Let them eat cake
I read (or fall asleep) in the bath. Peter commits satire.
This is a bit out of date. I’ve told you before that I’m a slow writer.
I was lying in my bath last Monday morning listening to the news on the radio. The chap who’d introduced the programme had mentioned that it was Bastille Day, and the first news item was the spokesman for some ministry telling us that an apparently inane remark by his minister had been misrepresented by the wicked media. The two items resonated, and I decided that the time had come to tell the world of what was revealed to me by hooded officials of the Bourbon Society among the secret files of the Ancien Regime Press department of the Versailles press office.
The usual story is that Queen Marie Antoinette heard an uproar from the forecourt of the palace and asked what the trouble was. She was told that Paris was in turmoil because of the shortage of bread. “Well, let them eat cake,” she is reported to have replied.
That much is true, and the words have gone down in history as a typical example of the frivolous and irresponsible attitude of the court of Versailles to the sufferings of the common people. This, according to the papers I was given, is a complete fabrication. The words were not a silly quip but a royal command. The order was conveyed to the palace kitchens, and that immense and sophisticated culinary machine trundled into action. Never was such baking. Wagons of flour, barges laded with raisins, nuts, sugar-cherries, butter, sugar and brandy flowed towards Versailles. The palace hens laid overtime. A series of gigantic cakes began to pour from the ovens. The odour of them wafted through the streets. Royal agents worked their way through the crowds, telling them of them of the feast that was being prepared for them. The tumult stilled in expectation.
This was not at all to the liking of the revolutionary hotheads who had first engineered an unnecessary bread-shortage and then brought the crowd to the palace gates. They reacted by calling the secretly unionised waiters and waitresses out on strike with a demand for “dirty money”, on the grounds that it was a long understood condition their employment that they should be required to wait only on the nobility, and that to wait on the rabble in the streets would be demeaning, and should be compensated for by a hefty pay-rise.
The production line halted. The cakes cooled. The odour of baking faded from eager nostrils. And the revolutionaries spread the rumour that the cake was after all being withheld and had been taken to be stored in the Bastille. So on the fourteenth of July 1789 the crowd roared off and stormed the ancient fortress. The history books record that the only prisoners found there were a few old men whom everyone had forgotten about. No mention, of course, is made of an absence of cake. So, famously or infamously, depending on one’s point of view, began the French Revolution.
That, however, was not the end of the matter. The queen’s would-be generosity had two further effects. It has often been remarked how astonishing it was that the ragged, ill-trained, ill-equipped and near-starving armies of the Republic were able to repel the professional armies of the other European nations when they invaded to restore the Bourbons to their throne. Three of those adjectives may be justified, the fourth is certainly not. The regiments that marched towards the frontier were closely followed by wagon-trains loaded with life-sustaining cake, rich in protein, fat and carbohydrates, as fresh as ever thanks to the preservative quality of pre-Napoleon* brandy, in effect the equivalent of several hundred thousand energy bars. No wonder the armies of the republic fought like tigers and the pride of European soldiery were sent reeling.
The second effect was less world-changing but in its way even more remarkable. The royal bakers were incapable of baking a plain cake, so the ones they made in response to the royal command were lavishly iced (frosted) in the usual manner. When the time came to send them to the front it was recognised that these masterpieces of the patissier’s art ought to be preserved, so they were stored in a back room at the Louvre. There they remained until an engineering student, researching the structural properties of icing-sugar for his doctoral thesis, rediscovered them. He is said to have gazed at the most majestic of them entranced, and exclaimed “Voila! C’est ça que demande Paris!”
The only pity is that the most familiar object on the Parisian sky-line should take its name from an obscure provincial engineer and not from a great and generous queen.
* * *
*Napoleon himself was of course much too young to have a brandy distilled, let alone matured enough, to commemorate his reign as emperor. The usurper did, however, already have a very different drink named after him. At his birth his mother, as was the custom, handed him over to a wet-nurse to feed. This woman, however, was only able to apply for the job as she had recently given birth to triplets, so she needed the money and concealed the fact. Naturally enough she preferred to feed her own offspring first, and didn’t produce enough milk for four. With the help of her aunt, a skilled herbalist, she devised a formula of cow’s milk laced with herbs which appeared to do the trick, and could even be dried and stored. What effect this double rejection, both by his natural mother and her surrogate, may have had on the infant emperor’s psyche can only be surmised. His short stature, pallid complexion and general ill-health may also be the consequence of diet deficient in important nutrients at an early stage in his life.
