It all began with a missed flight at Charles de Gaulle Airport — the kind of travel mishap that leaves you questioning everything. Stranded and slightly frazzled, I stood in line at a busy café, watching locals and tourists alike swoon over what looked like tiny, overpriced cookies. I didn’t get it. What was all the fuss about?

Enter my sister — visionary, though she didn’t know it at the time. That Christmas, she gifted me a macaron-making class. It was a random gesture, one of those “why not?” kind of gifts. And so, the next day, I — a fully grown adult — found myself the only non-child in a baking class led by a French instructor who knew three English words: “yes,” “no,” and “macaron.”

The chaos that followed was a mix of comedy and catastrophe — flying piping bags, sugar clouds, and pure confusion. Yet in that beautiful mess, something clicked: I fell in love with macarons. The precision, the patience, the quiet triumph of getting that smooth shell and chewy center… sticky, maddening, and utterly addictive.

Since then, I’ve spent years perfecting the craft — burning batches, celebrating the wins, and learning that the most beautiful things come from trial and error (and a little powdered sugar). Today, I’m proud to share that journey with you — one handmade macaron at a time.