I’ve had a few messages lately asking me to bring in more of my French and Caribbean roots, how they show up in my herbalism, how they flavor the way I talk about plants and daily rituals.

I was born and raised in France (with a detour through the French Caribbean), got my first degree from the Sorbonne but a lot of what I know about herbs doesn’t come from books. It comes from kitchens that smelled like anise and orange peel, from grandmothers who used lemongrass to cure everything from headaches to heartbreak, and from the deeply French belief that dessert is a birthright, not a guilty pleasure.

So I’m starting this side series called Camille in Paris (I know.) for longer deep dives. I recommend listening to it on the Substack app since this will be longer than my usual posts. (And Substack let me know than it will arrive truncated in Gmail inboxes)

So today, we’re talking macarons. Not the glossy ones with Instagram agendas. The real ones. The rustic, almond-heavy, single-cookie kind that nuns used to bake. And of course, the tea that goes with them.

Because in my world, you never eat something sweet without something steeped.

So brew a strong cup of something comforting, maybe crush some basil into your palm if you're feeling fancy, and let’s wander through the real history of the macaron.

Before There Were Macarons, There Were Monks.

We all have an image in our head of what a macaron is.

We picture it perfectly round, pastel-colored, filled with ganache, and stacked in a pyramid inside a gilded box. A luxury item. A status snack. Something you eat with your pinky raised and your soul a little tired.

But that macaron, the double-decker, buttercream-filled, photogenic diva of pâtisserie, is only one version. A recent one. And if you trace the crumbs back far enough, you’ll find that the real story starts in a monastery, not a Parisian tea salon.

The original macaron was nothing more than a simple cookie.
A bit rustic. A little cracked on top. Chewy inside.
It wasn’t designed to impress. It was designed to keep.
Made to survive Lent and last on a shelf.

Macarons Were Monastic Before They Were Chic

Let’s begin with what no one wants to admit: the French macaron is likely Italian.

The earliest known ancestors of the macaron likely came from Italy, sometime during the Middle Ages, probably out of the kitchens of Venetian monks. These early cookies were made by hand from crushed almonds, sugar, and egg whites. No butter, no milk, no flour. Which made them ideal for religious fasting periods like Lent, when anything remotely indulgent was off-limits.

You could argue that the original macaron wasn’t just a cookie. It was an herbalist’s pantry item, nutrient-dense, shelf-stable, and perfectly suited to the dietary rules of its time. It carried protein and sweetness without breaking canon law. Which makes it one of the few desserts in history that could be described as both holy and convenient.

Some sources trace the term “macaron” to the Italian word maccare, meaning “to crush” or “to mash,” a nod to the almond paste that made up its core. It wasn’t a treat, not yet. It was function first, with flavor as a bonus.

Catherine de Medici and the Cookie That Crossed Borders

The macaron didn’t become French until Catherine de Medici married Henri II of France in 1533 and brought her culinary entourage with her, including pastry chefs trained in the fine arts of almond sweets.

Catherine was the type of woman who didn’t travel without her kitchen staff. She knew what she liked, and she wasn’t about to give it up for soggy French food (That’s her imagined point of view, not mine of course). So when she set up court in Paris, her chefs brought their repertoire with them, including recipes for almond-based cookies not yet known to the French.

From royal tables, the cookie spread, slowly, quietly.
Into monasteries. Into bakeries.
Into the hands of people who didn’t care what it looked like, as long as it was good.

Macarons in Literature: Rabelais to Dumas

François Rabelais, the 16th-century satirist best known for his bawdy intellect, mentioned a “small round almond pastry” in his writing, suggesting that macarons were already common enough to warrant a name-check by one of the Renaissance’s most sarcastic minds.

Three centuries later, Alexandre Dumas. yes, The Three Musketeers Dumas, devoted not one, not two, but three separate recipes to macarons in his 1873 Grand dictionnaire de cuisine. Not bad for a man best known for plotting revenge stories and swordfights.

Here’s how Dumas made his macarons:

1. Bitter Almond Macarons

The boldest version. No sweetness to soften the edges.

“Take 500 grams of bitter almonds that you will grind and dry in the oven.
Then crush them with three egg whites, gently, so they do not turn to oil.
Mix with 1.5 kilos of caster sugar.
Shape your macaroons and bake at a very moderate heat.”

Not for the faint of palate. These are the kind of cookies that sit confidently on a plate and dare you to underestimate them.

2. Sweet Almond Macarons with Lemon

A gentler cousin. Floral, fragrant, forgiving.

“Peel and dry 500 grams of sweet almonds.
Crush them in the same manner, and follow the same procedure,
adding only the zest of one grated lemon.
Mix with the sugar and almonds, shape, and bake.”

