Chapters (45)
- Cover
- Blame Iton Paris
- Copyright Notice
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Book One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Book Two
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
The Feast of Kings, or Epiphany, officially takes place on January 6, but in France any gathering in January is an excuse for a galette des Rois, and the possibility of a galette des Rois is an excuse for a gathering. The flaky, almond-intense galette des Rois is a French tradition that dates well back into the Middle Ages, and some historians trace its roots back to Roman times. It is now the key element of the festival of Epiphany, or the visit of the Three Magi. Although traditionally the first galette des Rois is shared among friends and family on Epiphany itself, or very close to it, people continue to share galettes at every occasion up into February. While there are various classic recipes, one of the more common ones is that of a thin, rich, flaky tarte filled with almond paste. Inside this “king cake,” as Louisianans have translated the expression for their Mardi Gras version, is baked a fève, which literally means a dried bean but rarely is one anymore. Whoever gets this fève is King or Queen for the evening and must choose a consort, both to be crowned with the paper crowns the baker provides with each galette.
I liked the idea of a galette des Rois but remained leery about the gathering business. “You know,” I hissed to Sébastien as we rode in the back of the car with Claudine, Jean-Charles, Justine, and their dog to his grandparents’ house, “my family might drink beer, but at least you only have one grandmother of mine to meet. I’m about to meet your second set of grandparents, and I still have two more to go.”
“Well, and then my great-grandmother,” Sébastien said. “But I have only two brothers, and neither carries a shotgun. Hey, Mom, did you know Laura was raised in the woods?”
Slim, delicately boned Claudine, with her cropped red hair and tiny sapphire earrings, hesitated and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You mean . . . by wolves?”
Okay, now, my table manners weren’t that bad. On the other hand, when I was a child I did have four teenage brothers who used to feed me dogfood sandwiches, something that wouldn’t have worked on a smarter little girl because my parents only bought dry dog food. And when four teenage males gathered around the dining-room table, things could get pretty ugly. “Not exactly.”
Claudine twisted around. “Séba, has she met any of your father’s side? You’re going to have to have a pretty big wedding to accommodate all the family. Have you calculated all the guests?”
“I figure about one hundred and fifty will be able to make it,” Sébastien said.
As his mother nodded and twisted back around, I poked him. “What are you talking about? If we get married, I thought we agreed to do it in the U.S. Haven’t you told your mom that, yet?”