While I’m toiling away in the laboratory on my next blog entry, I’d like to resurrect an older one from a year ago for any new readers out there. It describes my first experience with a peculiar (and tasty) French tradition this time of year. Enjoy!
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Having my wife on all fours underneath the table with her eyes closed while I wield a large knife reciting French from the kitchen would normally seem un peu bizarre. But if you’re in France this time of year it surprisingly becomes très normal, because this is no ordinary, post-Christmas-blues season — this is the season of the Galette des rois.
It seems there isn’t a single bakery that hasn’t filled its display window with these round “Kings’ Cakes”, and you can always identify one in its natural habitat by its ornately carved top and king’s crown nearby. The tradition goes as follows: during the month of January families everywhere buy this confection made of buttery, flaky, multilayered pastry crust traditionally housing a layer of almond and pastry cream. There’s also a real star ingredient that sets it apart from all others: each cake has baked inside it a small porcelain or plastic trinket. In the old days it was une fève (a bean), but today any small doo-dad seems to work; in our bakery they were using tiny figurines from the Smurfs, or as the French awesomely call them, Les Schtroumpfs. (If you can ever coax a Frenchie into pronouncing that word I highly recommend it.) Whoever finds this little prize in their slice becomes king or queen for the day, and gets to then choose a member of the opposite sex to complete the royal couple.
Well I want to be king as much as the next guy, so Charlotte ordered ours a week ahead of time at the boulangerie. When the day arrived we showed up like proud parents picking up our kid from soccer practice. There’s a little bit more fanfare than usual when buying a galette: it comes in a custom bag with handles and a complimentary cardboard king’s crown which the winner gets to wear later on.
I’d figured I had the tradition fully understood by the time we got back home, but as I started to cut into it Charlotte yelled “Wait!” and hit the deck. She then crawled under the table explaining the process of eating a galette in the true fashion. First, the youngest in the room must hide under the table with their eyes covered. Then the server of the cake (me) points towards each slice while asking aloud “C’est pour qui?” (Who is it for?), to which the youngest answers as he/she wishes. Frankly I’d never christened a pastry with so much theater, but after tasting this thing I can’t say it was undeserved. Basically take any croissant or pain au chocolat you’ve ever had and multiply it by several layers of crispy flakiness.
Sadly enough, we managed to get the only galette in the long history of France missing the prize inside. Charlotte was a bit disappointed that my first experience lacked its Smurfy crescendo at the end but honestly I was in it for other, more buttery reasons from the start. We plan on trying our luck with another one next week, this time with an apple filling.
I’ve already cleared my schedule.