Queen For A Day

Queen Chloé with her lucky charm 

Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the kitchen, I came home to this Epiphany:

A galette des Rois, or if you prefer, Kings' Cake, a flakey, buttery marvel with Frangipane (almond paste) in the center. "Oh, dear God, what is this heavenly bakery item?" I asked, briefly determined to resist the pastry before me, until my daughter-in-law explained the 300-year-old January tradition of her homeland. Kings' Cake celebrates the arrival of the Three Wise Men (Moses not being one of them) 12 days post-Christmas. "So this is a baby Jesus pastry?" I asked. "No," Chloé insisted. "Face it, Chlo-Chlo. There's a little bitty Jesus in there." "No, dear American mama." It's a charm, she said, and whoever gets a slice with the afore-mentioned plastic amulet gets declared king or queen for the day and enjoys good mazel, kina hora, for the year. "So you're telling me there's no baby J.C. in there? Not that there's anything wrong with that." "Ma!" one of the sons I birthed scolded. "It's cultural, not religious." "Not according to this card that came with the cake." "Forget the card, Ma," said the other son I birthed. "Put it in the oven already." So bossy. But I followed orders, popped it in a 350 for five minutes, and waited for the Miracle, courtesy of Pitchoun! Boulangerie (Beverly Grove). 

But there's more to this tradition than just the charm. Turns out, the youngest in the house, (conveniently Chloé), gets to call out names and assign each slice of cake. The first round of yumminess yielded no winner. The second round, guess who scored the non-baby J.C. trinket and wore the crown, pretty much for the rest of the day, until someone stole her glory? "Off with your head, SJG," she said, stealing the crown back. Well. That's the last time I mess with royalty.