Somewhere, wrapped deep within one's obligatory adult layers of pleasantries, manners and social mores, is a five year-old with an insatiable appetite for cake.
Hyperbole and a Half's Allie Brosh explains this phenomenon best.
Though there were social mores a-plenty at Duchess Bake Shop's recent cookbook launch (a fine volume that is well worth a purchase), I suspected that, lurking just barely below the surface of smart dresses and neatly pressed pants, was an entire army of five years olds at the ready, just waiting for their cue to strip the universe of sweetness.
Towering, many-hued macaron edifices, a multiverse of tarts, and sparkling petals of madeleines waited - no, veritably tempted and practically taunted. A silent, siren song of sweets. Kitchen tours set to the gentle strains of cellos and other string instruments produced little tidbits, like how Duchess's key lime pie sprung fully formed from the brow of a happy accident, namely, an unexpected shipment of limes. Or that French bakers always open a shop in Tokyo, because the Japanese public has a relentless desire for French baked goods. Or that no one - absolutely no one - order Paris Brest when Duchess first opened shop, and co-owner Giselle dutifully ate countless Parisian dainties for breakfast when the public spurned these international goodies in favour of more recognizable fare.
And so it goes. No more do baked goods wait in vain, yearning for a lover of pastries who will never arrive. No; Duchess outgrew its original space and expanded next door, opening "Provisions" in its natal digs and conjuring up a Parisian-Victorian room of jeweled chandeliers, backlit shelves (on of which proudly sports a tiny, gilded ornamental reindeer head), and counter upon on counter of baked goods. Fodder for the wildest childhood fantasies of everyone's inner five year-old.