Truc: macaron mania
Susan Jung
A writer recently recounted her trials and tribulations in making the French delicacy du jour: the macaron.
She hastened to add that she was talking about the colourful macarons made famous by Pierre Hermé and Ladurée, and not macaroons, which, she said, have only ground almonds in common.
Actually, she was wrong. The ingredients that macarons and macaroons share are egg whites and sugar (the ones for diabetics use sugar substitutes). They don’t necessarily contain almonds – other types of nut can be used – and some varieties, such as the coconut macaroon, don’t have nuts at all.
There isn’t only one type of macaron, just as there isn’t just one kind of macaroon.
The French Cookie Book, by Bruce Healy, has recipes for 11 types of macaron – and I doubt it’s a definitive list.
Macarons d’Amiens are composed of a thick paste made of almonds, confectioner’s sugar, egg whites, apricot jam and vanilla extract. The paste is rolled into a cylinder, cut into pieces and rolled into balls, then flattened, brushed with water and baked, after which they are sandwiched together into pairs.
Macarons fins contain almonds, egg whites, confectioner’s sugar and crème fraiche. The ingredients are mixed together, piped from a piping bag, baked, then sandwiched together. Macarons aux avelines and macarons aux pistaches contain, respectively, filberts (or hazelnuts) and pistachios – without an almond in sight.
Macarons de Nancy are, the writer says, “the most famous of all”. Perhaps this is true in France, but if you were to mention this genre of dessert to the average foodie, the delicate macaron de Paris (also known as the macaron gerbet) would probably spring to mind. This is a relatively recent invention in macaron history; Healy dates it back to the turn of the 20th century.
While most macarons (and macaroons) are easy to make, the macaron de Paris can be tricky, because the parameters of what define it are so rigid. Connoisseurs of this variety agree that each biscuit should have a smooth, glossy, slightly domed top and what is called the “pied” (foot) – the little frill around the edge of the base.
It took me three attempts to make a perfect macaron de Paris, using a recipe in Macarons, by Hermé. It wasn’t nearly the most difficult pastry I’ve ever made (that honour would go to the canelé).
After making perfect macarons twice, I haven’t attempted them again. Why? Because part of the pleasure of macarons de Paris is the choice of colours and fillings. As delicious as my sakura macarons were, I wouldn’t eat more than a few in one sitting. One batch makes a lot, and it’s not a pastry that keeps well.
When the mood strikes, I’d rather head to a shop that specialises in macarons. That way, I can pick out a good selection of flavours and savour the fruit of someone else’s labours.
Truc (tryk): noun, masculine, trick, gimmick, device. A French word for a chefâs secret.
