1, 5, 7 - Laduree Sydney by Broadsheet // 2 - the prettiest rose petal drinks on Kinfolk journal // 3 - Macaron-hued nail polish (raspberry, pistachio and violette, no?) and my candy-striped make up bag by Cuval // 4 - mint-green walls and hand-painted bowls // 6 - Laduree in London by K // 8 - the only delicatesse in my wardrobe, a blowsy silk shirt and some bow-backed Carven ballet flats.
Laduree has opened its doors in Sydney, and I can't wait to get in line. Macarons are one of life's great small pleasures, and when done well - and not all places do great macarons, in Sydney Baroque's are so fantastic they made my mother, the OG francophile herself, weep - they are one of life's greatest. The first time I had a Laduree macaron I was in Paris as a teenager, bright-eyed but hopelessly devoted to 'fashON', dragging my mother and my aunt around Paris so that I could buy such ridiculous things as pink converse high tops and von dutch hats (in Paris, I ask you!). On one such occasion my mother, exhausted and worn out by so much chain-store hopping, dragged me into the Champs Elysees tea room, sat me down on one of those plush velvet seats and ordered me a cafe gourmand; a cup of China Jasmine tea and three macarons. The flavours were Rose petal, vanilla and blackberry (which I have never seen at a Laduree since!). Each one was crispy on the outside yet chewy - very, very chewy, cake-like almost - on the inside, with pillows of soft sweetness and that layer of sticky something in between for a bit of a kick. There were black spots of real vanilla bean through the ganache. The blackberry flavour had a tiny little pod of spongey marshmallow in the middle - quelle surprise! - like a birthday present.
Sure, there's a lot of hype around Laduree, and you have to queue for hours just to get a look in, and yes, I agree with all the naysayers (Blair Waldorf, I'm looking at you) that Pierre Herme ones are wonderful too - they have a mint and pea flavour which tastes like a balmy English afternoon in Spring - and Jean-Paul Hevin's tiny little melt-in-your-mouth creations aren't bad either, (oh god, now I sound like Bridget Jones), but really, why can't you just have your cake and eat it too? I am firmly of the camp that yells out "the more the merrier" kind of like a hedonist's "YOLO". And if they're good enough for Marie Antoinette, they're good enough for me.
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