Sometimes I think the entire country of France is obsessed with pastry. No wait, that’s just me. Any day of the year one can satisfy even the most severe of cravings but on January 6, known to religious types as The Epiphany, the French roll out a special one. It’s called the galette des rois, or king cake and there’s no escaping them. The other day there must have been hundreds of them steaming on trays at the entrance of the grocery store.
So of course my better two thirds decided this was a vital element of cultural assimilation and brought one home.
Mmmm, puff pastry stuffed with frangipane (roughly the size of a North American pie). The tradition is that hidden somewhere inside is a tiny ceramic trinket. Whoever happens to find it becomes king for a day and gets to wear that gorgeous golden paper crown so conveniently provided. Of course His Highness Garbage Guts didn’t know about this piece of French folklore and he almost choked to death on a miniature figurine before he could even take his seat on the throne.
Well, that’s what you get for inhaling an entire galette without offering a single crumb to the royal taster. King for a day my arse, the odds of his coronation were exactly 100%. But this is the second galette, the great equalizer, and my friends this time he’s agreed to give me a shot at the title. If I move fast enough and find the trinket that makes me queen for the day. My decree will involve a back massage, a solid hour of him listing all the reasons why he loves me followed by a three hour discussion of the emotional dynamic of our marriage. Someone call the Guinness Book Of World Records. We’re about to see a man eat an entire cake in one bite.
That’s MY tiara!! Give it back NOW.
Duch
I think there are many versions of this. We recently brought a bread to a New Year’s party that we bought at the grocery store. It read “happy new year 2012” in Greek. Inside was a nickel, wrapped in foil. The message was the same. If you find it, you’re king for the day. Wouldn’t you know it, my second daughter, the one who was born with a golden spoon in her hand, located it. Lucky for us all she didn’t know the rules. The last thing in the world she needs is power.
Remember, Bobbi—the fork is for nailing down the galette and the knife is for defending it from marauders.
Good luck, Your Majesty!
Always glad to see royalty revived, especially when it involves calories. Viva le France. Or something.
In New Orleans the King Cake is a wonderful Mardi Gras tradition. It doesn’t have a frangipani filling and they bake a tiny baby doll inside it and whoever gets the baby has to buy next year’s King Cake. Those Cajuns: they sure know how to perpetuate a party.
Happy Epiphany, ya’ll.
(I would kill for some frangipan today.)
Yum, it’s all I got today!
I’m fairly certain one of these would travel quite well to the states. I’ll email you my address.
Oh gosh I remember my first galette des rois. I fell in love with Blois, fell in love with the guy, kept the ceramic doll all the way to the tropics…
this made me laugh out loud! Happy Belated New Year!
“…three hour discussion of the emotional dynamic of our marriage…”
Love it!
Haha, I love you guys so much.
Ohhhhh, pastry, you delicious bastard.