Perfect for pairing with lemon balm tea and the kind of day that unfolds slowly.

3. Puffed Macarons with Green Walnuts

A little quirky. A little candied. Surprisingly elegant.

“Peel and slice 500 grams of green walnuts into thin slivers.
Mix with 75 grams of sugar and a little egg white.
Dry in the oven. Let cool.
Prepare an icing with two egg whites and 1 kilo of superfine sugar.
Add the green walnuts, fold gently, and bake as usual.”

The green walnuts give this one a slight edge, think earthy sweetness, not sugar rush.

Regional Pride and the Rise of the Unfilled Macaron

Once the almond cookie took root in France, the French did what they always do with food: make it regional, make it personal.

To this day, several towns claim to hold the original macaron recipe, not just a variation, but the one. Here are just a few of the contenders:

• Saint-Émilion: Baked by Ursuline nuns in the 1600s. Because guess who had time, almonds, and centuries-old knowledge of how to stretch a pantry? Nuns, of course. These are still made today by Nadia Fermigier using the original method. One cookie. Corrugated paper. No filling. No fanfare. They’re called Les Véritables Macarons de Saint-Émilion

• Nancy: During the French Revolution, two Benedictine nuns (again), later known as Les Sœurs Macarons, sold almond cookies to survive after being driven from their convent. Their macaron is chewy, simple, and still handmade.

• Saint-Jean-de-Luz: Served at the royal wedding of Louis XIV and Maria Theresa of Spain in 1660. That’s right. The Basque macaron is wedding cake certified.

• Amiens: Denser and sweeter, often including honey and vanilla. Think of it as the French marzipan’s softer, breadier cousin.

• Montmorillon: Known since the 17th century. Cracked on top, soft in the center, and still protected by a PGI (Protected Geographical Indication) status in France.

• Cormery: Famously shaped like a monk’s belly button. Which, honestly, is reason enough to keep the tradition alive.

Each town’s version uses the same basic trio - almond, sugar, egg white - but with slightly different ratios, shapes, and rituals.

So where were we? Right, monks, almonds, literary name-drops, green walnut puff cookies, and French nuns side-hustling almond paste in the middle of a revolution.

And now… Paris shows up

The Parisian Macaron Arrives (1862 & 1930s Edition)

For centuries, macarons stayed local, unchanged, unfilled, often made by hand and sold from behind a small wooden counter. But then came Ladurée.

The first Ladurée bakery opened in 1862, founded by Louis-Ernest Ladurée, a Parisian miller with excellent timing. Around that same period, the city was transforming. Paris was becoming Paris, the one with boulevards and balconies and all the aesthetic pressure that still echoes in every café owner today.

It was a time when everything, from your outfit to your coffee cup, was expected to perform beauty.

So it’s no surprise that a cookie as unassuming as the macaron would soon be... upgraded.

But the real transformation didn’t come until the 1930s, when Pierre Desfontaines, grandson of the original founder, did something that would change pastry forever:

He took two almond macaron shells and pressed a layer of ganache in between.

That’s it. That was the move.

Two cookies became one dessert.
Rustic became refined.
And the macaron became the blueprint for every elegant, curated, ridiculously photogenic sweet that would follow.

From there, the Parisian macaron became a canvas.
Pastry chefs filled them with buttercream, curds, compotes, or ganache.
They dusted them with gold, dipped them in chocolate, infused them with truffle oil and rose petals and yuzu and matcha.
They made them taste like salted caramel and Earl Grey and violet and birthday cake.
And of course, they dyed them.

Pale pink. Mint green. Lavender. Glossy white.
Colors designed not just to taste good, but to match the handbags of the people eating them.

From Monastery to Market: The Global Domestication of the Macaron

It didn’t stop in Paris. Once Ladurée and Pierre Hermé locked in their reputations, the macaron went global.

Boutiques opened in New York, Tokyo, Dubai, Seoul, Los Angeles, and Doha. The macaron became a high-end export, a culinary souvenir, a symbol of "good taste" both literally and aspirationally.

Airlines served them. Hotels arranged them on silver trays. Brides stacked them into towers.
Meanwhile, influencers filtered them, lifestyle bloggers recommended them, and more than one skincare line was inspired by their color palette.

Food evolves.
We brand things.
We turn old stories into new trends.

But I think it’s worth remembering that the macaron didn’t start out elegant.
It started out practical. Rural. Humble. Sometimes even a little ugly.
And honestly? That version still has a lot to teach us.

Tea Pairing: What to Drink with a Real Macaron

If you’ve only ever had the Parisian version, this tea still works.
But if you happen to find yourself in front of a Saint-Émilion, Nancy, or Amiens-style macaron, no filling, no flair, this blend is the one I want steeping beside it.

