One day, last May, I got an email from Café Pouchkine. Chef pâtissier, Emmanuel Ryon, wanted to know if I could come in and check out their pastry lab in Montreuil, just outside of Paris. I’d requested an audience with his majesty a month or two prior but was told the master was extremely busy and might not have enough time for a nice visit until the fall. But there’d been a change of schedule, and I was invited up to see the facility and get an inside look at how they make the magic happen. Was it a pretty cool experience? No. It was the coolest.

Stepping into the laboratoire, I was blown away not only by the size but by all the natural light. Not too unlike Jacques Genin’s kitchen, but bigger – much bigger – and . . . with no one in sight; the team had just wrapped-up for the day. But I somehow got lucky and spotted one of Monsieur Ryon’s sous chefs who, when asked where I could find the man himself, pointed me down a long hall. Right then, Monsieur Ryon popped out from one of the rooms, shot me a smile, and extended a hand for a shake. Even though I’d photographed other World Champions, French Champions and MOFs before, I was nervous, expecting someone far more reserved and intense. Friendly and relaxed was what I got instead, and he asked if I was ready for a tour around. But first there was a snack to be had, a freshly made Moskito…

And what’s the perfect accompaniment for an ultra-luxe pistachio-laden pastry? Water? No. Wine. Nuh-uh. Remember that this is like visiting the most upscale Willy Wonka factory you could imagine. So what we had was some freshly prepared Mors nectar. If you’ve never had it, think of it as a cross between cranberry and raspberry . . . but 10x as fancy.

Sugared-up, I was ready to go from room-to-room and hear all about how Pouchkine brings fantasy to life. There was the weighing room, where a team just weighs ingredients, all day every day. There was the macaron room, where a team devoted to macs toils sweetly away. There was even a sugar decoration room, where sugar specialists worked on fantastically amazing garnishes for the pastries. Of course there was a chocolate room, too. Really, there was a room for just about every sub-specialty and duty you could think of. And I’d show you some of the shots, but not only are they kind of top secret, but I have so many more of pastry magic happening that I thought it best to get into them instead.

After a thorough tour of the facility – and despite having been fed – I was still pretty hungry. “Monsieur Ryon, if it’s not too much of a pain, could you custom-craft your Pavlova for my amusement . . . now?” Maybe it was because I asked so nicely, or maybe because I’m naturally endearing – I don’t know – but he agreed to whip up the requested treat on-the-spot. He happened to have some of the very special crème he uses in the Pavlovas already prepared; the other bits and pieces were carefully put in place by his assistant . . .

Monsieur Ryon even got the meringues ready and did a thorough final inspection. “Sufficiently meringue’y, Monsieur?” Oui! . . .

So he snipped a poche open…

Finished preparing that super-ultra-incredibly thick Tahitian vanilla crème . . .

And then filled the bag up with its gooey goodness.

Wielding it like a nunchuck of creamy deliciousness, he was ready to start piping.

First, he had to set a little “glue” in place . . .

And delicately affix the lobes of meringue to the gateau and cassis layers . . .

Then he was on the attack!

One billowy bookend of crème . . .

Then the other . . .

Followed by undulous mounds thereof . . .

But the aesthetic wouldn’t be complete without sparkles! Because, as I’ve said many times before . . . sparkles make everything better. So Monsieur Ryon whipped out his trusty bottle of sparkle vodka and the sparkle gun.

And loaded that puppy up . . .

His loyal assistant was summoned over, freshly-piped Pavlovas in-hand . . .

And a fresh coat of shimmering goodness was applied . . .

Sparkly!

It’s already more beautiful than almost anything at any other shop, but the master wasn’t done. Oh, no.

Using his very specialized pastry shears to set a rose petal in place . . .

And then affixing some fresh berries . . .

The Pavlova was ready to receive its wisps of decorative grass. Monsieur Ryon summoned every bit of concentration to insert them perfectly. Can’t you just feel his excellence in the shot below (my favorite photo in the set, btw)?!

