The King of Desserts

I thought it was some kind of conspiracy. Come January, they were everywhere you looked: the unassumingly plain-looking, round, flat, flaky-pastry cakes in various sizes piled high in every bakery window. And then there were the ads for cider plastered in every Metro station and bus stop, proudly claiming to be the best pairing for the galette du roi. The cake of kings? What the hell is that? It wasn’t until a couple weeks into January that I put two and two together. It’s no conspiracy, but an age-old New Year tradition built on (what else?) chivalry, dessert, and booze.

Right around the time it dawned on me that the galette and cidre are this country’s seasonal answer to milk and cookies, we had some of N’s French colleagues over one afternoon and they very sweetly brought a galette du roi. They also further illuminated me on the annual ritual.

The scoop on the cake: this confection is akin to an almond croissant, albeit in a different format. The crust is comprised of very flaky pastry, baked to a golden brown and sometimes embossed with a leaf pattern but usually very plain on top. The yummy innards are made of a surprisingly not-nauseatingly-sweet (meaning, fabulously good) almond paste. Although very simple and rustic compared to the chic-chic pastries you can normally get in most Parisian boulangeries, the galette is divine in its simplicity and even better when slightly heated. Oh, and the best part? There’s a little prize toy hidden inside. This strangely tends to be a tiny, plastic farm animal. Still not clear on the reasoning for that...Anyhow, see the diminituve plastic cow pictured. (Upon discovering it, the winner of our first-ever French Crackerjack prize exclaimed, "Ooh, it's a veal!" Heh.)

The toy-winning proceedings: determine who the oldest and the youngest people in the room are. The youngest hides under the table, while the oldest cuts and dishes out slices of the galette—but not before the youngest, unable to see what the slices look like, barks out to whom the slice should be given. This keeps the game honest—the person deciding who gets which slice cannot see and therefore cannot guess where the toy is hidden. Anyhow, everyone starts a-noshin’ until someone bites into something solid, hopefully doesn’t chip a tooth in the process, and declares him or herself the king!

It comes with props only the dominant male hierarchy could love: the king then dons the definitively non-dainty golden cardboard crown (move over, crappy non-metallic Burger King topper) and can choose his queen. Yes, this is a dated ritual and has not been updated for political correctness. Remember, this isn’t the U.S. The entire language is genderized. (Don’t even get me started on the arbitrariness and weirdness of calling a table ‘she’ and a telephone number ‘he’ - not to mention the designations make. absolutely. no. sense.)

Oh, and regarding the cider, yes, it’s traditional to drink it with the galette, yes, it’s sparkling apple cider, and yes it’s alcoholic, but just barely.

Needless to say, it was love at first bite and we were thrilled when on another January weekend, dinner guests brought over a galette. We also initiated my dad to this sugary ritual when he visited in January. And as soon as the month ended, there was nary a galette du roi in sight.

You’d think in February, we’d be witness to a chocolate heart explosion, but the French—despite being the eternal champions of l’amour—don’t exploit Valentine’s Day for all its chocolatey promise. Chocolate is a year-round cause for celebration in France, bien sur!