This in a nutshell is the difference between my daughter Joan and me. When I say “flapjack” she says “macaron”. So we did both over the weekend, and here’s how young Joan made out. You can see right off the bat that she possesses a sense of style that her father lacks. This looks more like a set piece from a circa-1955 Audrey Hepburn film than it does one of my rough-and-ready macarons from eleven years ago. Though to be fair, consistent, fresh almond flour was a hard-to-find item then. I had to grind my own almonds, hence the knobbly tops. Today any grocery store that has a Bob’s Red Mill section likely has good almond flour. Here’s what Joan has to say:
And there it is. The first Joan post.