I should also take a moment to explain to you that all of Pouchkine’s pastries are more refined and deeply considered than any other shop’s. As Monsieur Ryon develops the recipes and designs, he engages in a collaborative effort with Café Pouchkine’s creator, the brilliant restaurateur Mr. Andrei Dellos. They’ll go back and forth on the flavors and design of each, as many as 80 or 90 times, before they perfect every single facet of the piece. The aim is undiluted excellence, and it is achieved.

The final touch was to be a few dabs of 24K gold . . .

And, with that, the Pavlovas were done and hastily consumed by yours truly. Were they as tasty as they look? No, they were even more delicious!

So, yes, make sure to visit Café Pouchkine as soon as is humanly possible. In fact, if you happen to be in Paris at this moment and can get over to Printemps Mode, just go right now. Even if the Pavlova isn’t in the case the day you visit, there are only like a few dozen other pastries you should absolutely buy. From the vanilla croissant to the Moskito, Or Noir, and essentially any and every macaron there, you’re sure to be dazzled. And make sure to pick up some hot chocolate or Mors nectar, as those are the most appropriate accompaniments to all of Monsiur Ryon’s treats.

Go, now!

Address: 64 Boulevard Haussmann (inside ‘Printemps Mode’), 75008 Paris Phone: +33 01 42 82 43 31

Store Hours: Open Monday-Saturday from 9:30am until 8pm. Closed Sunday.

Expect: Amazingness!

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The work of Café Pouchkine’s chef pâtissier, Emmanuel Ryon, is too good. Looking into the Pouchkine pastry case is to realize most other shops are not trying ½ as hard as they could be to render beauty in cake and crème. Tasting the pieces is to understand too many other chefs lack true talent. Is that hyperbole? No. There’s a reason I’ve posted little since last May. The combined excellence of Jacques Genin and Emmanuel Ryon just left me disenchanted with much of what was happening in the rest of the Parisian pastry scene. There’s stellar work in other shops, for sure, but there wasn’t enough to sustain my enthusiasm.

Much of my computer’s hard drive is made up of Jacques Genin and Café Pouchkine pastries I plan to trot out for you, one day. There’s a certain compulsion to show you nothing but them, but magical works from Des Gateaux et du Pain, Un Dimanche à Paris, La Patisserie des Reves, and Pierre Hermé deserve to be peppered-in as well. Today had to be a Pouchkine day though, because it’s not just about sharing the pastry as much as it is a teaser for what I’m putting up next Wednesday, when we go inside the kitchen with World Champion, French Champion, and Meilleur Ouvrier de France – the legend himself, Emmanuel Ryon.

Before you even bite in – just staring at the pastry – your senses delight in waves and wafts of unadulterated excellence. You get your money’s worth just from the aesthetics alone; the fact that you can also eat it borders on being too good to be true. So you carefully pluck away one of the meringue lobes and breathe in its deliciously pronounced berry tones, just before jamming a knife down through the crème, gateau and layer of cassis, which you then slather about the meringue. Ready for the first bite? It is transcendent. The meringue cracks, as the intensely thick Tahitian vanilla crème insinuates itself across your palate. You sense a soft cakeyness, a fraction of a second before a sensorial crush of berry and cassis sweeps through your mind and soul. You are psychically one with the Divinity that is Emmanuel Ryon’s Pavlova. So much flavor. So much texture. It is the definition of magnificence.

The first few times I had the piece, I ate the meringue by iself and then dug into the crème, cake and cassis. But that was poor form on my part. It was in meeting Emmanuel Ryon that I learned the proper technique, described above. And it’s next week that I’ll be sharing photos from that pastry session with you, my friends. Excited?! You’d better be.

This is literally so tasty that it’s illegal in some countries . . .

So, yes, run to Café Pouchkine and grab at least two of these. If not – and you only purchase one – I can guarantee you’re going to be walking back to Pouchkine within minutes of licking the crème from your doigts. Make sure to also pick up a dozen macarons, a vanilla croissant, and a bunch of other pastries while you’re there, too. There’s no sense in not enjoying at least half of the entire Café Pouchkine pastry case.

