Possibly 2 million madeleine cakes are consumed daily around the world. Why, in France alone…Okay, that’s not truly a fact, but if there were statistics available, it might be close! The truth is that madeleine’s, those lovely little spongy tea treats are really delicious. They’re easy on the eyes, with a perky spring to the touch and a subtle tantalizing scent that is indistinguishably that of, well… a madeleine! Furthermore, their form is superb! Fluted seashell joys on one side which roll over to a slight bump on the other! Their slightly chewy, mildly crisp exterior yields to a buttery soft almond flavoured interior. Some versions have a hint of lemon.
The many stories hinting at their origin, range from links to the famous pilgrimage of the Compostella, in which it is suggested that a woman by the name of Madeleine baked them for the passing pilgrims, through the wife of Louis XV, who introduced them to the court at Versailles where they subsequently became all the rage. Perhaps there’s a little truth in each legend that’s come down to us through the years. What seems to be universally agreed upon is that the madeleine had its esteemed beginnings in the Lorraine region of Northeastern France. They are now readily available in bakeries around the world. What will likely keep them around for time immemorial is Marcel Proust.
In his classic seven volume novel, “In search of lost time,” he writes that while dipping a madeleine into a steaming cup of tea, some combination of those elements impacted him in such a way that for a second everything disappeared from view. He found himself, a child again, at his Aunt Léonie’s house, waiting for her to dip a madeleine into her own tea and then offer him a bite as she did on Sunday mornings when he didn’t have to go out before mass.
It is the madeleine and not the tea which has become synonymous with what Proust referred to as “involuntary memory;” an occurrence that momentarily takes us from the here of now, elsewhere. We’ve all had them, yet these experiences remain unique because in order for one to take place, it generally involves the stimulation of more than one of our senses and identifying exactly what triggers them is quite impossible. They are referred to rather poetically as “madeleine moments.”
It was exactly one of these occurrences, that recently found me searching out a cafe to rest for a short while. I’d just finished traversing miles of shops and stalls at the famous Paris antique market, “le Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen.” (More on this at a later date!) There, among other exciting finds, I had spotted, a vintage hard paper Coty Rachel No 2 powdered perfume box. It’s pale twilight blue case was decorated with metallic checkered sides and an image of the Seine, beyond which rose the silhouette of Notre Dame Cathedral and Paris. It fit perfectly into the palm of my hand and when I opened the box, it made a satisfying little “bubble wrap” pop. The scent from powder long gone was floral with a warm enveloping musk. As it reached me, the market faded from view.
I found myself standing outside the home of Gertrude Stein. How I knew this, I am wholly unsure! The door was ajar & a chorus of voices met my ears. I hesitated for just a moment before entering, my heart beating ever so slightly at the curiosity of this entire event. Inside, reigning from a cushioned corner throne, all plumpy expat royalty, was Stein herself. Alice B. darted in, looked once about and then vanished. She reminded me of a mustached mad hatter, although in somewhat slower motion, and I myself at this point was feeling rather like “Alice in Wonderland,” tumbling down the rabbit hole.
The salon was full, the art so plentiful; it seemed to me that the walls were built of frame upon canvas upon frame. Picasso, Matisse, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, the regular’s, and the others; the lucky “hangers on” stood, everyone eager, poised & cleverly engaged, all basking in the grand dames salon. Stein was all clever rhetoric, her sharp chocolate eyes, truly a part of the room, or it her, as though they were one magnificent turning automation. The air, for the moment that I was there was heavy with perfume and intoxication, but more than that I sensed, thought and ideas whose motions were taking the world by storm.
Then a voice startled me.
“Was I going to take the powder?”
The dealer, his eyes eager, his palm outstretched wanted to close the deal. Without taking the time to barter, I handed him his asked for price. He tucked “Coty” into a brown paper bag & I slowly made my way back to the hilly maze of Montmartre where I was staying.
Before reaching my hotel, I stopped for a while at Coquelicot, a cheerful little bakery cafe located at 24, Rue des Abbesses. They had an outside table available & better yet, they had madeleines! Proust had informed us that a good one should not be too dry, yet not too moist because a madeleine was made for dipping. Proust opted for tea. I soon discovered that they weren’t all bad dipped into a glass of white wine either.
The blue powder box sat on the table before me. I pondered what stimulation to my senses might have propelled me to the salon of Gertrude Stein? Was it the box, it’s scent, the antique market, something in the twinkle of the sharp dealers eyes or all of the above? I’ll never know.
Madeleine moments generally take us to an earlier event in our “known” lifetime, yet it seems they also have the ability to cross time. At least, it happened that way to me and I can assure you that no wine had reached my lips until arriving at Coquelicot!
I spent a while watching Paris bustle by. The cafe tables gleamed in the light of the late afternoon sun and every once in a while, a gentle waft of the little hard paper box hit me. Coty’s Rachel No 2 is a winsome and inviting scent. It whispers of times long past. I imagine Stein herself would never have worn a perfume like this. Some have said she wore a leathery scent, but whether this is true or not, is somewhat debatable.
It crossed my mind that if I were her reincarnated, I might have chosen to write, “a madeleine, is a madeleine is a madeleine.” I think Proust might have been okay with that. Perhaps too, he might not have minded his madeleines dipped into a cool glass of white wine either!
At Béazley, we believe in living in the moment and when the moment becomes a madeleine one, even better.
Have a peek at our collections tab. Perhaps one of the items featured might just bring a madeleine moment your way! We’ll be musing more on those pieces over the next few months.
