{"id":165623,"date":"2023-10-05T12:20:34","date_gmt":"2023-10-05T16:20:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=165623"},"modified":"2023-10-05T12:20:34","modified_gmt":"2023-10-05T16:20:34","slug":"cooking-with-madame-daulnoy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2023\/10\/05\/cooking-with-madame-daulnoy\/","title":{"rendered":"Cooking with Madame d\u2019Aulnoy"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The fairy tales of Mary-Catherine le Jumel de Barneville, Baronesse d\u2019Aulnoy\u2014first published in French in the 1690s\u2014are full of jewel-like foods, poisoned drinks, and violent feats of baking. The cooking is extreme. In one story, \u201cFinette-Cendron,\u201d a Cinderella figure, pleases her fairy godmother by baking her a cake with \u201ctwo pounds of butter\u201d; later, she serves her a feast made from two chickens, a cock, and \u201ctwo little rabbits that were being fed up with cabbage.\u201d In another story, \u201cBelle-Belle,\u201d a cross-dressing girl kills a dragon after getting him drunk on a lake-sized wine cocktail spiced with \u201craisins, pepper, and other things that cause thirst.\u201d In a third, \u201cThe Bee and the Orange Tree,\u201d a princess brings her shipwrecked sweetheart \u201cfour parrots and six squirrels cooked in the sun,\u201d along with \u201cstrawberries, cherries, raspberries, and other fruit,\u201d served on plates of stone, and using large, \u201cvery soft and pliable\u201d leaves as napkins. Lest anyone find d\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s repasts and their power unrealistic, the opposite is true, as I discovered while attempting to re-create the food with my friend Celia Bell, whose novel, The Disenchantment<\/i>, published this May, was inspired by d\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s life and work.<\/p>\n

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Our leg of lamb was big enough to feed an ogre. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

The Baronesse d\u2019Aulnoy was an influential early author of fairy tales and a pioneer of the genre, who lived from the early 1650s until 1705, mostly in Paris. The term fairy tale<\/em> itself is said to have come from her decision to call her works contes de f\u00e9es<\/em> (\u201cfairy tales\u201d in French). Despite the diamonds, ogres, fairies, and woodland adventures that populate her writings, d\u2019Aulnoy was concerned with marriage and its consequences; the relation between the sexes; and female education, empowerment, independence, and sexuality. Her witty, aristocratic tales traffic in the kind of doublespeak inherent to fairy tales that allow their writers to uphold myths and social mores while also speaking \u201charsh truths\u201d and \u201copen[ing] spaces for dreaming alternatives,\u201d as the writer Marina Warner puts it in her book of fairy-tale theory, From the Beast to the Blonde: <\/em>On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers.<\/em><\/p>\n

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Read in this light, a story like \u201cThe Bee and the Orange Tree\u201d reveals a subtext about female independence. In it, the shipwrecked Princess Aim\u00e9e is raised by a family of ogres. When a handsome prince is also washed up onshore, the ogres want to eat him. Aim\u00e9e saves his life, escapes the ogres (by baking a cake with a talking bean in it to distract them), and marries the prince in the end\u2014a stock happy ending, due to her traditional virtues of sweetness, bravery, and goodness. But the meeting of the maiden and the ogre can also be read as a metaphor for marriage. Aim\u00e9e is part of a \u201cfamily\u201d of cannibals, and is in constant danger of being consumed (as wives can be). She finds a beautiful and dazed young man washed up on the seashore, desires him, and takes action, ruthlessly killing the ogre-husband, tricking the witless ogre-wife, and incidentally killing a few ogre-children in order to escape.<\/p>\n

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A 2011 illustrated edition of Madame D\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s selected tales, The Island of Happiness<\/em>, with slices of the cooked leg of lamb. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

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Celia\u2019s novel, The Disenchantment<\/i>, picks up on these themes from d\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s work and life. Celia\u2019s heroine, Mary Catherine la Jumelle de Cardonnoy, struggles in an abusive marriage to an older man, trapped by her love for her two small children. The real Baronesse d\u2019Aulnoy was married when she was fifteen years old to a man thirty years her senior, whom she schemed against with the help of her mother, and from whom she eventually managed to separate. D\u2019Aulnoy might have had an affair with one (or both) of a pair of servants who helped her in the escape plot. Celia\u2019s Mary Catherine is having an affair with a cross-dressing younger woman. When the ogre-like Baron d\u2019Cardonnoy discovers them, the younger woman\u2019s heroics place Mary Catherine in mortal peril, and the novel becomes a fairy tale in reverse, with the bride heading not into a marriage, but out of one.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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I first read d\u2019Aulnoy several years ago, at Celia\u2019s suggestion, when I myself was unhappily married with two small children, and was considering my options. Somehow, divorce, which seemed like it should be emotionally and logistically possible for a woman in New York, was more daunting than I could have imagined. I was afraid of all the things women have always been afraid of. And also I was dismayed by how many things had gone wrong: a wife\u2019s and a husband\u2019s power to torture each other, the presence of unruly sexuality, the reality of raising children together that looked nothing like my dream. I appreciated d\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s stories for their ability to fully encompass the myths and ideals of marriage, while surprising me even four centuries later.<\/p>\n

