La Galette des Rois

friends, the season has peaked

I posted the Galette below on Notes a while ago, but wanted to add it to my recipe archive and give you a quick update on how the season is going chez moi.

January has to be the most the forced-friendly month in France. On top of the obligatory bonjour, which can range from pass-agg muttering to head-tilt, shiny-eyed love in its delivery, and is one of the many social intricacies I have always loved about French life, there is an ongoing anxiety in the seconds before greeting someone - have I already wished them, ‘tous mes voeux’, Happy New Year? Doing it again comes with the implication that I have rudely forgotten our last encounter.

To read on

This applies to everyone you meet, from the boulanger to the delivery guy, to your bank manager, in person, by email/text or on the phone, so you must stay alert. For someone who can’t remember why she went from one room to another, it’s a challenge. (A challenge which comes hot on the heels of “will they still deliver my mail/put out a fire in my house with a 15€ payment for the post office and fire brigade’s home made calendars? Should it be more/less?” )

From now until the end of the month, wishing la Bonne Année is still perfectly fine, but becomes slightly awkward, a toss-up between over-zealousness and potential bad manners. After the 31st, it’s downright bad luck. It also means there is no excuse, you have an entire month to call, send a card by email or mail, and check in on your elders.

The Galette des Rois tradition helps all this luck-wishing along. Just being part of a gathering to tirer les rois, means you have automatically and collectively done the HNY greeting, terribly handy in the workplace and for village living.

As for the galettes themselves, I should have paced myself ( a good title for the movie of my life) and resisted the early January temptation of its mutant, puff-pastry heavy, “la galette une personne”, galette for one. Now, after my fifth collective ceremony, including leftovers for breakfast (amazingly good with coffee), two victories - yes, my youngest child was unbiasedly choosing slices under the table - complete with fèves of Tom from Tom and Jerry, and a disappointingly nondescript baker figurine, je n’en peux plus! Even an apple galette, most probably invented for late January frangipane fatigue, and nothing more than a large, round chausson aux pommes, could not tempt me.

Writing this, I was interrupted by my postlady who Bonne Annéed me with a big smile. PHEW! Two birds with one stone. The hand-addressed envelope she delivered was large and white, stamped by la Mairie, greetings card sized, the first I had received from them. How lovely! I thought, les voeux du maire come by snail mail. But no, it was merely the politest, most formal demand to cut back the hedges in my back fields, complete with the ominous Code de la Voirie Routière reference, defining the neighbourhood crime I was committing. Well then, tous mes voeux à vous aussi, Monsieur Le Maire.

Galette des Rois

Flat, shiny galettes des Rois – King cakes - are filled with frangipane and encased in rich puff pastry, dry and sweet, which could make you think it’s perhaps the ritual involved around them, more than the cake, that has people hooked.

The galette is cut into one more piece than the number of guests. The extra slice is la part du pauvre, the poor man's share, given in the past to those who would beg for food, now it is given to the greediest guest who wants second helpings. Then the youngest person at the gathering is sent under the table to call out everyone's name, impartially deciding the order in which everyone gets their slice.

This secrecy is necessary because the stakes are high. Inside each galette is a feve – a little charm. First served in Roman times, whoever came across it in his piece of cake was crowned king of the party. Bakers and pâtissiers always include cardboard crowns with the cake, and the king or queen gets to choose his or her corresponding co-monarch from around the table and wins the honour of inviting everyone for the next galette.

For the fève, you could use a small dried bean, as the Romans did, or a coin. Serves six.

You will need:

50g butter, softened

2 eggs

50g caster sugar

1 tbsp plain flour

50g ground almonds

A few drops of bitter almond extract

A pinch of salt

1 tbsp rum (optional)

1 packet good puff pastry

1 feve

1 egg, lightly beaten

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/gas mark 4. Line a large baking sheet with baking parchment and set it aside.

The puff pastry should be defrosted but kept in the fridge until the very last minute to make sure that it will rise properly.

In a bowl, mix the butter, 2 eggs, sugar and flour until well combined. Add the ground almonds, mix well, then add the bitter almond extract, the salt and the rum, if you're including it.

Roll out the puff pastry and cut two 22cm rounds. Place one on the baking sheet (leave the other in the fridge for now). Scoop the almond mixture into the centre of the pastry and gently and evenly distribute it across it, leaving a 2cm rim uncovered.

Place the feve anywhere you like on the almond cream, then brush the uncovered rim with beaten egg.

Remove the second puff pastry round from the fridge and gently place on top of the almond cream, aligning the edges so that they sit directly over those of the lower round.

Without pushing the almond cream out, gently bring the edges down to just touch the lower ones, pinching them together.

Brush the remaining beaten egg over the top of the puff pastry to glaze it, then make a small hole in the centre with a knife.

Gently score the pastry to make a criss-cross pattern, being careful not to cut all the way through.

Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce the oven temperature to 160°C/325°F/gas mark 3 and bake for 20 minutes or until lightly golden and the pastry has puffed up.

Let it cool before you start cutting into it. Serve warm.