He's a rebel.
With a cause.
He has a sense of humour.
And it's smart, sharp, and camp.
Pierre Herme is not afraid.
Of the French Pastry Mafia.
Not afraid of French Pastry History.
He knows the classics.
But he knows how to break the rules.
Pierre's in town and he's making new rules.
He's not afraid of color.
Or of referencing sex.
Not afraid of leather.
Not afraid of skin.
Not afraid of surprise.
Pierre Herme is big.
In girth but also in mind.
And he thinks big.
He's bold and subtle all at once.
With some naughtiness thrown in for good measure.
Pierre Herme is alive.
He gets better every year.
He carries around with him, like a vial of snuff, his favorite salts.
He dresses in impeccable clothes.
He's not afraid of the feminine.
Pierre Herme knows packaging is important.
Has a way with words.
Pierre Herme's grammar is perfect.
Even when translated to English.
He has us all falling on our knees to pray to him.
And he never rests on his laurels.
Nothing is ever stale.
The ganache is never dry.
The buttercream ever stiff.
The garnish ever inconsistent.
Pierre Herme is one of the great thinkers of our time.
Don't believe me? be my guest ~ eat his words.
Is sometimes bratty.
Seems ever elusive.
Pierre Herme is my hero.
His new desserts are called collections.
And he treats his business like an haute couture fashion house, but without all the whiny models.
In the macaron catalog some cookies are listed as a one time only moment in time!
He has introduced the macaroon with secret filling surprises. A hidden sour cherry enveloped by pistachio cream hinted with cinnamon and dusted with pink faerie glitter.
Apricot with a tiny powerful hidden thumbprint of chocolate-feuillitene hiding dead center.
Sweet, yes, but worth it.
I love that Pierre Herme can inspire transatlantic flights.
And Eurostar bookings.
3 October: White truffle and hazelnut.
14 November to 14 January: Vanilla.
10 December to 7 January Chocolate and Foie Gras.
Head over heels, somersaulting down the Seine, sleepless and wandering in the Marais, kissing strangers, leaving no crumb of macaron behind, liquefying your credit card for more, tiptoeing through the Amsterdam tulips in love?
And I ate the Isaphan, a rose-lychee-raspberry dessert experience too fast to photograph it. But here's an idea of what it looks like.