Have you ever been eating a delicious piece of cake and said to yourself, "This cake is good, but it would be so much better if it were gold?"
I feel certain that you have said that, and I am here to help.
For Valentine's Day, our neighbors had a small wine and dessert get-together at their house. I brought Queer Martha's famous chocolate tart, but Valentined it by adding red raspberries on top. Once I finished placing the raspberries, I took a step back and looked at my handiwork. Then I, like I am sure you would, said to myself, "This tarte needs some fucking gold dust."
I've been living with edible gold dust in my kitchen for about 7 years. Rachel and I went through a homemade chocolate phase - a phase I keep hoping we'll relapse into - during which we bought edible gold dust to decorate our truffles. We never figured out how to use the dust without it clumping or sticking to our fingers instead of transferring to the chocolate, so the wee jar was relegated to the back of the baking...
So we are a day off of our normal Friday Baking & Beer edition, but it's been a weird week. With all the snow that hit the East coast, I ended up having to walk to work every day, which caused me to arrive late, thus I stayed late, and therefore I missed important blog deadlines. But no amount of snow or evening meetings in the suburbs of Philadelphia could stop me from baking for you, and, boy, do we have an exciting Beer & Baking to jump into today.
As anyone who has ever done as little as crossed through French air space knows, the thing you miss the most immediately and ferociously about that crazy country shaped like a hexagon is its bread. What is the rest of the world doing wrong that our bread can't be as perfect as France's? It just doesn't make sense - all it is is flour, yeast, water, and salt. You can talk big game about the terroir, but at the end of the day... fllour, yeast, water, and salt! Come on!
Once upon a time, Queer Martha said to herself, "I'm going to make some damn madeleines." Because madeleines are delicious. They also remind me of that time when I was going through a really terrible break up and I was broke and I curled up in my bed and only ate bags of madeleines and tea for about 5 months. Madeleines are fucking Proustian for me. One bite and I'm immediately, like, in search of lost time and accessing this deep darkness and sometimes you just really want to access that darkness and maybe reclaim it, you know? Indeed - madeleines are delicious and sad.
Anyway! I was like, "LET'S MAKE MADELEINES!" So I got my melted butter, my sugar, my flour, my eggs, and baking powder, and my fleur d'orange extract. Here is the proof.
I hear you saying, "I don't really want to read on the internet about the sad cakes you baked unless you give me the recipe, Lizzie."
But this isn't about baking. No, not at all. This is about life lessons. This is real life. Beca...