1755 - Commercy, France
The Duc of Lorraine organizes a reception for his well-known guests, among them Voltaire and Madame de Châtelet. Exuberant, passionate, luxurious, the dinner is a success but rapidly spirals into a nightmare scene when the chef, sparking a fight with his kitchen manager, suddenly drops his apron in the middle of service.
Leaving the Duc without any dessert to offer his guests, a young employee, timid but courageous, steps in to take over and prepares one of her grandmother’s beloved small cake recipes. She rushes through the kitchen.
Utensils are clinking.
Faces are tense.
Faces are tense.
The room, holding their breath, relaxes as a tray of gorgeous golden cakes arrive on tables, warm and fresh from the oven. Covered with flour, the young cook is confused.
“What is your masterpiece called,” Asked the Duc.
“It has no name sir”
“And what is your name?”
“Madeleine sir”
“Madeleine,” he repeats. “Madeleine it will be”
“It has no name sir”
“And what is your name?”
“Madeleine sir”
“Madeleine,” he repeats. “Madeleine it will be”
Decades later, she will enter the world of Marcel Proust when the author describes his own encounter with the “Madeleine”, a small, soft and tender delicacy that, like a time machine, transports anyone lucky enough to taste it straight back to their childhood memories.
A magic trick called the Madeleine de Proust effect. And you?
What will your Madeleine be like?
