@loripalminteriTweets by @loripalminteri
Sending A Crack Head Into Crack Alley
Before I took off on my adventure to the city of light and love, one of my dearest friends requested I bring her some French macarons from their place of origin. I said this wouldn’t be a problem, though I quickly found it would be.
No, not because French macarons were hard to come by in Paris. That’s like saying there’s a lack of junkies in New York City. There were macaron shops like 7-11’s on Long Island. One on every corner! While you can find amazing French macaron places in New York City, (ah yes, New Yorkers are spoiled when it comes to our vast authentic cuisine) in France they were cheaper and better than New York. While some places had a higher quality than others, I indulged in the different flavors of different bakeries… that crunchy exterior and gooey interior with a pop of all encompassing sweet flavor.
Anyone who knows me already knows I am obsessed with French macarons, to a borderline unhealthy degree. No, this is not the chief reason I wanted to go to France, but it was up there. At one point in my life when I wasn’t in the best mental health place, I spent an unusual amount of time on the internet researching places to deliver to me french macarons, and despite my suffering bank account, I could not stop ordering french macarons and I justified doing so because it was one of the few things that were making me truly happy at that time. It got so bad, all of my pop ads on the internet and social media were for french macarons. It was like the equivalent of a teenager discovering porn on the internet. The internet knew what I wanted and loved and that was this dessert.
Yes. French macarons are crack. And I, the hopeless crackhead. Ready to throw away my money and life for those colorful sweets.
Now, you understand what we’re dealing with.
If you had a crack head friend, and they were going to the most famous crack alley, would you expect that they would return with any crack at all? Or would the crack head buy extra crack, but lose all self control and continue to helplessly succumb to grip crack has on you?
I had French macarons every day in Paris. Had I not been walking the city of Paris extensively I would have came back fat, but instead I would skip along the streets, mouth full of french heaven. On more than one occasion, at least 5 occasions, I had bought french macarons with intent to come home with them, only to later lose self control and eat them. No matter. I could buy more. But this always led to me eating more. Never did I see a poster in France that said, “are french macarons a problem for you?”
Still, as I packed my bag on that last day I started to feel bad, as addicts often do. I don’t like to let down my friends and I know she would never have failed me. Though it was clear that when it came specifically to french macarons I might not be able to be trusted. If I’m at your house and there’s a box of french macarons and they go missing, I’m probably to blame. Even if I deny it. You could leave a wad of cash out in front of me and I wouldn’t think to touch it. But something in my brain goes awry with these things.
Though, I had predicted the Paris airport would have multiple vendors of french macarons, as they are so famous for them. So even though I did eat like 4 or 5 boxes I was supposed to bring home, I did manage to come home with one small box for my friend that I did not open, not even to smell or lick. The crack head returns from crack alley, with a very small taste of that crystal rock, to share the goodness. Luckily, there’s plenty of crack in New York City. Both actual crack and french macarons. Honestly, I don’t even know where to get regular crack, though I can’t imagine it’s that hard in the city. Also, I assume real crack is cheaper than french macarons in NYC. But I have my french fixes in New York till I one day return to crack alley, the city of love and light. My love and light, french macarons.