My macaron moment

Despite years of snubbing that naughty Parisian delicacy, the macaron, at every opportunity during my time in Paris, I recently succumbed to the tantalisingly sweet sandwich.

After successfully avoiding the nuptials of the HRH brothers Charles and Andy the first time around, I would not fare so well here in Sverige. Our royal Bröllopsfest extravaganza was planned, the invitations were sent and before I could say Mona Sahlin, I too was swapping my monarchist grudge for an apron.

While racking my brain in search of something suitably noble and slightly exotic for our celebratory bash, I remembered the allure of the multi-hued macarons. The scene was set, I would emerge from the kitchen, a vision of sugary perfection, like Nicole Kidman’s glamorous incarnation in The Stepford Wives, serving the most tantalising fresh macarons, lightly dusted with gold powder, à la Ladurée.

Macaron recipes (not to mention my baking skills), are as dubious as its origin (Italians proclaim the little sweet sandwich was born in a monastery in the Veneto around the 14th or 15th century and arrived in France by way of Catherine de Medici in the 1500s as she was on her way to wed Henry the second, while the French fervidly claim their own right to its origin being a convent in Cormery in the late 700s). The adaptations were endless, to leave or not to leave to stand, violet with buttercream filling or chocolate ganache? As I scrolled through the selection I was no longer Nicole’s Joanna Eberhart, but the sizzling, burnt out Claire Wellington (Glenn Close).

After wrecklessly opting for my own fruity adaptation based upon David Lebovitz’s chocolate recipe, I set to work pulverising the almonds. However, my stress levels peaked when I realised we had no scales! My sambo found me slumped in the kitchen with a greasy lump of crushed almonds. Sensing a colossal diva tantrum on the horizon he shot over to bloom and plundered Titti’s freshly made stock of little golden macarons. As our guests arrived, I deviously concealed the Bloom container and sauntered out of the kitchen in a crisp white dress and heels. As we watched Sweden’s own fairytale unfold, our guests not only savoured the moment, but ‘my’ delicious little creations. Thanks to Titti I was queen of the macarons for the day.