Almond Moon Herbal Blend

A tea for almond cookies, and quiet afternoons, and the kind of sweet that doesn’t need a wrapper.

Ingredients:

• 1 tsp dried lemon balm – bright and calming

• ½ tsp dried linden – sweet and nervine-friendly

• ½ tsp roasted dandelion root – toasty, grounding, digestive (and yes, optional)

• A small pinch of rose petals – not mandatory, but lovely

Instructions:

Steep in just-boiled water for 7-10 minutes.
Cover your cup while it steeps to keep the aromatics in.
Strain, sip, and resist the urge to sweeten.

This is a pairing meant to balance, not compete. The herbs mirror the cookie’s roots: simple, practical, a little poetic.

The Cookie That Refused to Be Simplified

The macaron, like any herbal recipe or kitchen ritual, is both a story and a survival method.

Its roots are in restriction, in what monks and nuns weren’t allowed to eat.
Its rise came from migration, carried from Italy to France by chefs and queens.
Its legacy is built on reinvention, regional claims, literary shoutouts, and double-decker design upgrades.

And somehow, despite all the edits and embellishments, it still carries the bones of its beginning:
Almond. Sugar. Egg white.
And the quiet sense that sweet doesn’t have to mean loud.

So yes, I love a macaron. Not so much the pretty one.
I love the simple one.

I love the fact that somewhere in France, someone still wraps a Saint-Émilion macaron in paper and sells it for cash.
No box. No velvet bag. Just the cookie.

And I love that I can sip tea, tell you this story, and know that the original version is still out there, alive.

What to Drink With the Modern Macaron

Because even the glossy ones deserve the right herbal companion

Let’s say you’re not in Saint-Émilion or Nancy.
Let’s say the macaron in front of you is bright pink, ganache-filled, and came in a tiny box with gold foil accents. Maybe you picked it up from Ladurée. Maybe it was a gift.

It helps to balance it with the right kind of tea. Not just for flavor, but for what it does to the body after sugar and a rich bite of buttercream go cascading through the bloodstream.

The Parisian Macaron Pairing Set

My Vanilla Rose London Fog tea blend is perfect for it!

For citrus or fruit-filled macarons (lemon, raspberry, passionfruit):

Lemon verbena + peppermint + dried orange peel

• Crisp. Sharp. Clears the palate between bites.

For rich or dark flavors (chocolate, coffee, caramel):

dandelion + cinnamon + cardamom

• Like a spiced mock-latte.

• Warm and bittersweet, to meet the richness head-on.

Why This Matters (Herbally Speaking)

Macarons, especially modern ones, are deceptively intense.
They’re small, yes, but with high-sugar fillings.

Pairing them with herbal tea isn’t just aesthetic. It’s functional.

• Herbs like fennel, peppermint, cardamom, and dandelion are time-tested carminatives and digestive allies.

• Rose, and lemon balm soothe the nervous system.

• Cinnamon and orange peel help ground the sweet with a little bit of bitter.

The Macaron Didn’t Disappear. It Just Moved.

A little note, because this cookie didn’t just survive in France’s wine towns and convent bakeries. It quietly packed its bags and caught the next colonial ship to the French Caribbean.

In Martinique, you can still walk into a boulangerie and buy a flat, rustic macaron, no filling, no pastel shell, no ganache.

That versions is often made with grated coconut flour mixed into the almond base, especially in local home kitchens. In some recipes, condensed milk makes an appearance, depending on what’s available or what grandma decided was acceptable.

What This Has to Do with Herbalism (Stay With Me)

You might be thinking, “Okay, but why is a tea-sipping, herb-blending newsletter telling me all this?”

Because the macaron’s story is a classic example of how most things start as everyday kitchen staples, often with practical or spiritual uses, and evolve into something else entirely. They get commercialized, rebranded, and sometimes stripped of their roots. (Sound familiar, elderberry?)

Bakers weren’t working in isolation from herbalists, they were herbalists.
You baked to nourish, to celebrate, to mark time. You used what grew.
You didn’t waste. You made cookies that lasted.

Also: it’s a reminder that what we call authentic is often just what made it into the marketing brochure.

The original macarons weren’t colorful. They weren’t dainty. And they didn’t show up in pastel Marie Antoinette scenes until someone decided they should.

But they were, and still are, rooted in place, tradition, and the very practical magic of making something beautiful from what’s already in your pantry.

Coconut Macaron Recipe (Martinique Style)

Some people like them dry and toasty, almost biscuit-like.
Others want them soft in the middle, gently golden around the edges.