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Early on, in my last return to Paris, I stopped taking my camera out with me in the city. Unlike the last few years, it was cloudy and rainy almost every single day. That lends itself to some cool shots, sure, but it’s usually just a drag. Sunlight and zany cloud formations are more my thing. But there were a few nice days, and it was on those that I managed to capture what I’m going to share with you aujourd’hui.

The top shot might just be just be my all-time favorite photo – one of the fountains in the Place de la Concorde, snapped at 1/3,200th of a second. It’s what I use for the wallpaper on my cell phone, making it a frequent reminder of just how beautiful Paris is and of why it’s silly to ever leave. Few cities have anything so amazing, and fewer still hire calligraphers to hand-paint famous poems on medieval walls . . .

I’d just left the Luxembourg Gardens and was headed toward Saint-Sulpice, down rue Férou, when I saw this guy meticulously painting out Le Bateau Ivre by Arthur Rimbaud. Incredible. He actually came back every weekend for a few weeks, as the poem is super long. What little of it you see in the full shot above is a small fraction. It goes up about 7 metres and has verse after verse stretching down half the block.

Less productive men don’t paint centuries-old poems. They take naps alongside the Louvre’s pools so that others can surreptitiously photograph them. Every time I look at this photo, I assume the guy is homeless and just wants to luxuriate on the palace grounds. Then I look at his shoes and realize he’s probably just a weary German traveler or something.

The gargoyles of Notre Dame are always doing their thing, trying their very best to scare away the tourists. “Don’t come in!” they seem to say, but we do anyway.

Other statues, like this awesome one at Sacré-Coeur, just hang out and look triumphant.

For those of you who’ve only ever seen the front of Sacré-Coeur, did you know the backside is arguably even more awesome? It’s such an amazing church. Almost every time I’m up at Gontran Cherrier’s, for a croissant or five, I go a little out of my way to swing by Sacré-Coeur. I love it even more than Notre Dame.

Of course the stone work in the Luxembourg Gardens is pretty amazing, too. The shot below is one I snapped just after dawn. The statue was still pretty shadowed, but the sky and clouds had just lit up.

Speaking of fun lighting, here’s a quintet of French flags I spotted one summer afternoon in the 7ème. There are so many buildings in that area with flags, but I never seemed to catch them when they weren’t tangled or just draped perfectly about one another . . . until I got this shot. Just looking at them makes me miss the coolest country in the world.

I don’t know quite how to explain how much I love the trees in the photo below. Several times each week, I’d walk across the Pont du Carousel, heading from the left bank to the Louvre, and I’d always stop to stare down the river at Notre Dame and to look over and see my trees. They’re the kind of trees Bob Ross would have painted . . . happy trees. Permanently bent a bit westward – I assume because of how the wind blows along the banks in that section – they always seem to be rustling, whispering. Once I get back to Paris next month, they’re one of the first sights I want to soak in. I love my trees.

So there you go – some of my favorite shots of Paris. Make sure to keep an eye peeled next Wednesday, when I whip out what might be the prettiest pastry you’ve ever seen here. Oh, yes, you read that right; it’s possibly the loveliest of them all. And who is it from? Café Pouchkine, of course, courtesy of the ever-brilliant Emmanuel Ryon. And it’s the following Wednesday that I’m going to take you into the kitchen with the master himself! My apologies in advance if it blows your mind.

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I’ve been out of Paris for too many weeks now. The longing has set in. I can’t wait to resume my daily routine of coffee, pastries, walks along the Seine, and other bon vivant pastimes. Though, truth be told, I will be cutting way back on my pastry intake. Spending months putting on a kilo-a-week, followed by months of taking off a kilo-a-week are too grueling. At my thinnest, people always remark how shockingly skinny I am, while at my most rotund, someone invariably points out that I have indeed become fat. I’m now at a happy, healthy, well-exercised mid-point. So indulging in 5 pastries every day is likely to be scaled back to one that I force myself to walk across town to get, sans the aid of the metro.