When his parents discovered the deception his mother was of course outraged. His father, on the other hand, with typically Corsican entrepreneurial flair, saw a business opportunity, and built a plant to manufacture the formula, and then marketed it under the name of Lait Bébé Napoleon. In his early career Napoleon used to deny any connection with the stuff, though the profits from its sale had helped to put his though military college, and as soon as he had the power he suppressed its manufacture and sale.
At the same time he obliterated, as far as he could, all true record of his early years, and substituted the fictitious account of his early years that can be found in all subsequent biographies. He was, however, unable to reach the only veridical documentation of his early years which the Bourbon Society had smuggled out of Paris and with the connivance of the Dean and Chapter, stored in a secret vault beneath Westminster Abbey.
All that now remains is for somebody to make a blockbuster film of these events, though perhaps the Bourbon Society doesn’t carry quite the resonance as the Order of the Knights Templar of St John of the Cross, or whatever they’re called.
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PMSL! Loved it! (And, strangely enough, totally believable…….. hehe)
Wow. *snrt* Well done, Peter! :)
To think that all I ever accomplish in the shower is singing and washing. And really, probably too much of the former, and not enough of the latter…
No! No! I don’t want to know! :)
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About which? Both are equally scary, in their own way… :)
Golly, I knew cake was special, I just didn’t know how much! ;)
Fabulous! Thank you to both of you. :-)
Oh, and while I think of it – *makes inveigley noises to Robin about Steeleye Span concert next thursday* (There are still tickets left…)
(and yes, I’m doing my best to be a bad influence!)
What? Thursday week? Eight days from tomorrow? Where?
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LOL
Yes, this coming Thursday – the 24th…
http://www.parkrecords.com/tourdates.php
Second link down on the page, little village called Nettlebed, just outside Henley. 8pm start, tickets are £18.50. It’s unallocated seating, so late ticket buying doesn’t mean you get a rubbish seat (And yours truly is responsible for setting the seating up, and could be persuaded to abuse the power and reserve a seat for you (or two if you bring Peter along…) ;-) )
*polishes halo and makes more inveigley gestures*
No, sorry. Train connections are HORRIBLE. Two or three changes and it takes forever. Rats. What was the one I missed? Reading or something. That would have been doable, given some lead time. Ah well. That would’ve been the day the hellhounds had a special go of internal disaster and it’s a good thing I wasn’t trying to go anywhere so whatever . . .
Rats.
***No, sorry. Train connections are HORRIBLE. Two or three changes and it takes forever. Rats. What was the one I missed? Reading or something. That would have been doable, given some lead time. Ah well. That would’ve been the day the hellhounds had a special go of internal disaster and it’s a good thing I wasn’t trying to go anywhere so whatever . . .
Rats.***
Train would also only get you as far as Henley :-( It’s really a venue you have to drive to, public transport not having stretched that far yet.
B*gger! Sorry to have got your hopes up.
*ponders whether kidnapping Robin would be viable…*
Only if you had a hellhound sitter on your staff . . . :)
The hellhounds could come too?
Suuuuuuuuure they could. They really are pretty good, but I think expecting them to lie under a seat in an auditorium for two hours might be pressing their goodness a little hard. :)
*sniggle*
Reminds me of a Steeleye concert I went to a couple of years ago. We were at one end of the front row, and at the other end was a woman with a guide dog. The dog slept through the first half, but woke up in the second half and wandered along the front row making friends with people, and ended up with a song dedicated to him (or her…)
(He was off harness at the time, I’m sure the wandering wouldn’t have happened if he was on duty)
My hellhounds would have a VERY good time making friends with the audience. ENTIRELY TOO GOOD a time, trust me. :)
I think they’d be a hit. ;-)
Sweet.
[dodges flying tomatoes]
Vive le gâteau!
Indeed.
And my own exclaimation en francais: OUAIS!
Invraisemblable. Or should it be vraisemblable- because it is as b_twin says, believeable. And thus not INvrai, but simply vrai, I suppose.
