities for these gluten-free gateaux are endless.
I can't wait.
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