The perfectly imperfect simplicity of a pink macaron.
Skip says it must be pronounced a certain fancy way, so as not to mistake it for a macaroon.
At times, Skip is fancier than me.
I’m less fancy than I pretend to be.
But I digress from the simple macaron at hand.
This little jewel was a rose tea variety I found on my last day-trip to Boston. More on that in a bit – for now let’s just enjoy the sight of this tiny treasure, so temptingly perched on a plate procured from Chinatown many moons ago. A brief moment of happy whimsy before the holiday madness ensues.
