Dental Surgeon - Singapore Dental Association

LifestyleMacarons in JapanMacarons in JapanThird, I felt a slap on my shoulder. “Thegood doctor, good to see you,” was quicklyfollowed by a disapproving glance atmy bags of pastry.In my state, I had to be reminded thatgrown men do not go drinking with shoppingbags, especially the ones hangingfrom my fingers.In my own defence, how else could abaking Francophile behave in that basement?Every turn of the head reveals anotherfamiliar name. Look left, Jean-PaulHévin. Look right, there’s Fauchon. Dalloyau.Henri Charpentier.Standing in the basement of TakashimayaShinjuku with three bags in onehand, and a fourth on the way, it did nottake me long to sense that this was goingto be a problem. A mere 20 minutesin the store and there were more shoppingbags attached to my arm than I was usedto. The situation was going to solicit anunplanned trip back to the hotel, unless...I had eaten them all.“Please come again!” the girl behindthe marble counter exclaimed, with thecharacteristic Japanese enthusiasm, asshe handed me my bag of macarons, avery big bag of macarons. I reached intothe bag and fished out the first box myhand came into contact with. An elegantblack box with a bow and shiny embossedlettering “Pierre Hermé”; I felt almostguilty as I tore off the ribbon and reachedfor what I have been missing for a wholeyear. There it was two domes with ruffledfeet, dusted with cocoa powder, dark ganachesandwiched in between. “ChocolatPure Origine Venezuela Porcelana”, accordingto the label. A smooth outer shellwhich yields to the teeth at the slightestpressure, giving way to a moist, light, yetchewy body, just a split second beforerich ganache brings it all together in a lusciousmélange of divine texture and exquisiteflavours.My little logistical problem seemeda very distant memory. It was total bliss.At that moment, three other thingshappened. First, my mind wandered offin search of the next gratification, “InfinimentCaramel - Caramel au Buerre Salé”,a macaron with salted caramel buttercream.Next, my mind pulling itself back,it occurred to me that after kilos and kilosof ground almonds and egg whites,months of piping and drying, I am nowhereeven close to the “Macaron King”,as Pierre Hermé is sometimes known.It is known that the Japanese have adeep appreciation of all things French,but nothing conveys this more than theextraordinary variety of French pastriesavailable and the long lines that formfrom the stores selling them. And of themall, nothing more quintessentially Parisianthan the macaron. Rows and rowsof brightly-coloured discs fill long glassshowcases, as Japanese women point andservice staff pick with silver tongs.But the macaron did not always enjoysuch celebrity. Years ago they wouldsit in Parisian store windows, always inthe same flavours, waiting to be bought.Since then, macaroos have received amakeover, gotten sexy, and have takenParis by storm. Tokyo soon followed.Much of the credit goes to Hermé. Thestory has it that when 14-year-old Herméstarted his training at Lenôtre, macaronscame only in vanilla, chocolate, raspberryTheDENTAL24Surgeon