Whatever. I’ve just confused myself, so I’ll just say merci beaucoup!
–Julia
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I really hope I’m leaving these recipes in the right place. But hey, they’re definitely worthy of standing up with Marie’s cake:
My Family Nearly Lynched Me For Making Something Fattening They Can’t Resist Pine Nut Rosemary Shortbread
1 3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/4 cup rice flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup unsalted butter (the good stuff)
2/3 cup sugar
zest of one lemon
***OR***
Uber-Yummy Cranberry Pistachio Shortbread
1 1/4 cup unsalted butter (the best you can find. This is the time to splurge)
1 cup sugar
2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/4 cup rice flour
3 ounces dried cranberries, chopped finely (I’m serious about the “chopped finely” part. Cutting them later is no fun with big sticky things in there)
1/2 cup roasted, salted pistachios, chopped finely (add 1 teaspoon of salt if you’re using unsalted pistachios, only 1/2 teaspoon for salted)
zest from 1 lime
Both of these recipes are better if you DON’T use the usual creaming method. Instead, melt the butter and stir in the sugar, then mix with the (already combined) dry ingredients. I don’t know why, but the texture is so much better this way. I usually just dump the whole doughy mess onto a baking sheet (parchment paper!) and pat it out into a big flat disk about 1/2 an inch thick. 350 for 25 minutes or so, depending on how brown you like it. You want to cut these pretty much right away so they don’t crumble into shortbread dust, which is still tasty, but not what we’re after.
**********************
Handheld Breakfast
These muffins are pretty healthy, and of course are open to modifications. I make a whole heck of a lot at one time, wrap them individually, and store them in the freezer. I can grab one on the way out the door, and I’m ashamed to admit I’ve found that if I rest one behind my desktop computer tower they thaw beautifully in about half an hour, so I can have my tea and warm muffin at my desk. Hey, I’m recycling used CPU heat!
1/2 cup fruity extra virgin olive oil
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 cup grated carrots
1 ounce dried cranberries
zest from one orange
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup rolled oats (not quick cook or whatever)
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon soda
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cardomom
The normal muffin method works great for this one: Wet stuff, one bowl. Dry stuff, another bowl. Stir separately, then together. The batter will be very thick, but don’t worry. It’s supposed to be this way. I like to use an ice cream scoop to portion the muffin batter. 400 for 15-20 minutes with 2 ounce scoop (regular size muffin tins), 350 for 25-30 with 4 ounce scoop (the big guys).
Can’t wait to try ALL of these. And yes please, post stuff here first–Playing With Your Food is the INDEX and back up.
(I think you have to be a salt crazy though??!?? I can’t BELIEVE **1 tsp** in a small whack of shortbread.)
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Yes, there is a definite salt presence in the shortbread, but it’s in balance (at least to my taste. It’s perfectly reasonable to modify it for your own preferences). I think the point of shortbread is to have a great texture with a little sweet, a little salt, and a little “extra” all in one bite. And yes, I am a salt fiend, so of course my opinion should be taken with a grain of…
Nope, I just can’t finish that horrible pun.
Recipes look easy enough for me to try. But I was curious about the first one, Pine Nut Rosemary Shortbread. I didn’t see any rosemary or pine-nuts in the ingredients. Did you forget those?
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Merci bien pour la vraie histoire! Perhaps it was his knowledge of Lait Bebe Napoleon that inspired Louis Napoleon to launch the research project that led to the development of margarine . . .
On a different subject, I got to the hotel early enough tonight to play on the computer and have put some puppy pictures on Flickr. These were taken last weekend on their 3-week birthday, when weaning started and they went outside for the first time. I will see them tomorrow and hope to get more pictures, unless they’ve begun to develop some speed and the #&%$! camera can’t cope.
LINK! Send us a LINK!!!!
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Sorry! It occurred to me after I went to bed that I forgot the link. Menopausal brain attack . . .
It’s http://www.flickr.com/photos/diane_in_mn.
Sigh. We are not having a good time here. I get ‘oops–you followed a bad link.’ Flickr doesn’t like us??
