Channeling my inner old lady

Okay, I am not usually one for pomp and circumstance. I don’t know why people like Princess Di so much, I don’t think silver wear placement is critical to a meal, and I don’t believe that not wearing “pants” to a “mandatory court hearing” is “inappropriate”. But my experience at Ladurée, the most famous and fanciest patisserie in Paris, was an amazingly impressive whirlwind of marble, $10 cups of tea and pastries that were emasculating-ly delicious.

The Ladurée I visited is on the Champs Elysée. I hate the Champs Elysée; it’s like if Fifth avenue and the French part of Epcot had an over priced badly-dressed-Spanish-tourist filled baby. I literally only go there to buy phone cards at the world’s fanciest Virgin megastore. I would only recommend taking a visitor there if you didn’t think that they could handle the intellectual rigors of taking the elevator up to the top of the Eiffel towers (“what are all them buttons for? Say, I think I can call my ma from up here. Hey ma! Get off the dang toit!”). This Ladurée, one of there three branches, was opened about five years and is covered in fake second empire French furniture and decorations. Fortunately, it’s a beautifully designed interior, and while not really from 1870, it looks nothing like the awful fake French schlock filling the McMansions that I learned to drink cheap vodka in when I was in high school.

My friend Brooke’s mother and grandmother, who were so unbelievably friendly and good natured you’d think they were about to tell you about a guy named Jesus, took me and some friends out to brunch Sunday. First of all, the menu of Ladurée is just shorter than War and Peace, and when one girl told another that the teas were on page 14, she genuinely tried to find it because, well, there very well could have been a page 14. It took a solid hour to decide what the have, but finely a manned up and ordered the Ladurée brunch special. I guess eating petit fours and viennoiserie isn’t necessarily manning up to anything, but if a “vrai mec” orders a steak anywhere that serves meat, then a “vrai mec” should order the pastry in a patisserie, too.

What came were three tears of sugar, sugar, and for good measure butter and more sugar. There was nice red currant jam, and perfectly salty butter for the rolls. Next was maybe the best thing I ate the whole time: a mini croissant filled with apple jam and glazed with sugar. It was basically a high-class crispy cream and was just really delicious. I then had their famous macaroons. The lemon one was filled with lemon cream and was so good it hurt. There was also a coffee one that was very tasty and a chocolate one that had basically a chocolate truffle inside that was so good I am sure it’s illegal in the states (well, everywhere but Hawaii). There were some macaroons that weren’t great though; the strawberry was dull and the violet-cassis, while nice sounding in a 1920’s French prostitute kind of way, didn’t taste like either violets or cassis (God damnit I sound effete!).

So then I had my eggs (yeah that’s right, I will save my masculinity through protein talk!). I ordered scrambled eggs with smoked salmon. The smoked salmon came in tiny little orange jewels of flesh and was sweet, salty and just the tiniest bit smoky, so basically just the way I like it. The eggs were a little runny, which was cool because the liquid was almost orangey, indicating to me that they were as fresh as an egg could be.

Brooke’s mom, grandmother and a girl at the table ordered a smoked salmon club that was also really really good. The table then split more macaroons, of which the cinnamon, grape, and raspberry flavored were the best. I finished the meal with fruit and orange flower flavored oolong tea.

It was, without a doubt, the best breakfast I have had in years. I can honestly say that I have come a long way from eating tater tots and granola in the Vassar cafeteria and watching hung over people awkwardly eat breakfast with last nights hook up.

Now if only I could find a damn New York Times to read I would be set brunch wise…