I was 27, freshly broken up, eating my feelings with Oreos at midnight.
On a whim — or a breakdown, I'm not sure which — I bought a flight to Lisbon.
Sitting in a café in the Belém district, I ordered something called a Macaroon de Caju. No idea what it was.
One bite. I understood immediately.
No flour. No oil. No refined sugar. Just egg whites, cashews, and sugar, whipped and baked until they became something that tasted like a secret.
Portuguese people eat 20 of these a day. I'd been afraid of one Oreo.
I came back to Chennai and spent 100 batches trying to recreate it.
Batch 101 was the one. My cousin called it "perfect." I called it Arnaldo's, after the café.
This is that cookie. I'm glad you found it.
— Ajay Antony