Wanted: Job that would fulfill all wanderlust requirements

I am feeling the pressure. The towel rack I ordered is in at Crate & Barrel. They just left me a message. 

The towel rack I fell in like with, during one of my many travels and stays at certain properties my husband had jeweled status at, is ready for pickup. 

I'd noticed the display rack out of the corner of my eye while purchasing a shower gift at C&B last month. 
Previously, attempts  to purchase one like it on line or hide it in a carry on (just kidding) had failed me. So I was happy to find one that could be obtained without jail time. 

The towel rack -- which was back ordered, but not a problem -- opened up a line of conversation with the C&B associate who helped with the ordering process. I told her I had seen it at home and abroad while traveling, but never in their catalogue. And then our discussion drifted to traveling.
She had lived abroad before children and we got off on a tangent about Paris and Amsterdam, from where I had just returned, to talking about my next stop -- Las Vegas -- where you can pretend travel. Like EPCOT. And the air-conditioning is better. 

I could see the wanderlust in her eyes. My daughter gets that look when she tells people she wants to visit all the continents before she turns 25. I usually get wistful while reading travel sections and mags and while watching PBS. 

She asked me if I travelled for business or pleasure and I explained Europe this time was to visit my tumbleweed daughter -- who is working as an au pair to improve her French, while squeezing in weekend travel adventures, before returning to the states to go to graduate school. Las Vegas was to relax, and write, while my husband was conferencing. 

Somehow our conversation jumped to travel expert Rick Steves and how he always gives a different perspective to the cities he visits. Something I try to do on each of my adventures. 

I chimed in that I could offer Steves a new perspective to travel. Travel for middle-age women worried about their ankles swelling. 

She suggested I contact him. I admitted I checked the careers on his website every once in a while. Most times they are too techy for me. 
Now that we are empty nesters there would be time for a job. 

The perfect job, besides blogging --which hasn't been as lucrative as I had hoped, would involve travel. Even with my phobias of highway driving, glass elevators and ridiculously high escalators I do manage to get places on vacation. 

Okay so we probably took a few more double decker buses in London where there weren't working elevators at the Tube stations.  I lived thru my Iguazu waterfall adventure (again a blog for another time).  
Another niche audience, besides middle-age women wary of swollen ankles, might be travelers with phobias.

I love sharing travel tips and ideas with friends and family. 

I used to think the perfect job, after leaving newspapers, would be a segment producer for Oprah's show. Of course I would joke with friends that I would need limo service to get to and from the city and a salary that would make giving up coffee group, book group, and all of my other activities negotiable. 

Oprah ended her show. Maybe she was jealous of my life. And no offers for me to replace her came forward. So I blog.  

My daughter was recently making fun of me for taking a sabbatical from my blog sabbatical. I noticed her travel blog has not been updated. 

Thank you loyal readers for being patient. I am going to cut this blog short and contact Rick Steves.

AVAILABLE: Travel segment producer for niche middle-age woman audience. 

You never know. 
Then I can go pick up the towel rack at C&B.

Holy Mac-arons

I am that person who always looks at the dessert menu before choosing which entree I will order. 

I will balance a whole day of calories to fit in a special dessert. 

I eat chocolate, though not always dark and more rarely white, every day for medicinal purposes. 

While visiting my daughter, who is living in the City of Lights, last month, where she is operating under the auspices of being an au pair for an authentic French family, I signed up my sister and myself for a macaron baking class at Cook'n With Class, a cooking school in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. 

Forgive the length of that last sentence. I am still operating on a sugar high that two days of jet lag could not dissipate. 

My sister/travel pal and I were on an eight-day Paris/Amsterdam adventure. 

You might say we were once again living vicariously through my daughter, her favorite niece, and taking advantage of this student of the globe's language and orienteering skills. 

 This  was our third trip to see what the kid (also my missing in action IT girl) was up to. We had visited her in Spain when she was studying abroad two years ago and last year caught up with her while she was interning in Chile. 