Yields: 5 large macarons
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Bake Time: 40-45 minutes
Calories: ~394 per macaron
Oven Temp: 170°C / 340°F (convection or fan-assisted)

Ingredients:

• 1 medium egg white

• 220 g finely grated fresh coconut

• 65 g flour

• 68 g cane sugar

• Zest of one lime

• 1 tsp vanilla extract

• 2 pinches grated nutmeg

• ½ tsp ground cinnamon

• (Optional: pinch of salt for the egg whites)

Instructions:

1. Prepare the Coconut
   Crack open a fresh coconut, peel, and finely grate the flesh. Set aside.
   (If you’re using store-bought dried coconut, see the notes below for adjustments.)

2. Preheat the Oven
   Set your oven to 170°C / 340°F, fan-assisted if available.

3. Whip the Egg White
   In a bowl, beat the egg white with a pinch of salt until stiff peaks form.
   Gradually add the sugar while continuing to beat, until the mixture becomes glossy and sticky.

4. Add Flavor
   Fold in the lime zest, vanilla, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Stir gently to keep the volume.

5. Mix the Dough
   Add in the grated coconut, followed by the flour. Use a spatula or wooden spoon to mix until everything is evenly incorporated. The dough will be thick and won’t spread in the oven, don’t expect it to behave like batter.

6. Shape the Macarons
   Line a baking tray with parchment paper.
   Scoop large spoonfuls (about 8–10 cm in diameter), and shape them gently. Use a fork to flatten slightly to about 1 cm thick.

7. Bake
   Place on the middle rack and bake for 40-45 minutes, depending on your oven. You want them lightly golden on top and slightly browned underneath.

Notes & Tips:

• Dried coconut? If you’re using packaged, shredded coconut instead of fresh:

  • Your cookies will come out much drier, as the moisture and fat have been stripped during processing.

  • You may want to reduce baking time slightly or rehydrate the coconut first.

  • The weight of dried coconut is lower than fresh for the same volume, so measure by grams, not by cups.

• Want it drier? Add 15–20g extra flour for a firmer, more biscuit-like finish.

• Storage:
  Keeps for several days at room temp in an airtight container. They also make great mini versions to serve with herbal tea or spiced coffee.

• Serving idea:
  Try pairing with a cooling herbal tea like lemon verbena, lemongrass, or a ginger-lime blend.

In Conclusion: Not All That Crumbles Is Lost

Whether you’re eating a monk’s belly button in Cormery (again, not a joke) or sipping tea with a rose-petal-dusted macaron from a Paris tearoom, you’re part of a long, winding culinary tradition, one that spans centuries, politics, and more almond flour than seems reasonable.

Macarons didn’t start perfect. They didn’t start pretty. They started practical.

Which is exactly what makes them worth savoring.

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Sources & Further Reading

For those interested in exploring the history and evolution of macarons, here are the French sources:

• Histoire des macarons : de l’Italie à la France, une gourmandise au succès mondial
  An insightful article detailing the journey of macarons from their Italian origins to their establishment in French culinary tradition.
  Read the article​

• Grand dictionnaire de cuisine by Alexandre Dumas (1873)
  This comprehensive culinary encyclopedia by the famed novelist includes detailed recipes for various macaron types, reflecting 19th-century French gastronomy.
  View the original text​

• François Rabelais' Mention of Macarons
  An early literary reference to macarons as "small round almond pastries," underscoring their presence in 16th-century French cuisine.
  Explore the reference​

Dosage and Safety Considerations

The information provided in this newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only and is not intended as medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Herbal practices and uses discussed are not a substitute for professional healthcare.

While herbs are natural, they are also bioactive substances, and proper dosage, preparation, and use are important. Always follow reputable dosing guidelines for each herb and consult with a qualified healthcare provider before using any herbs, especially if you are pregnant, nursing, taking medications, have known allergies, or have existing medical conditions.

Anyone experiencing severe symptoms or managing chronic health issues should seek professional guidance before using herbs.

Individual responses to herbs may vary, and no outcomes are guaranteed. The author makes no claims regarding the effectiveness, safety, or suitability of any herb for any particular person.

Readers assume all responsibility for their personal health decisions based on the information presented. The author disclaims all liability for any loss, injury, or damage allegedly arising from the use or application of the information in this newsletter.

Camille Charles is the voice behind The Minimalist Herbalist. Herbal researcher. Best-selling author. Professional over-doer of tinctures. Consumer advocate. Currently earning a doctorate in curriculum design, on a mission to make herbal education less confusing and more honest.

She believes learning about herbs should feel empowering, not overwhelming. You’ll find her distilling rose water in an Instant Pot, repurposing olive jars for cacao butter, and making overnight nettle infusions like it’s a sacred ritual. She talks way too much about womb health, nettle, and why your juicer is probably lying to you.

If there’s an herb for it, she’s tried it, and probably turned it into a teachable moment.

Grab a cup. Tea’s brewing.