Francophone Interests...

Daylight savings time, the preliminary to winter and depression. It's coming, we know it is. For now the orange and red and golden leaves glimmer under the dusky afternoon sun but soon there will be no leaves and no dusk, only the the darkening of our sensibilities under the luminous grey clouds.

What I need is a vitamin lamp - I'm not actually sure if thats what its called but I know there is such a thing and it provides you with sun vitamins: i.e vitamin d. Or I just need to drink more milk or something high in vitamin-ey goodness. or I just need to drink more wine. I'm thinking my best bet is with the wine unfortunately its expensive and illegal...for me at least. I wonder if there is an injection you can get to give you wrinkles so you'll look older, wiser, and less susceptible to being carded. For now I'm guessing either no this does not exist or it does and its more expensive then any illegally purchased wine I've invested in. For now I think I'll stick with wine samples. On saturday I fruitfully tasted several really delicious wines, the first a bubbly non carbonated twice fermented concoction that tasted uncannily like champagne, the second a flatter version but the flavors all the same, and the third a heavily alcoholic syrupy fluid, good for pouring over five ingredient vanilla bean ice cream, as the lady at the booth pointed out. I smiled and nodded dropping a dollar in the tip jar before scurrying away, in fear of being asked for my ID, down into the subway.

That morning I'd left my dorm with the intention of spending a day in central park, maybe stopping by Ladurée for a minute or two to buy a couple macaroons. What it turned into was a mad dash up and down ten blocks and an hour and half wait for five macaroons; and it was completely worth it. As the store pulled  up into view I ferocioulsy joined the line that was curving down the block, just behind a little dog in a fur collared leather jacket and a perplexing group of french people, who snarked repartee back and forth like no one could understand what they were saying. It wasn't so much what they were saying that offended me, rather that they had the audacity to come to New York just to visit Ladurée. Didn't they have their own in the motherland? Hadn't they always?

Once inside the store, I illegally snapped some photos - my second crime of the day - inciting a series of snapshots from behind me and the eventual overhead shouting of the man at the cash register demanding we not take photos. Once at the front of the line, my inner turmoil of whether or not I should have bought a six set of macaroons just to get the cute box or go for the significantly cheaper option of five macaroons without a box came to a climax and I walked away with five extra bucks and no cute box. With a meeting quickly approaching I didn't have time to relax in the park or even taste a macaroon and an hour later, sitting in the library I took a bite into the delicate, crumbling texture of a raspberry macaroon. It dissolved under the heat of my tongue and the tiny little seeds of the raspberry jam tantalized the grooves of the roof of my mouth. I proceeded to eat a caramel macaroon, which was a little to thick and sweet - not enough contrast of flavors - and a pistachio macaroon which was needless to say, perfection. Oh so nobly I sacrificed my two other macaroons to my colleagues, so for now I cannot know the the wonders of the two other flavors I purchased. woe. is. me.