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We made a Hunter\u2019s Salad with chicken livers, inspired by the tale \u201cThe Hind in the Wood,\u201d in which a hunter tracks his beloved, who has been turned into a deer. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Celia and I got together in New York to make food from d\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s work, which had also made its way into her own writing. As part of writing her book, Celia had meticulously researched seventeenth-century food: that was the era, Celia told me, when French cooking as we know it today essentially developed. It was just becoming fashionable to cook fresh food, in season, simply prepared, and also to make the kind of elaborate pastries and extravagant centerpieces that we think of as quintessentially \u201cFrench.\u201d Celia saw parallels between the elaborate showmanship and pretend rusticism of the French cuisine of that period and our own trendy farm-to-table culture. Celia also pointed out the woodsiness that lived alongside all the finery: \u201cEveryone is encrusted in carbuncles and diamonds, but also every so often someone has to run away and live picturesquely off the fruits of the forest.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Celia Bell, whose novel, The Disenchantment<\/em>, takes inspiration from the life of Madame d\u2019Aulnoy. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

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The story \u201cThe Hind in the Wood\u201d provides a wonderful example of this kind of sophisticated faux rusticism. In it, Princess Desir\u00e9e is lost in the woods, and has been cursed by a wicked lobster-fairy by being transformed into a white deer by day, only to resume her human form at night. Her beloved fianc\u00e9, Prince Warrior, does not realize that Desir\u00e9e is the deer, and spends his days trying to track and shoot her. (And Desir\u00e9e does not mind. A barbed reflection on love!) The forest setting and animal transformations are contrasted with the tale\u2019s other features. By night, Desir\u00e9e repairs to a charming cottage with her devoted maid, Gilliflower, where the two read books \u201cto divert our minds.\u201d Gilliflower conveniently runs over to the nearest town to buy the books. It sounds like a weekend in the Catskills.<\/p>\n

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Celia spreads a layer of cherry jam on top of a mousse layer for the Princess Cake, so it will gush out like blood when the cake is cut. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

The menu Celia and I created, drawn from the four d\u2019Aulnoy stories mentioned above, was classically French, but we adapted the recipes to incorporate some of the quasi-rusticism. It was almost too easy to do. Belle-Belle renders a dragon insensible with spiced wine, which made Celia think of a\u00a0populo<\/i>, a drink from the 1600s composed of wine spirits, musk, amber, pepper, oil of lemon, anise, and coriander. To make our version, Celia concocted her own oil of lemon infusion\u2014a sweet, citrusy oleo-saccharum syrup, spiked with anise and coriander. My wine consultant, Hank Zona, suggested using a natural white wine from Corsican producer Yves Leccia as a base. (What better than a natural wine to epitomize rustic trendiness?) Hank also chose another beverage adhering to the old-is-new fad: a Blanquette de Limoux, from the French town where sparkling wine was invented in the 1530s, made in the\u00a0m\u00e9thode ancestrale<\/i>, a close approximation of how it would have been made back then.<\/p>\n

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For our first course, Celia and I took inspiration from \u201cThe Hind in the Wood,\u201d which ends with a protracted woodland idyll full of good things to eat. The characters in this story forage for food, nibbling on grass and eating apples with a beautiful \u201crosy color,\u201d while listening to melodious birdsong. Today, diners at better restaurants, of course, often encounter foraged items on menus and will be familiar with this mood. Lacking a forest, Celia and I went to the farmers market and bought expensive microgreens (baby lettuces, nasturtium leaves, and purslane) and jewel-like edible flowers (we used Sichuan buttons, but pansies, marigolds, calendula, or bee balm would all be good). We tossed them with snipped parsley and the most French of herbs, tarragon, to make Salade Chasseur, traditionally a hunter\u2019s foraged salad served with the offal from his kill. We topped our salad with savory wedges of chicken livers\u2014the blood and guts as a contrast to the flowers and herbs seemed just right for a fairy tale.<\/p>\n

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Microgreens from the farmers market, prior to their transformation into a Hunter\u2019s Salad. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

