I have to catch a train to New York City at 2:00pm, so I’m trying
to squeeze a whole day’s worth of work into the morning, I get to my desk
early, and without having eaten breakfast I am greeted by the 40 birthday
cookies my boss so generously baked. Their beady little chocolate-chip faces
are staring me down, even after I put them in a drawer, whispering, “Averill…
Averillllll… come on. You know you want to eat one of us. You haven’t eaten
anything all morning! Chemical energy… Come on Averill… ”
I give in and eat one.
Ok--I eat three.
Then it’s 1:30pm. I run
out the door, chase down a taxi. “Can you get me to Union Station, as quickly
as possible? I’m going to miss my train.”
The driver smiles, takes my request to heart. Two U-turns,
several jolting starts and stops later, we arrive in plenty of time. Both
grateful but now slightly nauseous, I need some real food.
Wandering around Union Station, nothing seems appetizing,
cause I’m still a little car-sick from the Nascar taxi ride. I finally settle
on a sushi role. Then think, I’ll probably need more than this… I go on an
aimless tour around union station picking up random things that look mildly
appealing: a Starbucks blueberry muffin, and (I’m ashamed to admit) a McDonald’s
cheeseburger. (also, when I ask
for some water at the McDonalds, the lady gives me an espresso-sized cup
full... so a gulp’s worth)
Somewhere along the way during this food safari, I pass by a
colorful little stand.
The charming rainbow palate is so lovely, I have to stop and
see if the sparkles are really magic. And then of course, they are—because what
the stand is selling is magic:
Macaroons. Flat, round, amazing cookies, that are
notoriously impossible to bake. So refined, so delicate, so lovely, the display
is a spread of all sorts of delectable colors—with flavors I’ve never imagined!
A fruit exhibit in a cookie stand. The pear (a pear macaroon!) is calling my name. Much like the cookies
earlier, but in a seductive, French accent, I hear, “Avrill, oui, we
must be friends! You must try me, je t'aime”
So I buy one.
Ok—I buy three.
I’m at the gate. I successfully condense all of my random
food items into the McDonald’s bag—sushi, cheeseburger, muffin, and macaroons. Careful of the precious cookies that I’m
saving for mid-train ride. The train is delayed.
Well, now I have
time to eat.
After the cheeseburger and the sushi, I am stuffed. No room
for the muffin. But now the line is moving, and I panic, because I’m pretty
sure I cut the line, but I didn’t mean to, but I can’t go back now. Where’s my
ticket? Too many things—not enough hands. I keep the Starbucks bag and muffin with me, and
toss the McDonald’s bag into the trash, and shuffle into the line, hoping not
to make anyone mad.
I hand her my ticket, head down, trying to move quickly, get
out of everyone’s way. At the top of the escalator to the platform, I look at
my hand clutching the muffin bag, encouraged by the idea of how delicious my
macaroo… THE MACAROONS! I threw them away!
I turn around, push against the traffic, cross under one of
those line ropes, and take apart another one, all in pursuit of that trashcan.
With single-minded, laser straight focus like I’ve never had before, I go
digging through a garbage bin.
I find the McDonald’s bag quickly and once I’ve secured those
little cookies in my hand again, I finally regain whatever grace and decorum is
left to regain. I pretend like the many curious glances my way do not exist.
Though I can’t ignore the man right beside me. So I explain, “I threw away
macaroons.” I shrug and smile, as if that explained everything. Realizing it
isn’t quite a satisfactory answer, I continue, “I mean, I didn’t mean to throw
them away. I didn’t realize I had thrown them away. Have you ever had a
macaroon? You can’t just throw it away. It’s a magic cookie.”
He doesn’t understand. He’s probably never had one.
No matter, I have my macaroons.
I have to go back through the line, hoping the lady checking
tickets doesn’t recognize me. From her judgmental stare, she probably saw the
whole trash-can adventure.
No matter. I have my macaroons.
Safely on the train, secure from any other distraction, I enjoy
the slightly crunchy, slightly melty masterpiece that is the macaroon.
 |
| A very happy Averill. |
Totally worth the trouble.
