I had traveled to France and I was going to have a Madeleine. Finally a real-live, bonafide French Madeleine. So we went in and bought one. It was good. Different. The consistency was different than the ones I make, and the flavor was not quite like mine. Immediately I began trying to figure out what I could change in my recipe to match the one in the dog-run bakery. Whilst lost in thoughts of cold butter and squirts of lemon, Brandon leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I like yours better."
And so here we are in San Diego two years later, during one of the hottest weeks of the year, with no AC, baking 8 batches of Madeleines for Brandon's work. Fetes des Madeleines he calls it. He's even put on French music from days gone by when GI's were still patrolling Paris. Though I'm honored that Brandon likes my Madeleines enough to share them with his co-workers, I can't help but think that the timing could have been better.
"Note to self: purchase more madeleine pans. They will pay for themselves."
I think when all was said and done we had about 85 madeleines. That is give or take the ones we each ate during the whole process. Alas, one must account for these things while figuring out how many times one will multiply the recipe by.
Ah, Madeleines, on est bien faible quand on est amoureux de toi!
2 comments:
I have never heard of a Madeline...at first I thought you meant that you must have a daughter named Madeline. Anywho...do you think these could be created in gluten-free glory? They look very delicious (well, they actually kinda look like almonds, but I'm intrigued).
Of course Brandon likes yours better. At least I always prefer your version of anything to anyone elses version. In fact, I still crave your food. Just last night I was thinking, "I should call Nat to get her chicken noodle soup recipe. And to see if she's in labor yet."
Post a Comment