Bonjour, mes petits lecteurs! Let’s make a pact up front: If I resist the urge to make a preening bon mot about Proust over the course of this prologue, you have to promise not to gripe about how this recipe absolutely, positively, without exception requires the purchase of a special pan. (A mini-muffin tin might produce something, but they will not be madeleines.) Deal? Magnifique!
With that out of the way, we can move on to just why the delicate, fragrant, consummately charming madeleine should immediately become part of your baking repertoire. To begin, they are delicious, obviously — affectionate little sponge-cake kisses on their own, irresistible French seductions when slipped into a warm cup of tea. In terms of form, their refined-yet-playful seashell bellies and gently humped backs are one of the most elegant things you can produce in your oven, and they require almost embarrassingly little skill or effort. Seriously, people will straight-up coo over these cookies. What you do with your knowledge of their actual humble provenance is up to you.
Assuming you make sweet treats with mouths besides your own in mind, you should also feel welcome to regard madeleines as a go-to gift for casual occasions. I often use them as a hostess present; they make brunch that much easier when you’re visiting family or friends over a summer weekend. With minimal planning — basically enough time to rest the batter — you may bless some lucky person with a lovely tin of exquisite confections that will simultaneously endear you to them with your thoughtfulness and intimidate them with your presumed baking prowess. Not bad for a cookie.
Speaking of resting batter, the only trick to this recipe is a modicum of patience. Doing the steps completely and in order is crucial if you hope for the best result. To start, make sure your eggs are at room temperature. (The easiest way is to submerge them in a small bowl of warm water for a few minutes while you gather the other ingredients.) When you’re ready to start mixing, resist the call of the Kitchenaid and opt instead for a wooden spoon and your own surprisingly strong forearms: Your efforts will result in a batter of superior consistency and authenticity. The rest is all about flavor: Be careful not to overbrown the butter, and don’t skimp on the vanilla bean – the flecks are gorgeous here. The rose water is optional, but it does add a subtle floral note that should please the kind of person who appreciates the subtle nuances of a fine tea cake.