Picky picky picky blasted machine, and stupid me for thinking I could use a period, as in punctuation, after a link–I should know better by now. For some reason the links aren’t live when comments are posted so you can’t test them. BUT I just looked it up and have enough functioning brain cells to remember for 5 minutes:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/diane_in_mn/
This ought to work. (Yeah, I know, famous last words.)
No, it’s okay, it’s finally working! I want a Great Dane puppy! Somebody please shut me in a cupboard!!!!
“Never was such baking. Wagons of flour, barges laded with raisins, nuts, sugar-cherries, butter, sugar and brandy flowed towards Versailles. The palace hens laid overtime. A series of gigantic cakes began to pour from the ovens. The odour of them wafted through the streets.”
Ha! Something similar happening on the campus here at the moment, as we’re stiff with bishops, arch-bishs, the odd cardinal or so (apparently) and a lot of entourage, all in town for the Lambeth Conference over the next 2 – 3 weeks. There’s a lot of lovely smells coming out of the various lunching places on campus, most of which are reserved for the ecclesiasticals, while us poor staff are reduced to circling hungrily round the edges, snatching at crumbs! If we get desperate enough and start munching on some of the attendees, it should make good copy…:)
I’m scanning the newspapers eagerly . . . :)
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“I’m scanning the newspapers eagerly . . . :)”
Yes, well, keep your eyes peeled. There was a barbecue happening in the courtyard garden *right outside my office window* this lunchtime! Some strolling prelate is soon going to look down to find out why he’s unable to walk at his normal speed and find some of us fastened to his ankles, being dragged along while chewing…:)
Just as while I’m mostly continuing with my mad human yo-yo act at the moment and so rarely in the office!
Apropos of nothing, but hopefully of interest:
This weekend marks the 160th anniversary of first Women’s Rights Convention in Seneca Falls, NY (July 19 & 20, 1848). For those of you whose women’s history knowledge is a bit sketchy, this Seneca Falls gathering, pulled together by Elizabeth Cady Stanton & Lucretia Mott, is generally regarded as the beginning of the women’s rights movement in the U.S.
A couple of fun links:
http://www.aracnet.com/%7Ehistgaz/hgv3n5.htm
http://www.npg.si.edu/col/seneca/senfalls1.htm
Cake Solves All Problems.
Conversely, the lack or withholding of cake causes all KINDS of problems. Most people are unaware that, back when the world was on a barter system, the phrase “the love of money is the root of all evil” originally existed as “the love of CAKE is the root of all evil” (no doubt coined by the waistline police, alarmed by the preponderance of pudginess among the populace).
Cake is very important to the well-being of the human race. Unlike money. I say we go back to cake, evil or no evil, waistline police or no waistline police.
As Maren so succinctly put it, “Vive le gâteau!”
I say we go back to cake
********* ABSOLUTELY. And I’ll **finally** be wealthy, by selling SUNSHINE’S COOKBOOK. (First I’d have to write the sucker, but . . . )
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>>SUNSHINE’S COOKBOOK. (First I’d have to write the sucker, but . . . )
Or edit. Or authorize. Or some other method by which you have us, your mad, loyal, and (using the comments as samples) reasonable articulate followers, do most of the work. There’s likely enough of us that would help simply for the glamour of having our names (and recipes) associated with a famous, NPR-touted author. :-) Oh, and an autographed copy.
When in doubt, delegate.
And, hey, you need another project, don’t you? (*ducks, runs, snickers from a safe distance*)
:-)
Ow. Yes, I *certainly* need another project . . . :)
Sunshine’s Cookbook!
<<>>
I’m in! Put me down for 4,500 copies right now!
LOL! **Promise**? I might actually get an ADVANCE on a cookbook with guaranteed sales (aside from the top whatevers, generally speaking cookbooks don’t sell).
*sunshine’s cookbook*
GET THEE BEHIND ME DAEMON!
oooooooh
words fail me
What a pity books don’t just drop out of our heads in the nice, complete, making-sense glop that they seem to be when we think about them.
What a pity books don’t just drop out of our heads in the nice, complete, making-sense glop that they seem to be when we think about them.
************ Yes. Especially the ‘glop’ part. :)
I love the Lait Bebe Napoleon! How Napoleonic to profit from it and then obliterate it – truly “having your cake and eating it”!
Ducks flying bath sponge; sorry, but I couldn’t resist ;)