When French Women Cook

Madeleine Kamman’s knowing eye leaned into my beef bourguignon pot as I skimmed the foam from the edges of her brassiere. “Look how carefully she is with the ladle” she pointed out to my three female comrades in the kitchen. Another time she whispered in my ear, “Between you and me there’s too much apple left on that skin.” I was making a tart for our dessert after lunch, out on the grapevine covered veranda. When she sliced more reblochon cheese onto the top of her baked gnocchi and then turned around to look at our wide eyed faces and asked ‘Is that too much?’ In unison we answered, “no”, for we had all fallen in love with French cheese from that day forward.

Growing up, I frequently watched Madeleine Cooks, on channel 13, so you can imagine how nervous I was at the thought of spending a week with her, at her home, on the Silverado Trail, in the Napa Valley. We talked about everything from Harold McGee’s book on food chemistry to P & L statements, from marriage to menus to husbands, and so on. Her genoise, brioche and soufflé were as light as air. I ate my first duck crackling omelet with ‘persillade’ (chopped garlic and parsley, persil being the French word for parsley) and hand made Alsatian medieval bread. I also experienced one of my first most memorable American restaurant meals, at the then, “new” French Laundry. Who new it was so effortless to eat 8 courses. At night we bunked on the edge of the vineyard in Barbara Tropps’ guest cottage that embodied groovy California Zen energy. When I came home I cooked day and night, in my tiny Oakland apartment, desperately not wanting the moment in time to come to an end. Potato-cardoon gratin, braised endives, duck confit, Kabocha squash soup, saffron-anise brioche buns and pear ‘tarte tatin’ were just a few of our dinner items at the table. I had realized how little I knew about cooking and the French for that matter and how much I needed to learn as a chef. Madeleine’s’, “The Making of a Cook,” is a bible for any aspiring chef, Francophile or not.

I was thumbing through, “When French Women Cook”, Madeleine’s 3rd. cook book when this recipe caught my eye. How could I resist, Marie Charlottes huge lemon cruller? Anything remotely resembling a cream puff sounds enticing to me! The recipe also called for an ingredient I had never heard of before, candied angelica. I searched the internet and spice stores of Manhattan but came up empty handed. I found this ancient ingredient, of all places, at Market Hall, in Rockridge, (Oakland), California, my old stomping ground. Known for their meticulous sourcing of authentic goods I ordered it without hesitation, especially since it was made by the well respected, Lilamand Confiseur’s, in St. Remy, Provence, France. Over 5 generations of expertise arriving VIA UPS to my doorstep. Visually it looked like long, shiny, deep green celery stalks without the leaves attached. Initially it does taste like sweet celery with an eventual lingering lemon and liquorice flavor, which was very pleasant. Historically this medicinal herb was thought to help cure the plague in Europe. In North America the Iroquois burned it to get rid of unwanted ghosts. Although it grows wild like a weed I would imagine it was essential in most French potagers (a French family kitchen garden rich in seasonal fruits, vegetables, herbs and flowers).

Poupelain De Marie-Charlotte,
(Marie Charlottes Hugh Lemon Cruller)
1 C. water
¼ C. sugar
¼ t. salt
9 T. butter
1 C. sifted flour
5 eggs
1 C. heavy cream
Rind of 1 lemon
1 oz. candied Angelica, chopped
1½ T. dark rum
1 T. superfine sugar

Note: If you do not have candied angelica substitute some anise seeds into the heavy cream reduction.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Put water, 2 tablespoons sugar, salt and ½ cup diced butter in a 2 qt. saucepan. Slowly bring to a boil. As soon as the mixture foams, remove the pot from the heat and add the flour. Stir steadily to form a ball. Return the mixture to the heat. Stir 1 minute only. Do not dry the paste as you normally would for regular cream puffs. You are keeping the paste wet on purpose. If the center remains wet it will absorb the cream easily and finally taste like a pastry cream. Add the eggs, lightly beaten, one by one. Mix until smooth.
Grease a 10 inch quiche pan with the remaining butter and fill the pan with the paste. Bake for 50-55 minutes.
Pour I cup heavy cream into a 1 qt. saucepan. Add 2 spoons of sugar and the rind of a lemon. Stir occasionally and reduce to ½ - 1/3 cup. Add the rum.
As soon as the cake is done it will look like a giant cream puff. Cut the top off in one single layer as to make a lid. While the cake is hot, spoon the cream into the soft, wet center. Sprinkle with diced candied angelica and put the cake cover back on. Brush whatever cream is still on the sides and bottom of the pan onto the lid of the cake. Sprinkle with superfine sugar and broil on minute. Or you can just dust with confectioners’ sugar. The cake should be enjoyed lukewarm. You may garnish with more diced angelica if you prefer to.