Both Ted and Ryan selected the traditional version, which was a kind of pale tan-yellow in the center. The taste was crumbly, lighter than marzipan but not as light as a macaron, and the texture delightfully melty on the tongue. It was the perfect size for two bites—and would’ve been divine with a cup of strong, French coffee to cut the sweetness.
The clerk said, “Because Jeanne never smiled from the time of their engagement, King René asked his chef to create a sweet for their wedding feast that would make her happy. That’s how the calisson was created.”
“Did she smile when she tasted it?” Ryan asked, a huge smile on his own face.
“She did—and the marriage was content,” the clerk replied with a chuckle.
“We’ll take a box,” Ryan decided.
“As insurance?” Ted asked with another snort of