Helping me keep the pudge at bay will be my new apartment, “conveniently” located nowhere near any of the finer pastry shops. Technically, yeah, it’s directly between Café Pouchkine and Jacques Genin, but the to-and-fro jaunt to either of them can burn half an éclair. And the full walk down to Pierre Hermé Bonaparte, the most dangerous of all the shops – if only because of the discount and freebies, should incinerate the caloric load of a whole Croissant Ispahan. At least that’s what I tell myself. My best intentions might degrade as soon as I step off the plane. Weeks later, I’ll be chasing a breakfast vanilla tarte with a bag of salted caramel pralines and a Surprise Envie, the subject of today’s review.

Any of Monsieur Hermé’s Surprise variants are never the most exciting for you guys, I know, as the superficial aesthetic is a moonrock-like dome of crusty meringue. But it’s so tasty! Unwrapped from its purple cellophane, you just cradle the little guy in your hand and jam it into your face. As your teeth cleave through the soft almond biscuit base and disintegratingly sugary frame, a gush of vanilla-violet mousseline gracefully oozes its way onto your palate, only to give way to a pleasantly sour blast of cassis compote. The flavors rollick – nay, frolic – exciting and delighting you, second-after-second, bite-after-bite, until you’re licking the last crumbs of meringue from your sticky paw and realizing you’ve somehow already made it halfway back to Monsieur Hermé’s shop, ready to buy another.

Really, just look at this. It’s so wrong that it’s right . . .

Even if Monsieur Hermé’s Montebello was my daily go-to pastry, I’d get a Surprise at least 2 or 3 times each week. He’s always got some variant of it going on, and I’ve yet to meet one I didn’t enjoy.

So, yes, make sure to grab yourself a Surprise Envie, once it returns. I believe it will be back in the case in the spring. So, for the next six or seven months, you might have to content yourself with his Tarte Vanille, macarons, assorted croissants, millefeuilles, and other gems. Not a bad way to bide your time, obviously.

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Even among the greatest Parisian pastries, only a few dozen can be classed as exceptional. Fewer still have earned the label of perfection. But the rarest of all are perhaps the two contemporary works that have recently shaped the arc of pastry history in the way that the Saint-Honoré, the macaron, and the opéra once did. Those past classics were all once made by one man or one team, until their magnificence carried them into the hearts, minds and vitrines of chefs all across Paris and beyond. Indisputably, Pierre Hermé’s Ispahan is one of the two modern classics guaranteed to grace pastry cases for hundreds of years to come; in just a decade it’s spread well beyond Monsieur Hermé’s boutiques and has become instantly recognizable, far and wide. And the other modern classic? That’s simple. On June 19th, 2012, the above paradigm-shifting act of unbridled magnificence debuted in the case of Un Dimanche à Paris. Never before in the 1800-year history of The City of Light had peanut butter, caramel and chocolate united into a single act of pastry deliciousness. BEHOLD LE PÉCHÉ D’ADAM!

Now, you might be thinking, “Hey, Adam, isn’t this exactly the pastry you’ve been badgering pastry chefs to make for the last three years? And, given that Un Dimanche finally caved and also named it after you, doesn’t that maybe skew your opinion of how significant it is?” Well, um, I guess the easy answers would be yes and yes. But, honestly, my official answer is, “Yes and kinda but not really.” Let me explain . . .

You must understand that, generally speaking, the French don’t “believe in” peanuts. While hazelnuts, almonds, and pistachios have an unquestioned place in every single French pastry shop, good luck finding a peanut in one. They get no respect. In fact, ask your average French person their opinion on peanuts, and their most likely response will be along the lines of, “You mean those things at the bar? Yeah, I guess they’re good with beer.” Ask another French person for their feelings on peanut butter, and a totally normal reply will be, “I’ve never had it.” So in introducing a peanut-based pastry to Paris, we are truly changing the game. Parisians are about to experience what dirty Americans like me have long known – peanut butter, chocolate and caramel are as indispensable to life as water or air.

