Day 315: Macaron Day Fail.

 Illustration by Charla Pettingill
Last Tuesday, the blogosphere was all abuzz about Macaron Day here in Paris. Per my understanding, Macaron Day is a day where select boulangeries gave away these irresistible, pastel-colored, almond pastries to patrons, right? As with most things in my life in France, nothing is as simple as it sounds and everything becomes more of an adventure than I had intended. I'm used to it by now...
Excited about being in town for something as chou as Macaron Day, I sent a festive email to Zoé and Séb wishing them all the best on Macaron Day 2012. It was hardly a surprise that they had no idea what the hell I was talking about, as neither of them had ever heard of this day but nonetheless wished my the best Macaron Day in return. Sometimes I think these things are made up to appease the expat community, I really do.
While my wide ass hardly needs a free pastry, being both broke and curious, I wanted to partake in the offering of free goods and consulted the map of participating bakeries and found one right in my neighborhood. On my way up to the north side of Paris to run an errand, I walked in to the boulangerie and disappointingly saw no signs of a celebration and/or giving away of free goods. I guess I let my imagination run with this one where I thought there would be a platter set out, conversation, champagne and unabashed excitement about Macaron Day...2012. I had no such luck and before I could leave the quiet and bleak boulangerie, the baker had arrived to take my order. I couldn't forfeit now and asked for a vanilla macaron. Upon handing it to me wrapped in a piece of parchment paper, she had requested 60 centimes, the cost of one. Oh, I wasn't expecting that. I was sure that I was in the right place and but wanting to avoid confrontation, I fished for my wallet, after all it was just under a euro. It's moments like these where I find myself needing to make a decision and saw this as an opportunity to express and articulate myself to strangers in French. I lowered my wallet into my purse and politely asked her if it was free...because it was Macaron Day. 
Silence. The woman looked at me like I was about to hold the place up.
We stood there staring at each other, me holding the vanilla macaron that was starting to crumble and her, looking as if she was about to call the police. "Gratuit, mademoiselle?" she said while widening her ancient eyes at me. Within seconds, I accepted defeat, paid and hightailed out of there.

Eating my crumbled pastry, I considered checking out the other "participating bakeries" but was heading up to the less than scenic Porte de Clignancourt and had a hunch that they too and their surrounding areas were not basking in the glory and jubilation of Macaron Day.

After a long afternoon in a rather intense part of town, I got home and saw that everyone was a twitter (literally) with their macaron experience, when my phone rang. It was from Séb who enthusiastically asked me what flavor I had picked on this festive holiday. In one frantic breath, I told him that I had selected a vanilla one that was crumbled and half of it was left on the floor of the bakery because I was too busy trying to explain "Macaron Day" to a 90 year old French woman with my stupid American accent, while simultaneously searching for my pièces in my purse, so I could just pay her, get the hell out of there without getting arrested and make it to Porte de Clignancourt in peace. "Wait, you went to Porte de Clignancourt for Macaron Day?" he said with a nervous laugh. 

Not impressed with my Macaron Day, my PMS being in full hormonal swing, and my apartment hitting Grey Gardens status, I had to just get off the phone and told him that I'd see him later.

That night he surprised me with a box of Ladurée macarons filled with intact and non-crumbled goodies in colors of magenta, rose, mint green, creamy yellow and baby blue, making me feel like Marie Antoinette as I skipped dinner for them. "Babe, they weren't celebrating Macaron Day at Ladurée either, don't worry, it wasn't just you," he said while holding about 50euro worth of French delights that once again, my lumpy ass certainly does not need.
I'm glad that everyone else enjoyed their Macaron Day and while I did "celebrate" it, albeit a bit differently, it was certainly an adventurous way to spend an otherwise quiet Tuesday afternoon. Perhaps I'll have better luck next year? But really, was I missing something? Was it like that 90210 episode where I had to bring in an egg before being granted my free macaron?
Never a dull moment in Paris, I swear...