week 2: macaron cafe
"did you go to macaron cafe yet??"
reads the almost
daily
text from mum.
"...no, mum, i have work to do."
"what about now?"
"...i just ate"
"ok, well you must go tomorrow because tomorrow is tuesday and you know that that's croque monsieur day."
"i told you, I HAVE WORK TO DO!"
typical, typical banter.
and there was no stopping it.
i mean, i knew what i needed to do to stop it.
i could either lie,
tell her i went and that it was fine but her sandwiches were better {which would end any and all interrogation}
or i could just go to the damn macaron cafe.
i really didn't have any reason not to... except that it's in
midtown.
spitting distance from penn station.
oh the horror.
uh oh, i'm getting a text from mum...
"did you hear?? midtown lunch just said that macaron cafe puts bouchon to SHAME!
OHHHH SNAP!"
relentless, that woman.
anyways,
things got brutally out of hand last tuesday.
it started with a phone call.
not a text, but a
phone call.
"soooo.... whatcha doin today?"
"probably gonna go to costco, and then to yoga... maybe practice"
"oh. and macaron cafe?"
"nope, no time for that."
"isn't today--"
"CROQUE MONSIEUR DAY. I KNOW. I REEEEALLLY KNOW. AND I REEEEALLLY TOOK THAT INTO CONSIDERATION WHEN I WAS PLANNING OUT MY DAY. BUT I'M SORRY, IT'S JUST NOT IN THE CARDS."
two hours later, on a walk, circa 88th and amsterdam
phone rings, guess who.
"how was costco?"
"ummm, brian couldn't go, he needed to practice. so i didn't go either."
"PERFECT! YOU CAN GO GET A CROQUE MONSIEUR!"
&p;!@*^&p;%$#@)(*^%$#@
FINE.
*click*
she was right. it was time.
i googled the number, i called, and made a reservation.
not for a table though,
but for a croque monsieur.
tell me that's not cute.
it was all because when i called, monsieur croque monsieur told me that, oui, today is croque monsieur day, but they only have "un, deux, trois.... FOUR CROQUE MONSIEURS LEFT!"
so i should probably get there soon.
meaning, i couldn't walk there, i'd have to subway it.
meaning, i had no choice but to brave penn station.
i survived.
monsieur croque monsieur greeted me and asked if my croque monsieur would be for here or to go.
i looked around the hot
pink
closet sized cafe at the two teensy tables,
"but, monsieur, there's no place to sit"
he motioned to an itsy bitsy stool squeezed between an already full coffee table and a wall, as if to say,
"duh, look at ze perfectly good square foot we have rezerved for you!"
i cracked up a bit, and took a seat.
a few feet to my right was the oven used to heat my c.m.
within minutes, i was served up this piping hot beauty:
and
ohhh
it was decadent.
the way the béchamel sauce OOZED out from between the freshly cut ham
and the freshly baked {crusty, yes, very crusty} bread
ohh and the melted cheese on top,
how it crackled with every bite!
ah! if i wasn't so closely s
mooshed up against total strangers,
i would have licked every last drop of béchamel off of the plate!
i had an orangina to wash it down.
and for dessert,
i took home a variety of french macaroons...
which i must restrain myself from raving about just yet because when
midtown lunch compared them to bouchon's
, my initial reaction was
"oh no you DIDN'T"
and then i promptly decided that i'd be comparing them for myself innnn (drum roll, s'il vous plait)
the macaroon smackdown
bouchon bakery vs. macaron cafe: who will take ze cake?
coming soon to a blog near you
i digress.
i want another macaron croque monsieur. RIGHT NOW. but, mes amies, i've got 50 more restaurants to go...
xoxo
yeh