While Le Péché d’Adam has only been out for two weeks now, its sales are brisk. It usually sells-out before day’s end, and I’ve been told it’s already the third most popular pastry in the case. Lest you think I and other Americans are the ones snapping it up . . . au contraire. The most enthusiastic buyers are the French themselves. They love it! It’s been an instant hit with them.

The irony is that I worked with Un Dimanche à Paris’ new chef pâtissier, Kléber Marguerie, to craft Le Péché d’Adam for American sensibilities. After extensive discussions on how it should be composed, Kléber unveiled the prototype to me in early June. My opinion? Delicious, but the design was far too refined – too French. So I forced him to start over and spent the next week bringing in candies and pastries from other shops to serve as reference points for how to make this piece more disgustingly American. There was to be no subtlety. I wanted the ingredients obvious and gooey. And the design? I wanted it fat and adorned with sparkles. When Kléber presented the final piece to me, all I could say was, “Mission accomplished!”

The pastry is loaded with peanuts and then some! For those fans of all things crunchy, there’s plenty to love here. The crème of the piece, too, is a sublime overload of peanut flavor, accented perfectly by alternating layers of sticky-sweet salted butter caramel and peanut Dacquoise. Then, at the very base of the piece, wrapped in all that caramel and nutty cakey goodness, is a mound of 63% Madagascar dark chocolate. It’s basically like a Snickers bar on steroids and made with infinitely more superior ingredients than any candy bar could hope for. Le Péché d’Adam is quite simply . . . a revolution in Parisian gastronomy and a revelation for the senses!

Can’t you just taste the caramel and peanuts here…

And just get a load of all that chocolate, peanut crème, caramel and all those nutty nibblins! Can a life be truly well-lived without first having one of these? No, it cannot.

So, yes, you absolutely must run to Un Dimanche à Paris immediately and purchase one or more of these. Consume it with lusty gluttonous impatience, then run back to the store and buy another. For all my French readers who’ve never before enjoyed the magic of peanuts, caramel and chocolate together, it’s going to change your life. And for all those familiar with the combination, this is still sure to redefine the heights of ecstasy you know that combo can deliver. Why are you even still reading this? Feast . . .

Un Dimanche à Paris
4-6-8, Cour du Commerce Saint-André (map)
75006 Paris
Phone: +33 (0)156811818
Boutique Hours: 11AM-8PM from Tuesday to Saturday and 11AM-7PM on Sunday (Closed Mondays)

There are a number of techniques a chef can use to make his pastries extra appealing to the average pastry shop customer. It’s almost to the point that you could make a little chart of popular ingredients in one column, popular compositions in another, and garnishes in the third. Take violets + “suggestive” shapes + sugar work and you get Carl Marletti’s Lily Valley. Take fruit + a dome + gold and you get Café Pouckine’s Tutti Frutti. Or take hazelnuts/chocolate + aggressive layering + a macaron and you have Sadaharu Aoki’s Chocolat Pralin. It’s a snap!

Now, the thing with Monsieur Aoki is that he knows he’s onto a good thing. So when it came time to create a new pastry this last spring he just took the Chocolat Pralin, swapped the hazelnuts for raspberries, and the Sensuelle here was born. What it lacks in creativity it certainly makes up for in saleability. If that sounds like I’m taking a swipe at Monsieur Aoki’s work, well, that’s because I am am. But creative commentary aside, how does it taste?

Pleasant enough . . . I guess. Working down through the layers, the milk chocolate / orange cognac crème layer is unsurprisingly milk chocolately with a fairly generously squirt of the cognac. Perhaps the crème is a bit texturally grainy, but the somewhat timid chocolate biscuit beneath it helps disguise that sensation. Then there’s the raspberry gelée layer that I found a wee too gelatinous, a bit too much in short supply, yet decidedly raspberry enough to make the fruit a significant force in the overall taste experience. And what about the feuilletine praliné and hazelnut dacquoise that rested beneath it all? Ehhh, you know I think hazelnuts are overused. Fortunately they weren’t too potent here, but they nonetheless could have been omitted. Oh, and the macaron was nice – not a taste sensation but also then not distracting from the main body of the piece. As a whole package, I guess I could say the Sensuelle was edible though underwhelming.

