Macaron Hunting Abroad: Part Trois. I'll be damned.

Fake boobs, false sense of glamor, artificial sense of wealth, hotels that are all designed to look like something else. The Las Vegas strip is the phoniest place I've ever visited and frankly, not my favorite place on earth. I don't really gamble but luckily I like to drink and people watch so I guess its not all bad. I hadn't expected to find any French Macarons while there on a recent business trip but thought I'd look anyways since macaron hunting abroad has become a fun part of my project.
Well imagine my surprise when not only did I find some (appropriately at hotel Paris) but that they were some of the best I've eaten (besides my own obviously. That's not saying that I'm a superstar but I make 'em with love, damnit). Though, the experience was altogether unauthentic: an angry black woman from New Jersey sold them to me out of a damp and somewhat clinical looking display cabinet in a hotel in a sleazy American city that was made to look like one of the most beautiful on earth. To make the experience authentic to Vegas, my friend and I sat down at a slot machine and sunk our teeth into perfection. My only complaint is that they were carelessly filled with plain old raspberry jam. Its a shame to get that far then crap out at the end. It would be like getting brand new fake boobs, healed and ready to show off for swimsuit season only to wear loose turtle neck sweaters.