Bakery Bulletin by Philippa Kelly: Super little shell-like sponges

This week's Bulletin takes us to France, (not literally - that would be a tremendous waste of time) and not just any part of France, but the Lorraine region.
A Madeleine by Lionel Allorge SUS-170602-102514001A Madeleine by Lionel Allorge SUS-170602-102514001
A Madeleine by Lionel Allorge SUS-170602-102514001

More specifically, we’re in Commercy, which sounds business-like, and Liverdun, which sounds like the result of alcoholism.

Commercy and Liverdun are communes. Not communes as in hippy campsites where they sing songs to the mountains and don’t wash their hair, but communes as in historical geographic communities with self governance, like a civil township in the States.

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There’s no equivalent in the UK, which is probably why I’m still imagining the tie-dye collective belting out The 5th Dimension’s Age of Aquarius.

The Lorraine region is the point of origin of many a well-known dessert - macarons and rum baba to name but two.

Before we enter the realms of this week’s leitmotif, we must take note of another of Lorraine’s contributions to culinary exploration: Tea and carrots.

Yes, as in together. As in a carrot, an actual carrot, in its entirety, actually dunked into a cup of tea, into an actual cup of tea. Tea and carrots.

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If this were a public address, madeleines would be the keynote speaker. If we were dressing a room, madeleines would be the focal point. If we were enjoying ourselves, madeleines would be the climax.

Madeleines are little sponge cakes. They’re distinctive due to their shell-like appearance.

They taste like most other light sponges, and in fact it’s only the special baking tray used to make them that gives them a defining characteristic.

Bit like that guy you know who’s faceless when he removes his glasses. You know the one. Looks like a mole emerging after a long winter.

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There are many stories, nay legends, surrounding madeleines, and although they differ greatly, the protagonist is always a French chick called Madeleine.

Some make reference to a castle in Commercy, others to the court of Versailles. In one, the King of Poland is involved, in exile in Lorraine, naturally.

My favourite is the one about a Madeleine who completed a pilgrimage to Compostela in Spain. Let’s call her Maddie. So Maddie does the pilgrimage and then goes home to France. Upon her return she reveals the recipe given to her in Spain.

She names it after herself and it’s a nationwide hit. Perhaps one day we’ll discover if there’s any truth in the speculative tale of Maddie, but knowing what happened and proving what happened are two very different things.

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Marcel Proust uses madeleines to explain the contrast between involuntary memory and voluntary memory. It’s earth-shattering stuff - he eats a madeleine and remembers something. It’s in his work entitled In Search of Lost Time.

The irony that I’ll never get back the time I lost by reading it has not escaped me.

I tried to find a cute quote from Proust with which to end this, but it’s mostly sentimental tosh, so here’s a little something from one of the best films of all time, Bangarang, Rufio.

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