I got to plan a work lunch for my project teammates and I (under a lot of pressure from Scot), chose Boulevard. Located on the waterfront at Mission and Steuart, Boulevard serves French cuisine and is usually pretty packed. It was a little loud inside and the service was pretty slow, I don’t know whether that had to do with the fact that almost every table was full, but the food was good.

The scallops and the salmon were yummy, nothing incredible although the salmon was cooked perfectly soft and slightly under in the middle, just the way I like it. But the dessert really was the shining star.

When I saw “Chocolate Macaron with Roasted White Chocolate…” I stopped reading. I knew. Of course this prompted an immediate discussion with Scot about what a “macaroon” really is. He thinks when people refer to macaroons, they are talking about the chocolate-dipped coconut balls. Whereas when I hear people say macaroon, I automatically think of the thin, airy, crispy-shelled sweet wonders with a sandwiched filling of even sweeter wonderfulness. Scot considers these “French” macaroons.

I say eat dirt, Scot.

Nevertheless, I asked the server which type of macaroon they served. I, of course, was right and did not hesitate to crow over my victory. But the server said the dessert description was slightly deceiving as what was served wasn’t just a few light cookies. In fact, the macaroon is just a large single cookie placed on top of a almost flourless cake that’s schmeared in ganache. The big light blob is actually a roasted white chocolate pudding-like substance. All I know is that it was divine.

Of course the “Roasted White Chocolate” tag kicked off another round of debate. How do you roast white chocolate exactly? White chocolate is just cocoa butter and sugar right? How can those ingredients be roasted?

I have no idea. And at that moment, as I spooned creamy dark cake, topped with a sliver of chewy, slightly tacky macaroon, I had no cares in the world. The silly little pistachio ice cream ball was smushed into a corner and forgotten. I hate pistachio ice cream. Tastes like frozen sweetened mashed potato to me.After the three-hour lunch (no joke, service was slow) topped off with the giant dessert (I couldn’t finish it unfortunately), my brain was buzzing with sugar and fatigue.

But back to work we went.

It was an awesome lunch.

xoxo,

Jenn