Listen. I love art. I love architecture. I could throw down a mattress and live among the Van Goghs in the Musee d’Orsay. However, if push came to shove, if I visited Paris and did only one thing, it would have to be EAT. Thankfully, the Le Meurice did the dirty work for me, because there was a plate of magnificent macaroons waiting for me when I checked in. I don’t need to tell you that my sister and I ate three apiece promptly–we hadn’t eaten since the eggs Benny in London!–and I just polished off the last two, even though my belly is full of steak frites. (Post to come.) Jealous much?