Name: French Macarons with Vanilla Buttercream Filling
Prep time: 40 min
Cook time: 15 min
Total time: 55 min
Yield: 24 macarons
Cuisine: French
Ingredients: 1 1/4 cups (125g) powdered sugar; 1 cup (100g) finely ground almond flour; 3 large egg whites, room temperature; 1/4 cup (50g) granulated sugar; 1/4 tsp cream of tartar; 1/2 tsp vanilla extract; 1/2 cup (115g) unsalted butter, softened; 1 cup (100g) powdered sugar (for buttercream); 1 tbsp milk; 1 tsp vanilla extract (for buttercream); Pinch of salt

Let’s Talk Macarons—A Little Chaos in the Kitchen

Alright, so real talk: French macarons? They used to terrify me. The first batch I made looked like something a shoe might cough up, but my sister still swore they tasted “better than store-bought”—either she’s blind with love or just very polite. Still, I kept trying. I guess you can’t really call yourself a baking nut till you’ve gotten powdered sugar all over your cat and spent at least an hour scraping stuck shells off questionable parchment. Oh, and if you’re hoping for fancy-pants perfection, you’re probably reading the wrong blog. But if you want swoon-worthy, chewy little treats with a vanilla inside that tastes kinda like a hug (plus a laugh or two), you’re in the right place.

Why Do I Keep Coming Back To These?

I make these macarons anytime I need to impress someone who thinks baking French stuff is hard (secret: it kinda is, but not impossible). My family goes a bit wild for them, especially after dinner when everyone’s conveniently “not full.” And honestly? I bake them just for myself some Sundays, even though I occasionally want to cuss at my oven halfway through. If you want a project where the journey’s almost as satisfying as the destination—plus probably a new inside joke for your group chat—you’ll love these too.

This Is What You’ll Need (And I Mean Need)

100g egg whites — About 3 eggs (save the yolks for, I don’t know, custard or to feed to your dog; up to you)
140g almond flour — My grandmother insisted on Bob’s Red Mill, but I use store brand when I’m broke, honestly just sift it well
180g powdered sugar — Some folks call it icing sugar, I just buy the cheapest bag
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar (optional, but I think it helps)
90g granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract — or swap in vanilla bean paste if you’re feeling extra fancy
Food coloring (if you’re feeling whimsical, or trying to impress the neighborhood bake sale crowd)
For the vanilla buttercream:

115g unsalted butter, very soft (sometimes I cheat and zap it in the microwave, though that gets risky)
200g powdered sugar, plus a bit for taste
2 teaspoons milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract, or honestly any vanilla-adjacent flavor you’ve got (rum works in a pinch, but not everyone agrees)
Pinch of salt

See, not too wild—and if you want a non-dairy version, actually, almond milk and vegan butter swap in pretty well, though the shells are fussier.

How I Actually Make These (with Occasional Panic)

Prep your trays. Line two baking trays with parchment—unless you’ve got silicon mats, which I always forget to clean. If you want perfect circles, draw guides underneath (I rarely bother, but it does look good for photos).
Sift the dry stuff. Mix/sift the almond flour and powdered sugar together into a big bowl. Sifting is non-negotiable here; any lumpy bits mean ugly macs. Trust me on this. If you’ve got a food processor, a quick blitz works instead, but I sometimes just mix with a fork when I’m lazy.
Whip those egg whites. Pop them into a squeaky clean bowl (I once tried to use a plastic one—bad move) and start whisking. When frothy, add the cream of tartar. Slowly rain in the granulated sugar as you beat, until stiff peaks form—that’s your arm workout for the day.
Add color and vanilla. Just enough to see a pastel tint, unless you’re aiming for neon. Now fold the dry mix into the egg whites. Gently fold—think of hugging a kitten here, not wrestling it. About 40-50 strokes, but actually I just watch for the batter to flow like lava when I lift the spatula. Don’t overthink it.
Pipe onto trays. Use a piping bag with a half-inch round tip. I’ve improvised with a baggie with a snipped corner before—doesn’t look perfect but hey, still delicious. Space them apart a bit, they spread a little.
Slam the tray. Not joking—hit the tray against the counter a few times to get bubbles out. Feels cathartic, too.
Rest the shells. Here’s where I make coffee and hope no one opens a window. Let the trays sit for 30-60 mins; the tops should be dry enough not to stick to your finger. (Sometimes, it’s humid, and it takes forever. That’s just life.)
Bake. Preheat to 300°F (150°C). Bake, one tray at a time, about 15-17 minutes. They’re ready when you can nudge the shells and they don’t wobble. If they crack, well, call it rustic and move on.
Cool & match up. Let shells cool totally before peeling off. Match them up by size—it’s like Tinder for cookies.
Buttercream time! Whip soft butter until fluffy, then beat in powdered sugar, milk, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. Taste—as usual, I sneak a spoonful right here. Too stiff? Add more milk. Too soft? More sugar!
Fill & sandwich. Pipe or just plop a dollop of buttercream onto half the shells. Gently sandwich them.

