There is a tragic tale of the Last Dragonfruit Macaron which I wish I could tell you but the story is sealed in a time capsule until the next millennium, when the next Dragonfruit arises from its meringuey slumber and soars the sky blue skies again seeking the juicy polyps of the lum lum berry. This is a tale of pink hitherto unknown. The seeds of fortune tucked therein, bursting with the nutty goodness of essential oils and dulcet surprise of ganache. I was yearning for something, having just returned from the market finding nothing to smooth the edges of my life. What I needed, what we all need: the dragonfruit macaron.
If you’re still with us on March 7, 3002 (it’s a Sunday), I’ll be able to tell you more.