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Shortly after I received an email from Anna - the girl who used to bake all the viennoiseries, tart crusts and cannelés, and turned out to be a lovely friend -, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic about the overwhelming ten weeks I spent at Pierre Hermé Paris.
This is the place I want to be right now. The place I miss the most I the entire world (hopefully, I might be able to go back; cross your fingers for me).

I’m afraid you won’t hear more for today. Just my endless love for pâtisserie, and more specifically Pierre Hermé’s. It’s funny how, more than two months after it finished, I still have some automated reactions:
- I tend to use vous a lot, even when talking to people my age
- I shout chaud! when walking behind someone
- I hate it when my flatmates put knives in the sink. “Didn’t you learn that any sharp tool should be washed immediately to avoid unnecessary cuts?”
The list could just go on and on, but well, I need some sleep. And just to tease you: what baked good exactly weighs 180g before going into the oven? Hmmmm hint hint. The next Pierre Hermé write-up totally will be about that.