My sister puts up with my snoring on these visits. And I try to navigate our travel plans around her low tolerance of museums. We love hop-on, hop-off tour buses to get an overview of our destinations. We rely on my daughter's recommendations and our concierge staff to not only take advantage of the obvious tourist attractions, but to go off the beaten path -- literally in Iguazu to see the waterfalls between Argentina and Brazil. 

I promise you loyal readers that trip was a blog unto itself and I shall sit and write it someday before the details become too fuzzy or exaggerated. 

Back to the macarons (I am spelling the cookie this way because it is the way our culinary instructor Briony Laberthonniere typed it in the note and recipe she sent after I graduated from the three-hour baking class). 
Macaroons ROONS in the states. Macarons RAHNS in France. There was no coconut in the French treat.

We booked the class when our trip to Normandy got cancelled and my sister dug her heals in when I suggested we check out another museum. I'd Googled the cooking classes for something to do between meals while my daughter was working. They also offered shopping with the chef outings that would then produce lunch and dinner gastro experiences.There are other baking classes in their catalogue.
My sister and I had spent the previous day marching up and down drizzly Montmartre on a very good "free city tour" and visiting the Mona Lisa with a few thousand fans. So I was looking for something a little more relaxing and different to polish off our Paris stay. 

We'd already tasted our way thru a few boulangerie and dessert menus.

So after lunch at the local boulangerie, near our boutique hotel, where we shared an amazing eclair, we waved goodbye to the daughter and taxied off to our baking adventure. 

The last time my sister and I baked together we were trying to save three batches of cookies for a cookie exchange she was going to. That year for a birthday present I sent her a proper dough stirring spoon, because her utensils literally don't cut it.
A champion brownie maker, pro bake sale mom and pie artisan I have plenty of utensils in my kitchen. At least I thought so until aproning-up for the macaron class and realizing we would be weighing ingredients for accuracy purpose and using professional sifters and strainers I don't have at home. I also don't keep almond flour handy in the pantry. Obstacles, obstacles, obstacles.
I was not intimidated by the project, despite the fact we would be measuring in liters not ounces. I wasn't even shaken by the fact the eggs had already been separating for days, awaiting our decision over whether we would make the meringue for the macarons the French way or the Italian way.
The five Americans registered for the class voted unanimously for the Italian way. This did not offend our instructor, a native Aussie, who had explained the different prep methods to get the perfect meringue for the task ahead.
I have been making my own very popular chocolate chip meringue cookies the French way, sprinkling in the sugar. The Italian way you liquefy the sugar before adding it to the peaks. By liquefying the sugar you have much more control.
I will not bore you with too many other details about the afternoon's baking. Even after we mastered the piping of the petite puffs and later the filling and coupling of the cushions, we were awed by the experience. Three different ganaches gave them their distinct tastes. The outer shell, had one taste but we made them in three different colors, brushing gold dust on the salted caramel filled pastries.
Each of us packed up a baker's dozen of the delights to take home. Orphans were taste tested by the class and I think we really surprised ourselves.
My sister's set made it safely back to Philadelphia. I shared my box with the concierge at my hotel, then sent the rest of my macarons home with my daughter to let the family she works for sample them.
How do you say thumbs up in French?
On the taxi ride back to our hotel, before meeting one of my daughter's friends for dinner and dessert (but of course), I figured out each macaron cost about $12. Yes, you could buy a dozen at Costco for under $9 for Mother's Day last week.
Trust me they do not taste the same. The experience, however, was priceless.
I am not claiming that our batches were as good as those you might purchase in Paris at Ladur'ee.
The experience, however, was priceless.

***

I have attached the link to the cooking school if you want to step up to the challenge. 

Join Cook'n With Class on Facebook: http://on.fb.me/facecwc for the latest news and Paris activities.

I am trying to upload the recipe and a troubleshooting file but I will need help from my IT Gal.