I was also a bit dismayed by the execution of the layers. The chocolate biscuit was oddly wavy for an Aoki piece. I think there’s a young lad or lass back in the kitchen who might need to get slapped around a few times, lest this happen again. Don’t get me wrong; I know it’s not an easy task. It’s just that when I’m buying fine Parisian pastry, I want it to look as close to perfect as is humanly possible. I’m also just a picky *******.

So, no, I can’t say I’d recommend Monsieur Aoki’s Sensuelle. His sesame éclair, tarte caramel, and other assorted goodies are must-haves, but this raspberry-chocolate effort just left me unimpressed. And especially when I compare it to more remarkable raspberry-chocolate hybrids, such as a certain Jean-Paul Hévin classic, I can’t help but be candid in my assessment. Oh, Monsieur Aoki!

SUPER SPECIAL: Wednesday is going to be huge! I’m finally unveiling the first pastry created at my direction and to my exacting specifications. In fact, it’s so personalized that it is literally my namesake. Get ready to behold Le Péché d’Adam from Un Dimanche à Paris. Caramel, chocolate and peanuts are joining forces to take the Parisian pastry scene by storm!

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Sorry for the recent unannounced hiatus from blog entries, my friends. I didn’t mean to deprive you of Parisian sweets; I’ve just been sorting some things out here in the pâtisserie scene. With “changes” at some of the shops, the corrupting influence of hefty discounts and freebies, the realization that Jacques Genin and Emmanuel Ryon set the quality bar too high, and as the product of a few other factors, I thought it best to take a little breather. But rest assured some awesome amazingness is on the horizon for you. For I’ve also been collaborating with Un Dimanche à Paris to create the first great peanut butter, chocolate and caramel pastry ever in The City of Light. That’s right. Peanut butter, chocolate and caramel. It’s never existed in Paris (don’t quote me on that) . . . but it’s just debuted in Un Dimanche with the eponymous moniker of “Le Péché d’Adam”, and I’ll be sharing it here next Wednesday. More info to come!

For now, I thought it best to restart my reviews with not only Pierre Hermé, but with a Pierre Hermé macaron that happens to be my favorite Pierre Hermé macaron ever. I’ll always have fond memories of strolling into PH, after my morning coffees/teas at Coutume, purchasing a Montebello and a croissant Ispahan, then getting slipped a couple of these little ones gratuit. Could there be a fonder pastry-based memory? I think not. So let’s dig in…

The first time I saw these guys in the case, with their tag reading “vanille, rose, et clou de girofle”, I was certain I’d like 2/3 of the flavors and not so sure how delicious a giraffe’s clou was going to be. But that’s just because I’d never seen “clou de girofle” referenced for a pastry/macaron and was a bit too liberal in how to Anglicize girofle. It turns out it has nothing to do with giraffes (unfortunately!); it’s just the French people’s much more awesome word for clove. Biting in to the mac, however, it’s not the first note you get a whiff of; that would be the rose. But then the clove gently sweeps in and goes, “Mmmm, spicy!” Together with the vanilla, the trio of parfums plays out in a wonderfully smooth crème. The totality of the experience can only be summed up as . . . intoxicating. These are the type of macs you can eat a dozen of in one sitting. They’re that perfectly balanced and perfectly tasty.

Oddly, I didn’t go for the Jardin Secret immediately upon its release. I kept making Monsieur Hermé’s team give me the Mogador and some of my other favorites. But when I finally ventured into the Jardin Secret, everyone on the Pierre Hermé rue Bonaparte team quickly knew not to even ask what mac I’d like. I’d just pay at the register, walk out with my Montebello and croissant and look down in the bag to find a duo of Jardin Secret macarons stashed in there. Can you imagine freebie macarons magically appearing in your bag every time you leave a store? There’s nothing better. All stores should do it. And when I say that I mean even Ladurée should stick the PH Jardin Secret in your bag!