Our main course was a roasted leg of lamb, or\u00a0gigot,\u00a0<\/i>culled from the action in the story \u201cFinette-Cendron.\u201d D\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s version of the Cinderella tale includes an interlude in which the good Finette-Cendron and her two abusive sisters, Belle-de-Nuit and Fleur d\u2019Amour, are captured by ogres. Her parents are spendthrifts and fools; even her fairy godmother insists that she behaves badly. Finette-Cendron refuses to be like them and acts according to her own conscience. When she encounters the ogres (a metaphorical family to mirror her real one), she ruthlessly dispatches them, pushing the ogre-husband into an oven and beheading his wife with an axe. D\u2019Aulnoy rewards her with gold, jewels, and a handsome prince to love. Celia and I chose to reward our dinner guests with a repast from the ogre\u2019s castle that would also be a nod to modern showmanship-cooking. The ogre is said to eat \u201ca hundred lambs and a hundred sucking pigs\u201d while waiting for Finette-Cendron to bake his bread. We made a massive leg of lamb, smothered in a butter-and-herb mixture.<\/p>\n

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The bloodred glaze of the Cannibal Princess Cake hides three layers and a meaty surprise. Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

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Last, Celia designed a devious showstopper for dessert, a cake referencing the one Princess Aim\u00e9e bakes to escape the cannibalistic ogres in \u201cThe Bee and the Orange Tree.\u201d Aim\u00e9e\u2019s cake has a talking bean inside that misleads the ogres, giving her time to escape. Our cake was covered with a bloodred mirror glaze, to reference the ogres\u2019 cannibalism, and contained an unexpected element not suitable for vegetarians, gelatin, for the same reason. It had so many steps and such laborious production techniques that it would provide a different kind of distraction, in order, Celia said, to keep the baker \u201caway from whatever other responsibilities you have for some time.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Fairy tales, according to Warner, have had staying power because they are essentially orderly. They draw boundaries, sorting out which behaviors are socially acceptable and which ones aren\u2019t. D\u2019Aulnoy\u2019s heroines are unconventional, but their consoling magic is that they meet happy endings. And her achievement is that she made room for a wider range of characters to do so\u2014unhappy wives, disobedient daughters, women who love to read. Our dinner party had a happy ending, as well, as we shared our food with our friends in my now-single-woman abode. Our cocktails were sweet, musky, and spicy, and we drank many of them. Celia turns out to be both a skilled writer of fairy tales and a dab hand at cooking challenging cuts of meat. Our lamb was tender and perfectly seasoned; the chunks of liver in the salad stole the show (both are items I\u2019ve struggled to make correctly in the past). The Cannibal Princess Cake tasted of orange blossoms and cherries instead of human flesh, but we made-believe.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

Populo from \u201cBelle-Belle\u201d<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the oleo-saccharum:<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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4\u20135 lemons<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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8 oz white sugar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 tbsp\u00a0freshly ground black pepper (or to taste)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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3 star anise pods<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 tsp whole coriander<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the cocktail: <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 tbsp spiced oleo-saccharum<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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3 oz white wine<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 oz brandy<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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To make the oleo-saccharum, peel, halve, and juice the lemons. Coarsely chop the squeezed peels into bite-size pieces, then toss them with the lemon juice, sugar, and spices and leave to macerate overnight. Strain. For each cocktail, combine one tablespoon oleo-saccharum with the wine and brandy, shake over ice, strain, and serve.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Salade Chasseur from \u201cThe Hind in the Wood\u201d<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the livers:<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 sprig rosemary<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 bay leaf<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 pint chicken livers<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Dash of cognac<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the dressing:<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1\/4 cup olive oil<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1\/4 cup vinegar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 sprig tarragon, finely chopped<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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About 1\/3\u00a0cup parsley, finely chopped<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 spoonful of Dijon mustard<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Salt and pepper to taste<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the salad:<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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6 cups mixed greens<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 handful edible flowers<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Choose your greens. If you have a garden, or a public park open to foragers, you might pick your own purslane\u2014or wood sorrel, or bee balm, or lamb\u2019s-quarter\u2014but the salad will also be good if you use lettuce from the supermarket.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Make the livers. In a pan, heat a little olive oil and add the rosemary and bay leaf. Saut\u00e9 until fragrant. Add the chicken livers and saut\u00e9 on medium-high heat until they are cooked through or just pink in the middle. The texture of the livers should be creamy and firm. Transfer the livers to a plate and pour a dash of cognac into the pan to deglaze it. Reserve this liquid for your salad dressing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Make the salad dressing. Finely chop the tarragon and parsley, then add to a bowl with the deglazed liquid from the pan you cooked the meat in, along with the olive oil and vinegar and Dijon mustard. Whisk, taste, and add salt and pepper and oil or vinegar to your liking.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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To serve, toss the greens and flowers together with the dressing, and arrange the livers on top.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Le Gigot from \u201cFinette-Cendron\u201d <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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4\u20135 cloves garlic<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Zest of 1 lemon<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1\/2 stick softened butter<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Salt and pepper to taste<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Leg of lamb (gigot<\/i>) (usually 4\u20135 lb)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2 onions<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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4\u20135 carrots<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Finely chop the garlic, rosemary, and lemon zest, and mix into the softened butter, along with salt and pepper. Using a sharp knife, score the surface of the lamb in a crosshatched pattern, then coat it thoroughly with the butter-and-herb mixture.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