A Few Things I Learned the Hard Way

Baking on a rainy day = trouble. They seriously hate humidity.
The batter can look weirdly shiny or runny some times—it’s usually fine, just don’t over-mix. (Easier said than done.)
Pre-measure everything first, because the egg whites wait for no one.

Here Are Some Experiments I’ve Tried (One Flop Included)

Chocolate shells instead of plain: just swap 15g almond flour for cocoa powder, but the texture changes a bit—still tasty
Lemon buttercream with a tiny bit of zest—so fresh in summer
Tried rosewater once. Honestly? Smelled like Grandma’s soap. Didn’t repeat that one.
I’ve used raspberry jam in the middle for a double whammy. Messy, but yum.

What If I Don’t Own Any Fancy Equipment?

Look, everyone says you need a stand mixer, a scale, silicon mats, all that jazz. I mean, fair enough, it’s easier, especially the scale. But, I’ve made do with a hand whisk, a mug for measuring (roughly!), and baking paper. No piping bag? A sturdy sandwich bag is honestly fine. If you like properly getting into a recipe, check out Serious Eats’ troubleshooting guide—those folks are serious (pun accidental) about it.

French Macarons with Vanilla Buttercream Filling

How Do You Store These? (Mostly Theoretical Question)

Okay, technically you can keep them in an airtight box in the fridge for a week, or freeze for a month. The flavors even meld and get deeper. But, being honest, in my place they last about 36 hours if I’m lucky. Maybe that’s just my greedy lot.

How I Serve Macarons (And Sometimes Don’t Even Bother With Plates)

I like piling them on a mismatched plate for coffee with mates, or sneaking one with breakfast (no judgment, right?). At big family dinners, I stack them like a wonky tower—someone always does a dramatic topple for laughs.

Things I Learned The Hard Way (Pro Tips… Or Not)

I once tried to rush the ‘resting’ time—ended up with puddle cookies. Don’t do what I did, it’s worth the wait.
Don’t use old almond flour, even if you’re tempted. Trust me—the flavor’s just a bit odd.
If you pipe them too big they go from dainty treat to mutant sandwich real fast, which is… not entirely bad, depending who you ask.

FAQ: Answering Stuff People Always Text Me

Can I use a non-stick spray on the parchment? Don’t bother, honestly—the shells will come off the paper if they’re baked right. If not, eat the stuck bits, I do.
Can you overmix macaron batter? Yup! It turns to pancake batter and you end up with flat, sad disks. Err on the side of undermixing (you can always give it a few more turns, never the other way).
Help, why are my macarons hollow? Usually, it’s either overmixed batter or too high an oven temp. It still tastes fine though, so maybe adopt a French accent and shrug it off?
Are macarons really worth the fuss? Some days, yes! And some days, I just buy them from my favorite bakery. But you know what, the homemade ones are extra special, lumps and all. If you’re curious, Sally’s Baking Addiction has a good run-down too.

So, in conclusion (or as close as I get to one), if you make these, embrace the chaos. Whether they’re perfect or more Picasso than Parisian, you’ll have macarons you made yourself—and probably a story or two to go with them.