There are mornings when the only thing that will do is dessert. Lots of dessert, preferably of the French varietal. Buttery, sweet, flaky, fluffy, festive desserts. Gleaming. Sparkling. Towering. Cakes, please. Oh and tarts. Pies. Mousses.
Today, I woke up sad. Then I ate a lot of desserts — and felt much better, until I felt fat — at the new Maison Kayser on the Upper West Side.