Gaufres de Chez Meert

As the cold weather begins to envelop Melbourne this week, I’ve been thinking about Lille. For me, visiting Max’s hometown means a great many things. It means cold weather, sometimes snow. It means comfort food and hot drinks and long, indulgent meals en famille. It also means eating the gaufres de Chez Meert.

It’s no secret that I have a bit of a sweet tooth. From delicate macarons to thick slices of brioche studded with sugar crystals and spread with nutella, visiting Lille is a little bit like a trip to your grandparents house, where all the things that are off limits in normal life are allowed.

When max first told me about the waffles on offer at Chez Meert, I was unenthusiastic. As a child in Australia, waffles came frozen in boxes, and on rare occasions we were allowed to pop one in the toaster and eat it drenched in maple syrup with a scoop of Peter’s vanilla ice cream. Delicious, yes, but not in comparison to all the other finely crafted sweet treats France has to offer. I had also tasted a waffle in Belgium a few months earlier, and whilst I enjoyed the nutella-smeared, whipped cream-adorned concoction, I wouldn’t have returned in a hurry. Max simply shook his head at my reticence and said ‘Tu verra’.

And see, I did.

These ‘waffles’ could not be further from those of my childhood, or the one I’d eaten in Brussels. These were long, delicate, pliable tongue-shaped wafers, sandwiched together by an intoxicating vanilla bean paste. They were as moist as other waffles are dry, and require no accompaniments whatsoever, except perhaps a strong espresso to cut through the sweetness.

In the interest of research, I tasted not only their classic flavour, but their speculoos one too. And though we all know how much I love speculoos, I think the classic just wins out in the flavour race.

Getting to eat a gaufres from Chez Meert has long been a treat exclusively reserved for trips to Lille, and the only way to enjoy them back home in Paris’ 9^th arrondissement was to buy up big on our last day in Lille and practise extreme self-control on the car ride home.  But, with the 2012 opening of a Meert café in Paris, this is no longer the case.

So be sure to check them out next time you are in Paris, or Lille. You’ll never think of waffles the same way again.

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Chez Meert image courtesy of fred_v on Flickr.
Waffle image courtexy of bionicgrrrl on Flickr.

Eating Our Way Through February

February has been a busy month.

On the 9^th we attended the wedding of good friends in Sydney, where we ate, drank and danced the night away. On the 12^th we celebrated my 24^th birthday with cocktails, sangria and tapas. On the 14^th we enjoyed a lovely home cooked meal (even though Max doesn’t believe in Valentines Day) of French champagne and duck confit. On the 16^th we parted ways for our respective hens and bucks weekends (both of which involved a great deal of eating and drinking), and on the 23^rd, we will be married in a restaurant.

We celebrate the only way we know how – with good food and good wine.

All of this celebrating is well and good, but eating pork belly twice in one week, churros and cupcakes in the same night, and countless glasses of champagne do not a skinny bride make.

Now, truth be told, I am not really concerned with losing x amount of kilos before the big day. I bought a dress that fitted me at my usual, average size. It is a dress that will forgive a kilo or two either side. It is a dress that understands that my love of good food will always trump my desire to look like Miranda Kerr in a bikini.

Many of my already-married friends keep assuring me that with all the last minute stress in the lead up, I’ll drop a few kilos without even noticing.

To this statement I take great exception. I am just not someone who gets busy and forgets to eat. In fact, I don’t think I have ever, in the history of my existence, forgotten to eat. I may have missed a meal somewhere along the line, but I can assure you it wasn’t because it slipped my mind.

I get stressed, and busy, and head directly for the Nutella jar, spoon in hand. Or I decide that a packet of neon orange Twisties from the work vending machine are a good choice. Stress does not make me lose weight. And that’s okay.

I fully intend to eat a decent breakfast, morning tea and lunch prior to our afternoon wedding. And at said wedding, I will be sure to enjoy every last bite of canapés, entrée, main, dessert and cake.

It is my ‘big’ day after all!

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Champagne image courtesy of chrischapman on Flickr.
Cupcake image courtesy of shimelle on Flickr.
Nutella jar courtesy of p3nnylan3 on Flickr.

People Who Own Cake Stands

Lately I’ve developed an infatuation with cake stands. Or to be more precise, the idea of owning a cake stand. Allow me to explain.

I love what cake stands, and by extension, their owners, represent. The elusive and somewhat mystical cake stand owner is a curious creature who is:
a) a regular and talented baker and
b) has enough self-control to exist in close proximity to a large portion of delicious baked goods and not eat it all in one go.

I often fantasize about what my life would be like as one such cake stand owner. I’d wear a lot of frilly aprons, of course (but I’d wear them ironically, not in a repressed housewife kind of way), and I’d bake a tantalising array of gourmet delights. Perhaps I’d prepare an understated fig and almond tart on Tuesday, or an elaborate multi-layer chocolate cake on Sunday.

I wouldn’t bake out of necessity (though I would believe that baking imperatives exist), or with a particular occasion in mind. I’d bake simply for the joy of it.

Of course, implicit in the cake stand scenario is the notion that I’d also be the kind of person who welcomes a steady stream of friends and family into my home for a cup of tea and something sweet at any given time. And of course, the natural extension of cake stand owning is that I’d be quickly approached by Vogue Living wanting to do a feature on my home.

Fantasy firmly established in my mind, I was about to make the purchase when it occurred to me. I’m a terrible baker (there’s just something about precision of measurement that doesn’t sit well with me). And I’m also awful at resisting temptation in the form of baked goods. And the fact that I live in a security-coded building in a different state to my family tends to put a bit of a dampener on those unexpected ‘drop-ins’. Reluctantly, I set the item of my desire down and left the store.

Besides, I reasoned, if Vogue did call, I’d still have plenty of time to rush out and buy one.

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Delicious baked goods img courtesy of Kiwifraiz on Flickr.
Apron img courtesy of louisemakesstuff on Flickr.