The Stroopwafeln
I have mentioned these before. My aunt gave some to me. My hubby also brings them back from his adventures over seas whenever he can. They were the first of many European treats to find their way to my door, or mouth rather, due to his travels. For the first six months or so of last year he was spending a good amount of time in Paris. I know, Paris. But it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He mostly went from airport, to train terminal, to small office room (although that office was located on the Champs D'lysses, had a balcony were one could ever so nicely watch the finale of the Tour de France, and had a personal chef that cooked hot lunch every day), but then it was quickly back to airport with little time to enjoy the local flavor. However, although I wasn't traveling with him, I got many a sweet deal out of these weekly departures. This little box, for instance. It's a walnut, all prettily tied up.
And the inside was even prettier.
Little handmade chocolates
of every kind and design.
I kept this one hidden from the little ones
but Joseph got the better of me.
And all too soon it looked like this.
He managed to find my sweets in every new hiding spot.
Even my beloved French macaroons.
A crime to share with any toddler
(except he adores them just as much as any discerning adult
--seems to be developing his Daddy's foodie persuasion).
And again, this is what I am left with.
I don't think I have one picture of a box
with all its treasure accounted for.
Luckily these were the slightly lower status macaroons.
And not these beauties.
But they went so fast not even the lovely box was left.
Unfortunately, (for my soul, fortunate for my hips) the European trips have become less frequent and I am left with only my pretty boxes as remembrances.
Then, last Friday, my sweet hubby reminded me we have some excellent pastries right in our own back yard, or his back yard rather. (Chris' weekly travels cover an area thousands of miles bigger than mine.)
So when he arrived home late in the evening carrying this
I was beyond overjoyed.
I had been missing our Mike's
since we left Boston 5 years ago.
And here it was, on my own counter.
I opened it to reveal
Oh, oops, sorry, Reader. I meant to wait for you.
There was really good stuff in there.
I promise.
Lobster tails (the cream kind),
florentines,
cannoli's.
But again, it's hard to get a picture before diving in.
You understand, right?
I did save you a tiny bit.
(And that's more than Chris got one cold day in Boston, but that's a story for another time. He was kind enough to forget about it and still bring me some.)
I suppose I should have some conclusion to all this sweet talk. Something about being happy with what we have, or maybe something about home grown American goodness (albeit from the Italian district), but that all seems too serious for a post about so much cream. Or maybe it's just that I can't think straight anymore since I saw there is a smidgen of cannoli left in that box that needs to be eaten. Yup, I'm sure that's it. That means there's only one thing left to do. Gotta go. See ya . . .
