Madeleines, if you’ve never had them, are these little sponge cakes that are shaped like shells. Or at least, people seem to call them shells. I always thought they looked like small blimps.
But giving little cakes a girl’s name? There must be a story behind that.
My name is Madeleine. I love baked goods and sex.
It wasn’t always like that. I used to never have dessert. I never understood it. I would fill myself up with all the delicious food served for dinner, and then there’s even more food after that?
But one day, there was a boy. A boy with beautiful blond hair and blue eyes who asked me out on a date. We went to a charming bistro nearby his home. The meal was light but delicious. I had room for more, for once in my life. When he ordered souffles for dessert, I didn’t know what to expect. What kind of dessert takes twenty minutes to make? It was only going to take me a couple of minutes to devour.
Then they came. Two billowing mounds of rich, chocolatey goodness in shiny white ramekins. The server gently pierced the top of each souffle with a small spoon and poured in a rich, silky cream that flowed out of the pitcher like water from an eternal fountain. I took my spoon and dug into the cavern the cream had carved out. As it reached my lips, I could smell the heavenly aroma of the chocolate. Then it entered my mouth. The luscious, pillowy chocolate souffle with the rich cream melted in my mouth, a conglomeration of everything that was sweet and wonderful in this world.
My focus on the souffle never wavered long enough for me to notice that this beautiful boy had been staring at me the whole time I was having a personal experience with the souffle. His deep blue eyes pierced through my heart, two laser beams penetrating the very depths of my soul. I dropped my spoon, his gaze causing everything below my neck to go numb. Suddenly, our lips seemed to be drawn to each other like magnets of opposite polarities. I could taste the chocolate in his mouth, as we shared the perfect chocolate souffle kiss across the table.
He couldn’t pay the bill fast enough, as he took my arm and guided me to his home. The whole time we were walking, we felt each other’s pulses through our arms. It was all we could do to keep from jumping on each other right there on the road. But, decorum! A young lady can’t be seen in public like that. Especially not in a small town like this where gossip flies around like hummingbirds on meth.
Maybe it was the wine during the meal, but I didn’t even remember running up the twenty-two steps to the second floor of his house. He carried me into his bedroom, where the bed seemed perfectly made to receive me. As if he had been expecting me to come over this whole time. But the thought never crossed my mind, as the wine washed away any suspicions I had about his motives. He gently placed me onto his bed while he covered my face with soothing kisses.
Our clothes flew off like laundry blowing away in a strong wind, our naked flesh soon pressed against each other, warmth spreading from every point of contact. He was on top of me before I knew it, gyrating and flopping around like a fish on dry land. Except the dry land underneath him soon became wet, my natural lubrication gushing forth from the feeling of his member inside of me. His thrusting increased in speed while my moaning became more audible. I couldn’t help myself. He was reaching areas down there that I couldn’t explore myself.
The walls seemed to fade away as if all the light in the room were being concentrated into a spotlight shining directly on the bed, where he and I had our bodies intertwined. Just as it seemed that the bed was going to catch fire from the intensity of the light falling onto it, I felt a surge of pleasure emanating from my pelvis. What wonders this man was doing to my nether regions. He was taking me to plateaus that I thought only goddesses could reach.
I could feel his thrusting become more urgent, his breathing becoming so audible I feared he might collapse from hyperventilation. Loud moaning preceded the feeling of his penis shooting spurt after spurt of warm semen into my vagina, a machine gun squirting hot gobs of liquid deep into a crevasse that few men had explored. He rolled off of me and landed face up right by my side in the bed. Typical man, he seemed to be falling asleep shortly after climaxing, while I was lying there, wide awake and needing conversation. A deep sense of regret suddenly came over me, like noxious fumes filling my lungs.
Soon he was unconscious, and I got dressed so I could leave. I ran down the stairs and outside as quickly as I could, wanting to forget what just happened with that thoughtless, lethargic man inside. I ran to the shore and waded into the ocean, trying to wash away the filth that was deposited between my legs. I let that man take advantage of me, and for what, a souffle and some alcohol? It was the alcohol that did me in. I should never have let him get me drunk.
As I walked back onto dry land, I noticed a row of seashells in the sand, arranged in a perfect little row. They were so beautiful, shining dimly in the moonlight. I picked them up and took them home, thinking I could do something with them.
But what? As I scrubbed the shells clean, I remembered the afternoon tea I had recently with my mother, where there were the most delightful little sponge cakes. So small, and yet bursting with buttery goodness. Then it hit me. I could bake cakes in these shells.
I mixed together some eggs, sugar, flour, and butter, and poured a bit of batter in each shell. After a few minutes in the oven, the kitchen smelled heavenly, and the cakes were golden brown. The steam rose off of the cakes in the shells, dancing wisps curling toward the ceiling.
I lifted them out of their shells once they had cooled. They had a delightful scalloped underside with a smooth top. I bit into one. The cake was so tender, so moist, so buttery. I was salivating for a second bite before I had even swallowed my first.
What to call them? Such beauty in a small package, so delicate. Just like me. I will name them after myself. Madeleines.
Can you actually bake seashells like that? Well, we’ll just pretend that she actually did that.
Vanilla Madeleines
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup butter
- Preheat oven to 375F.
- Lightly grease and flour a madeleine pan.
- Beat together the eggs and sugar until smooth.
- Add the vanilla extract and salt, and mix.
- Sift the flour and baking powder into the bowl and mix until just combined.
- While stirring the mixture constantly, slowly add in the melted butter in a stream and mix until combined.
- Put a rounded tablespoon of batter into each mold of the pan.
- Bake the madeleines for 12-14 minutes, until they are golden around the edges.
- Allow the madeleines to cool for 3-5 minutes before removing them from the pan.
The batter. Only seven ingredients.
It is actually quite hard for me to get them all to be the same size. You would think with these tablespoons it’d be easy…
Mine were done after 12 minutes, nicely golden around the edges.
They’re quite dark on the other side, I suspect because of the dark non-stick pan.
I could probably bake them for a bit less time.
I like these little blimp shapes, they’re cute, and they’re small enough that you can eat more than one without feeling too guilty.
The bad part about these were that they dried out quite quickly. So eat them fast!