So, yes, absolutely grab a a huge box of the Jardin Secret macaron . . . if they ever reappear in the case. It’s going to be a while no matter what, as Monsieur Hermé is slowly working through his “Jardin” fascination, month-after-month, one macaron flavor at a time. I believe there are 10 or 12, and he’s only at the halfway point now. But, really, has there ever been a more tastily grueling slog?

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I wish all Parisian pastries were stunning works of art that operated at the absolute limits of complete tastiness. Sadly, most are just vaguely amusing to regard and pleasant enough to enjoy eating. There are only a dozen shops that truly make a go at developing astoundingly delicious pieces, and among that delicious dozen, there are maybe five shops that forge talent together with effort in order to make visual masterpieces.

Ladurée is one of those few pâtisseries that succeeds in crafting truly eye-catching work – e.g., La Fraise or Divin. Even if you’re super ****** and think those designs are pandering and overdone, you’ve still got to tip your chapeau when you realize others like the famed hyped Blé Sucré turns out this garbage. Do I still often accuse Ladurée of doing sloppy work? Yeah, because I mean … look at the piping running up the head of the above. And does Ladurée truly excel in developing taste sensations? No, not often, but it’s usually at least “very good” and rarely anywhere close to disappointing. And what about the subject of today’s review – the Religieuse Pistache? Well…

If I had to grade it, I’d give it a B-. It’s certainly much better than a neighborhood pastry shop could do, but it’s not close to what it could be. Not to say that the crème sucked; it was good – just . . . good and nothing more.

As for the rest of the religieuse, the chou was decent – standard – maybe a bit dry. The pistachio shellacking about the tête and corps of this little one was, much like the interior, a tad oversweetened. And then of course there were the 5°-angled squirts aside the head. [Paging your neighborhood supermarket and/or 4th rate pastry shop] I think a certain stagiaire is ready to return to icing cupcakes back in Parsippany, NJ.

I’m being a little hyperbolic in the above. But of the two of these I’ve purchased in the last week (cause I always retaste/retest before I write), the second had maybe 5 grams of crème in it. It wasn’t even really filled. I think the “chef” felt a little resistance in their poche and decided to not give a **** whether the ridiculously expensive pastry was actually . . . What’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yeah . . . salable.

Mmmm…green.

The first one I purchased here was filled…

So, eh, this might not be the best purchase at Ladurée. Their Harmonie, Divin, Tarte Tatin, Religieuse Rose, La Fraise, and others are great ones to snag. And while their macarons are suffering a bit these days, there are still classics like the Fleur d’Oranger, Réglisse and Cassis to purchase too many of and enjoy. That said, a visit to Café Pouchkine or Jacques Genin would likely be a more rewarding adventure.

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A few months back, I reached out to Café Pouchkine to see if I could arrange a photo shoot of their boutique and, more awesomely, a special session with their chef pâtissier – his majesty Emmanuel Ryon. The Pouchkine team has long been keen on sharing my reviews of their work – both on their Facebook page and “the twitters” – so I was hopeful the fine folks there would be totally agreeable to setting up said sessions. They were quick to get back to me and say a boutique shoot would be a snap to arrange but . . . a session with Monsieur Ryon likely wouldn’t be possible. No, it wasn’t because I’d offended the master; it was simply that he was so busy managing the development of their newest pastries – and making sure all was in order in Moscow, Paris and with their latest New York efforts – that he wasn’t sure he would have enough time until later in the year. All that changed the week before last, when their awesome team got back to me and said Monsieur Ryon had an unexpected opening and would have enough time not only to prepare a few pastries for me but to sit down and talk. I wound up getting part of the afternoon with The Great One this past Thursday, which is why I was so rushed in putting together the Friday entry. I’m sure you’re wondering . . . was he as cool as I imagined? No. He was at least 11 times cooler, and you’re going to love the photos . . . when I finally decide to share them with you

For now, you’re going to have to content yourself with enjoying one of the tasty pastries from Café Pouchkine’s case. While Monsieur Ryon said he pretty much loves all his pastries equally, pressing him to name a few personal favorites got him to confess a soft spot for his Chouqette Botchka. And if he loves it, then maybe you will, too. So shall we dig in?

