So, everybody knows that I have a sweet tooth, right? Alright, I declare I have a thing for good macarons. I Qype-d this one from me iPhone while in Saarf London and its true, this place has no shop sign that spells out its name, and you do need to look for the giant pink ice-cream cone by the front door to find it.

The Caff.

Can we call this Caff week?

I’m just about sick of freebiesgate at the moment. There is now a provisional ‘need’ (mostly peer induced) to declare what I did/did not pay for, here goes: I paid for the macarons, the coffee, the tea, the camera, my watch is a gift from dad (oh my god! Kang didn’t pay for his watch! He must be condemned to hell forever! I can no longer read his work because I feel so dirty!….. I’ve been catching up on my Family Guy.)

Oh wait, must I also check to see if half the internet has not already written about Macaron? (Oh my god! Kang’s writing about something somebody else wrote about in another foodblog, which I have probably read, hence I must negate the existence of this write-up and treat as a piece of junk!….I’ve really been catching up on my Family Guy.)

On the bright side, if people care enough to read and criticise my work, it must mean I’m doing alright. (pat, pat) (Oh my God! Kang uses far too many brackets and he’s egotistical enough to self pat himself, twice.)

Too soon for jokes?

I’m treating this as a natural break from the usual heavy duty restaurant reviewing; I can’t remember the last time I wrote about the magic of a quiet caff, tucked away in the farthest reaches known to man (Oval tube station), I was glad to chance upon this French outfit, after a fated meeting with one of my culinary heroes in Sarf Londres (John, it was bloody meant to be, and tell your producer to change the camera guy, because you’re Hugh Jackman in person, but Hugh Hefner on Masterchef).

Love is in the air.

Clouds for ceiling and are you admiring all the antique looking teapots at all? How about the wood varnish finished walls, this place is a bona fide beauty isnt it? I wouldn’t say that it’s Paris in London, because, let’s face it, London will never be as sexy as Paris. But it does come quite close (no it doesnt, but we’ll pretend anyway). Fresh pastry beautifully arranged on the marble tabletops, with a window open to the kitchen area, you could sip your brew and watch the chef knead his dough. Ahh, I felt about a million miles away from the draining political humdrum that is ‘Life’. It was easy to relax, as I sank into a deteriorating metal chair and ironically started reading my copy of Monocle.

Glee

Amazingly, this is one of the few times where I’ve failed to jot down any taster notes. There are a variety of flavours (the macarons I mean) , but its not all encompassing, if memory serves me right, I remember, raspeberry, blueberry, orange passionfruit, chocolate pistachio, bergamot, coconut. Hmm, I think that’s about it. I distinctly remember not seeing vanilla, or something dairy, as most of the flavours were fruit based, perhaps they change to reflect the seasons? My choices were blueberry, raspberry and orange passionfruit (I have a sneak suspicion, it is more that just orange passionfruit..). It is about a week since, and memory tells me that they were pretty able macarons, soft but not so mushy soft that it sticks to your teeth; with but just a slight crunch, ever so very light and fresh tasting. Hmprh. Not legendary, although it did leave me feeling a lot of glee.

On the whole, this was a charming little place. I stopped in the French caff for about an hour. It was tranquil enough to clear my mind. Political reading quickly turned to watching bread kneading which in turn, morphed into people watching. Sipping tea and watching the world go by; For a brief moment in time, Life was beautiful, once again.

The Gist of It
Macaron
22 The Pavement SW4 0HY (020) 7498 2636
£3 for a macaron

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