Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, save what was comprised in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there, had any existence for me, when one day in winter, on my return home, my mother, seeing that I was cold, offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called "petites madeleines," which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?
Now, I don't want to toot my own horn here, but I'm fairly certain that my recipe for madeleines invokes the same feelings of joy about which Proust wrote. You should probably judge for yourselves, though.
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon edible lavender (optional... but amazing and you should really try it)
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
pinch of salt
1/3 cup sugar
grated zest of 1/2 lemon
2 large eggs, at room temperature
2 tablespoons honey
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
To flavor the butter with the lavender, melt the butter in a small saucepan (or in the microwave). Stir in the lavender and allow it to infuse for 15 minutes. Line a small sieve with a double layer of cheesecloth (yay!), then strain the butter into a small bowl; discard the lavender.
Whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt.
Put the sugar and lemon zest in a mixer bowl or in another large bowl and, using your fingertips, work the zest into the sugar until the mixture is fragrant. Beat the eggs, sugar and zest together until pale and thick, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the honey and vanilla and beat for 1 minute more. Switch to a rubber spatula and gently fold in the dry ingredients. When they are incorporated, fold in the butter.
Spoon the batter into the buttered and flour-dusted madeleine molds, cover and chill (3 hours), then bake the cookies directly from the fridge.
Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Bake for 12 to 14 minutes, or until the madeleines are golden and the tops spring back when touched. Remove the pan from the oven and release the madeleines from the mold by rapping the edge of the pan against the counter. Gently pry the cookies from the pan using a butter knife.
Transfer the cookies to a rack to cool to just warm or room temperature... or pop them right in your mouth.