Unlike your average vanilla crème-engorged chou puff, this little one has a shiny sugar coat with a studly studding of sugar nibs – all dusted in yet more sugar! Yet this hat trick of sweetness is actually much more subtly sucrée than you’d imagine. And it serves as a perfect complement to one of the finer pâte a chou preparations I’ve come across in quite some time. I’m not sure if I got lucky and had one that got a little extra special cook time, or if it’s the standard preparation, but there was this awesomely warm and complex character than shone through. Yum. Then at the heart of our friend here was a decidedly light vanilla crème. I was expecting something much more dense, but was pleasantly surprised at how delicate it was. And while the density of the crème was restrained, the full force of the vanilla Gods was in effect. It took me but one bite to go, “Madagascar!” I quickly whipped out the Café Pouchkine menu I always keep on-hand to confirm my suspicions, and immediately saw that indeed it was a work of pure Bourbon (Madagascar) vanilla – an unmistakable taste sensation.

Looking at the shot below, you can just about taste it, can’t you?! Don’t lick the screen.

So, yes, particularly if you’re a Madagascan vanilla lover, this makes an excellent purchase. I’ll personally be buying it again, if only to taste the chou. I might also pick up some other goodies like their Pavlova Cassis, macaron coeur lait d’amande, and vanilla croissant – the three treats that happen to be my current favorites. Then I’ll find myself halfway back to my apartment wondering why I didn’t buy another dozen of their fine pastries. Why must Café Pouchkine have so many amazing pieces? The temptation of it all!

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Sometimes my pastry eating and photographing schedule get so intense that I literally don’t have enough time to edit photos and write something thoughtful about the goodies at-hand. This week has been particularly bananas. From being “forced” to do such things as leisurely sip a half dozen sublime coffees at Coutume Café for hours on end, to photographing Café Pouchkine’s genius Emmauel Ryon at work in his laboratoire, there’s just been too much real-life awesomeness to fully focus on the blog content here. Thank God I always keep a set of pre-processed, pre-loaded photos on hand for just such time-pinched occasions.

Pierre Hermé’s macarons were of course a logical “emergency” pastry to whip out. People’s natural affinity for his work will let me slide by here without toiling away at a lengthy written entry. So sorry to all of you who enjoy reading through my hyperbole, invented words, and more, but … hey, at least your getting some Pierre Hermé macarons today, right? With that, let’s dig into my light musings on the Asperge Verte & Huile de Noisette Macaron.

I know a lot of you are probably thinking, “Asperge verte . . . is that . . . no, that can’t be what I think it is, can it?” Yep, it’s green asparagus. This is an asparagus macaron, my friends. Though, if you’ve read my PH macaron entries before, you know that the first ingredient the master lists is often the secondary flavor. It’s really the hazelnut oil that is the dominant tone in these puppies. The asparagus notes are actually quite light within the hyper-ample crème. It’s only when you get to the small chunk or two of slippery asparagus nestled in the center of these that the gardeny goodness of it all pops out and says hi.

Surprisingly, I actually kind of like it overall. Even if one of the flavors is pretty whacky, the textures of the piece are nice. Can’t say I’ve ever seen any customer buy it, but then again neither have I. As you know, I rarely actually pay for my macs chez Monsieur Hermé; they’ve got the science of spoiling me and skewing my opinions down to a science, and I love them for it.

All I can say is that if you love seriously stuffed macs, these were made for you.

So, yeah, should these asparagus macs ever come back to Pierre Hermé, give one a try. But since I’d been saving these shots for a day when I didn’t have enough time to process more current treats, I think about a year has gone by since they were last in the case. Monsieur Hermé’s newest pieces are also garden-fresh, but the focus is on the florals for the moment. Not a bad turn of events, so perhaps my best advice to you is to snag his Jardin Secret – quite possibly my favorite of the macs I’ve ever not paid for chez Monsieur Hermé.

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