The Macaroon that Saved Me
Posted by Anne
Before August, 2007, I’d never tasted a coconut macaroon. Or if I had, it was a puny effort—a light and airy breed of macaroon no bigger than an inch or two in diameter. Pathetic. In 2007, I discovered a real macaroon. That was the year I moved to Durham, North Carolina to complete the final year of my graduate degree in psychology…easily one of the most enriching and tough years of my life.
The work I was doing that year was rewarding, important, and challenging. But it also made me anxious as hell. Was I actually helping people? Was I irritating my supervisors with my endless questions and consultation? Added to my daily dose of anxiety was the fact that I seriously missed my brand new fiancé, our family suffered a crushing loss, and I had the travel budget of a pauper.
As I loved living in North Carolina, it didn’t take long for me to feel homesick. I began combing my temporary city for a place where I could surround myself with people—where I could feel at home without knowing a soul. Yes, long before this blog, I was looking for a way to feel settled amidst a life that felt endlessly ambiguous and ever-so-slightly scary.
Enter: The Coconut Macaroon
The coconut macaroon gave me solace in that lonely, ambiguous year. It can be found at Foster’s Market in Durham, North Carolina, and if you’ve never been there, I’m sorry. You really should go. Like…now. Foster’s Market is a café/deli/specialty food store/coffee shop/old-time candy counter. Take the Barefoot Contessa, strip it of the Hamptons accoutrements, add enamel dishes, throw in some (tastefully) funky mismatched furniture and top it off with ancient picnic tables and a cozy front porch. You have Foster’s Market.
The first time I walked in, I sighed. It was so ME—manifested in everything from the décor to the menu to the dishes. And make no mistake—that place is strategically homey. It’s not accidental…but it worked. For the next 12 months, I went to Foster’s Market almost once a week. On my measly budget, I could feed my body and my sad little emotional state with a bowl of soup, crackers, a cup of coffee, and…the best coconut macaroon on the planet.
These macaroons defy description. First off, they’re chewy. Not light…chewy. Coconut-y. Gooey. And they taste like they should have about a pound of butter in them…except they don’t.
After that first surprising bite, I couldn’t stop. It became a sort of obsession—come Friday afternoon, I’d swoop into the market and blissfully carry away that macaroon in a brown paper bag like it was a fifth of vodka. I’m telling you…that cookie had healing properties.
After 11 coconut-filled months, I was able to say I survived and graduated, leaving the macaroons behind. Strangely, I’ve had the recipe for 2 years, and never made them. I have no idea why. Maybe because I thought they’d never be the same. I’m no longer lonely, and I’ve been known to screw up a batch of cookies. They needed to stay preserved in my culinary memory—I didn’t want them reinvented.
But after 2 years of macaroon withdrawal, I gave in. This week, I hauled out the forgotten cookbook, stared at the recipe, and told myself: “You know, even if they stink, it’s okay. You don’t need this macaroon for emotional healing anymore. Just the sugar.”
I made them. And they rocked. They took me back to that long year in the South, to my talented fellow interns with their encouraging hugs, to my patient supervisors, and my simple little apartment. Those chewy, gooey concoctions remind me that I made it through a year of ambiguity, and I can always make it through another.
What treat helps you through rough patches?
My finished product...
August 18th, 2010 at 7:28 am
What a year that was. I remember you introducing me to Foster’s Market like you had just started dating it (in a way you had…) and wanted to make sure that Mom and I walked away with a good impression. I remember the roasted carrot soup I ate and the darling jars of candy at the front. I also remember how happy you were there, and how that made me happy in turn.
I am not, as a rule, a coconut lover. But your impassioned post here may get me into the kitchen with the recipe regardless. Perhaps this very weekend I will pilot the recipe myself.
As for my own rough-patch remedies? Martha’s Mac and Cheese, tomato bisque, super soft sheets, and Yo Yo Ma.
August 18th, 2010 at 7:36 am
Anne, I remember you writing to me about Foster’s — and those macaroons — in a letter. They must have REALLY made an impression. It reminds of when I lived in Eugene, during a similarly lonely period of my life, and I treated myself to brunch at Marche every Sunday. Often times, it was what got me through the week. Seriously. Your macaroons look beautiful!! My rough patch remedy is any sort of a fruit pie.
August 18th, 2010 at 10:14 am
I want the recipe! I adore macaroons. In tough times, I resort to a big bowl of mashed potatoes. Carb Queen.
August 18th, 2010 at 4:35 pm
When are you going to share these with your local friends, Anne???
For me, I experienced this homesickness when I was overseas and I ate a lot of gelato and gummy bears…so sad, but oh so good
August 19th, 2010 at 2:46 pm
Mashed potatoes, of course. Or, sometimes, a hamburger with a cup of coffee.
Food in The South. How many Southerners depend on Southern cooking for help and inspiration? I suppose a lot of them, if you judge by obesity statistics, but judging is not what one should do when a need for comfort is in play.
Just wondering…does anyone resort to an un-cooked food for comfort? As in, sushi, or something ridiculous like that?
August 20th, 2010 at 8:30 am
Okay. I made them. And??? Amazing!! And I’m not even a “coconut person.” The sweet. The chewy. The delectable goodness. Thanks for writing such rave reviews and prompting me to try them. I’m never looking back.
August 27th, 2010 at 3:04 am
[...] last week my sister Anne wrote an impassioned post about how a simple coconut macaroon helped her through an especially difficult year of graduate [...]
October 3rd, 2010 at 12:20 am
Dark Chocolate, in all its velvety lusciousness, soothes the soul and effortlessly pours itself into those empty bits, bringing a warm, satisfied smile to my emotional self almost every time. It may not be the essential saving ingredient to have during a healing process, but assuredly, there are moments while we are all waiting for life’s laundry to sort itself out, where only chocolate will do.