Filthy dirty Marcolini eclair chat

M: Why is the despair always so thick on Fridays, Emma?

E: I dunno. Because it’s supposed to feel joyful but it doesn’t? If I could be arsed I’d go and buy a cake. BUT I CAN’T

M: I want one of those Marcolini éclairs.


E: I was thinking éclair too, but raspberry as they are closer.

M: Mouais. My feeling on éclairs is that they should be brown. Deliciously brown. Like our much beloved, much mourned cappuccino éclair.

E: On fait avec les moyens du bord.*

M: And I want that hit of salty caramel.

E: I hear you.

M: That soft creamy filling.

E: Damn you, stop making me think about it.

M: The crunch of the praline topping.

E: Bastarding Marcolini and his devil éclair.

M: And his wretched “tartine” spreadable salted caramel, with its siren song. It goes something like this:

Spreeeead me

Spreeeeead me on a hot crumpet


E: Does Tartine have a voice like Jacques Brel? Or is it more… Axelle Red?

M: I do not know. I do not care. I am too busy stuffing it into my mouth with a spoon.

* We do what we can.

Where: Pierre Marcolini, Place du Grand Sablon in Brussels. Lots of other locations in Belgium and France, including inside the Eurostar terminal in Brussels, conveniently. Londoners, I believe you can buy Tartine at Verde & Co in Spitalfields.

4 Responses to “Filthy dirty Marcolini eclair chat”
  1. Ammo says:

    Can you send me a chocolate eclair ?

  2. You sadists! I want one. I noticed the eclair is already pointed face-ward. J’accuse! I imagine it met it’s end seconds after you clicked the shutter.
    I suppose I will just have to spoon nutella from the jar directly into my face instead. Hangs head.

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