Chocolate-dipped framboise madeleines

Chocolate-dipped framboise madeleines

Chocolate-dipped framboise madeleines

    He knew that the very memory of the piano falsified still further the perspective in which he saw the elements of music, that the field open to the musician is not a miserable stave of seven notes, but an immeasurable keyboard (still almost entirely unknown) on which, here and there only, separated by the thick darkness of its unexplored tracts, some few among the millions of keys of tenderness, of passion, of courage, of serenity, which compose it, each one differing from all the rest as one universe differs from another, have been discovered by a few great artists who do us the service, when they awaken in us the emotion corresponding to the theme they have discovered, of showing us what richness, what variety lies hidden, unknown to us, in that vast, unfathomed and forbidding night of our soul which we take to be an impenetrable void.

And you thought he just wrote about cookies!! That’s Proust, of course, from Swann’s Way. Here at The Ordinary, we’re fascinated by the connection of music, food and memory, as evidenced by the fact that we talk about it all the time. This morning I made my boys “flat” pancakes and fresh strawberries, which is a meal I remember as a special-occasion meal, for birthday breakfast or even a special dinner every once in a while. The smell of them cooking reminds me of that, and hopefully some day it will remind my boys of the mornings we made them. Likewise, I associate many things with many things, musically. Bob Marley’s Who Feels it Knows It reminds me of a long car trip to the midwest when my brother and I were in college. And his Hammer reminds me of the summer I met David, of his small, warmly glowing room with dried daffodils in the window. Lefty Frizzel reminds me of early morning bird watching and Dunkin Donuts, and the Bay City Rollers reminds me of the end of a long car trip back from Upstate New York in the autumn, stir-crazy and happy. Fly Me To The Moon reminds me of my first feature, one of the actresses sang it as we set up a shot. Jimi Hendrix’ Remember reminds me of walking to my film class, and John Lee Hooker’s Send me Your Pillow reminds me of long cold nights alone in my attic room. Belle and Sebastian’s Sleep the Clock Around reminds me of driving my brother to the train station and crying when the bagpipe started because it’s so beautiful. Fight For Your Right reminds me of parties in Highschool, and a manic release of teenage energy. So this week’s interactive playlist is “musical madeleines,” songs that transport you back to a certain place and time. Bonus points if you tell us where and why.

These madeleines were made with a bit of raspberry brandy or framboise. The taste is quite subtle – just a suspicion. You could use cherry brandy or plum brandy, or any flavor that you like. Something clear is probably best, though, so the madeleines don’t take on a funny color.

Here’s the playlist. As ever it’s collabarative, so feel free to add what you like, or leave a comment and I’ll add it for you.

2 eggs
1 cup icing sugar
1 t vanilla
2 T framboise (raspberry brandy)
1 cup flour
1/2 t salt
10 T butter, melted

1/2 cup bittersweet chocolate chips

makes 20 madeleines.

Preheat the oven to 375.

Whisk the eggs in a big bowl for a few minutes, till they’re light and frothy and lemon colored. Whisk in the sugar and then the vanilla and brandy. Keep whisking till it’s very light and smooth.

Whisk in the flour and sugar.

Pour the butter in in a thin stream, and whisk or beat until everything is perfectly blended.

Lightly butter your madeleine shells, and put a rounded teaspoon of batter in the center of each.

Bake for 10 – 15 minutes, until they start to get golden on the edges. Remove to a cooling rack.

When the cookies are cool, melt the chocolate chips in a small saucepan over a larger saucepan of boiling water. Stir until perfectly smooth.

Holding the small end of the madeleine (careful, they’re a bit fragile!) dip the non-scalloped side of the cookie into the chocolate, so that it coats it smoothly about 3/4 of the way down.

Leave in a cool place to set.



6 thoughts on “Chocolate-dipped framboise madeleines

  1. Donald Byrd – Cristo Redentor
    My best friend from school introduced me to a great deal of the jazz, blues and soul that’s still among my favourite music. Most of it I’ve played so much since – such as Aretha’s “Say A Little Prayer”, Charlie Mingus, “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat” – that it’s lost the direct association. But this one still conjures up the bedroom floor in the house around the corner, covered in record sleeves and music magazines and the smell of the cigarettes he still smokes, and the only ones that don’t smell horrible.

    Nanci Griffith – Waiting for Love
    I bought the album “Blue Roses From The Moons” because of one of the first things I ever read on the internet about music, a page dedicated to cover versions of “I Fought The Law”. Helen and I only had one holiday for just the two of us before there were three in the family, and I happened to put this CD in the car just before we set off. So this is driving around the North Yorkshire Moors and down the coast, first relationship after too many years single, except it was no longer too many years because it turned out that I’d had to wait for her to come along.

    This song now has an extra layer of memories, because the line “The heartworn jokes of your dear father” caught me unawares, playing the album a few months after her dad died, much too young, aged 64. He really did come up with some terrible jokes, but he was and remains very dear.

  2. Wow. That’s a big sentence for breakfast stew. I nearly fainted from overconsumption of words and beans. Remind me to read Proust on an empty stomach.

    Musical Madeleines:

    Mills Brothers singing “Up a Lazy River”
    Probably 1959
    Terrill Road, Plainfield NJ. The first home I remember.
    Toddler brother, fascinated by the record player, stares at the 33 rpm vinyl disk going round and round. Parents in their Saturday night clothes and Saturday night spirits. The fragrance of mom’s perfume.

    Petula Clark singing “Downtown”
    1967 I was twelve and I just redesigned my bedroom. Wallpaper of giant poppies of purple, neon orange, and bright pink, black spiral centers, on a white ground. Covered all my books in orange and pink paper. Drew a giant fickle finger of fate, and taped on wall. Made little black footprints on the ceiling that walked out the window. Gold shag carpet. I was young, happy, and groovy like Pet Clark.

    Joni Mitchell singing “Trouble Child”
    1973 bedroom is now a sad pale yellow with a sad teenager who felt Joni Mitchell was the only one who understood her.

    Prince singing Little Red Corvette.
    1985 New Jersey Turnpike. CT’s car.
    The industrial landscape of the refineries and giant container lifts on the docks look beautiful and otherworldly on an October night as CT whisks me off to New York City and to a new life.

    Joy Plaisted, harpist, playing Delibes Flower Song
    1998 or 99. Our apartment, 11th Street NYC.
    I gave a Tea Harp Recital. Joy practiced as I was removing scones from the oven.
    The sound was so beautiful it made me cry into the heat of the oven and over scent of fresh baked scones. It was the first time I heard a harp in my home. And, harp and my dear teacher and friend, Joy, have been with me happily ever after.

    • Diane! I just got shivers reading that. So beautiful and evocative.

      And yes – Proust is good in small doses when you’re prepared and in the right mood.

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