Many moons ago a boy I dated in college gave me a copy of Proust's Remembrance of Things Past as a the-school-year-is-over-and-I'm-a-graduating-senior-whilst-you-are-a-sophomore-so-this-is-over present. That's liberal arts college courtship (or un-courtship, as it were) at its best. I never managed to read much of it, but I do recall the scene with the ever important madeleine cookie and cup of tea:
I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure invaded my senses.
The taste of the madeleine sends the narrator into a vivid flashback, which forms the rest of the zillion page novel. Or so I'm lead to believe since I never actually read the dadgum book. So earlier this week while considering my next great cooking escapade I thought of Proust and the magical cookie. I was going to make madeleines.
I've had a few madeleines in my life, but truth be told they were usually purchased at a Starbucks on the New Jersey Turnpike in frenzied, low blood sugar state. They weren't very nice (no offense, Starbucks). But there is nothing inherently unlikeable about a spongey, bite-size, cake-like cookie so I bought myself a madeleine pan and got to work. You see, madeleines are what they are because of their shell-like shape so you need the special pan (at least this is what I told Brendan).
I used Gourmet magazine's classic recipe, swapping almond extract for the traditional vanilla because I am a rebel and like to live on the edge. The results were outstanding- light, airy, almondy deliciousness. I think madeleines have the potential to replace Parisian macaroons as the next mini-dessert fad. At the very least they are a great tea-time snack and a nice homage to former college beaux and voluminous novels.
I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure invaded my senses.
The taste of the madeleine sends the narrator into a vivid flashback, which forms the rest of the zillion page novel. Or so I'm lead to believe since I never actually read the dadgum book. So earlier this week while considering my next great cooking escapade I thought of Proust and the magical cookie. I was going to make madeleines.
I've had a few madeleines in my life, but truth be told they were usually purchased at a Starbucks on the New Jersey Turnpike in frenzied, low blood sugar state. They weren't very nice (no offense, Starbucks). But there is nothing inherently unlikeable about a spongey, bite-size, cake-like cookie so I bought myself a madeleine pan and got to work. You see, madeleines are what they are because of their shell-like shape so you need the special pan (at least this is what I told Brendan).
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| scalloped shell shape (say that three times fast!) |
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I used Gourmet magazine's classic recipe, swapping almond extract for the traditional vanilla because I am a rebel and like to live on the edge. The results were outstanding- light, airy, almondy deliciousness. I think madeleines have the potential to replace Parisian macaroons as the next mini-dessert fad. At the very least they are a great tea-time snack and a nice homage to former college beaux and voluminous novels.