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Heat the oven to 425\u00b0F. Peel and chop the onions and carrots, then place them in your baking dish with the lamb on top. Roast the lamb for fifteen minutes, then reduce the heat to 350\u00b0F and roast until the internal temperature reaches 130\u00b0F\u2014usually for between an hour and an hour and a half, depending on the size of your gigot<\/i>. Baste the lamb with its juices every fifteen to twenty minutes.\u00a0When the internal temperature has reached 130\u00b0F, remove it from the oven and allow it to rest for ten minutes before carving. Slice thinly and serve with the roasted carrots and onions.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Cannibal Princess Cake from \u201cThe Bee and the Orange Tree\u201d<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the mousse:<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 lb cherries, pitted<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2 tbsp sugar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Dash of liquid from good-quality maraschino cherries, or substitute cognac<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2 egg yolks (save whites for the cake layer)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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100 g sugar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2 packets gelatin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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40 ml water<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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200 g heavy cream<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

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For the cake:<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2 large egg whites<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 pinch cream of tartar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 tbsp powdered sugar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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3 medium eggs<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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75 grams granulated sugar<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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80 grams butter, room temperature<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1\/2 tsp orange blossom water<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Zest of 1 orange<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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130 grams almond meal<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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50 grams all-purpose flour<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Pinch of salt<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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For the mirror glaze:<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1 tsbp\u00a0plus 2 tsp gelatin, divided<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1\/4 cup cold water<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2\/3 cup condensed milk<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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1\/2 cup\u00a0plus 2 tbsp water<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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2 1\/3 cups chopped white chocolate, or white chocolate chips<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Red food coloring<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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To garnish:<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Cherries or other red fruit<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Comb honey<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Red and white flowers<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Make the mousse. Pur\u00e9e the cherries with the sugar, then add the cherry liquid or cognac and bring to a simmer in a small saucepan. Remove from the heat and allow to cool. Whisk the egg yolks and remaining sugar together in a saucepan over low heat, stirring continuously (your goal is to temper the eggs and prevent them from curdling). When the egg mixture is warm and has begun to look creamy, whisk in about 1\/4 cup of the cherry pur\u00e9e and heat through. It should thicken slightly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Meanwhile, bloom the gelatin: Add two packets to 40 ml of cool water. The powder will expand and become gelatinous. Whisk the bloomed gelatin into the egg-and-cherries mixture, then add the rest of the pur\u00e9ed cherries and mix thoroughly. Allow the whole mixture to cool to room temperature. Do not under any circumstances add the mixture to the whipped cream (next step) before it is completely cool.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Once the egg-cherries-and-gelatin mixture has cooled (or while you are waiting for it to cool), whip the cream into stiff peaks. Gently fold the mixture into the whipped cream, being careful not to knock the air out of the cream. Pour the mousse into a greased, parchment-lined springform pan and transfer to the refrigerator to set. The mousse may set in just a few hours, but I recommend doing this step the night before you want to serve the cake, to avoid anxiety.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

Make the cake. Preheat the oven to 350\u00b0F. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. The batter is quite stiff and the cake layer will be thin, so don\u2019t worry too much about lining the sides. You do, however, need to choose a baking sheet that has more surface area than the springform pan you used for the mousse, as you will cut out the cake to the precise size you need after it\u2019s baked.<\/p>\n

Add the egg whites and cream of tartar to the bowl of an electric mixer and beat until they form soft peaks. Add the powdered sugar and continue to beat until the meringue forms stiff, glossy peaks. Set aside, and in a separate bowl beat the whole eggs and sugar until light and fluffy, then add the butter, orange blossom water, and orange\u00a0zest and mix thoroughly. Gently fold in the almond meal and flour, and then fold this mixture\u00a0gently into your meringue. As with the mousse, be careful not to knock the air out of your batter as you are folding. This cake has no chemical rising agent\u2014it relies on the air trapped in your meringue to make it light and fluffy.<\/p>\n

Using a spatula, spread your cake batter out onto your prepared baking sheet. You can make it as thick or as thin as you like; I spread it about one inch thick. You do not need to spread it all the way to the edges of the pan. Bake for fifteen to twenty minutes, or until the top turns golden brown and the cake is firm and springy to the touch. Allow it to cool completely.<\/p>\n

To assemble the cake, take your springform pan with the set mousse and place it on top of the almond cake and trace the outline of the pan. Trim your cake in this shape: it should fit nicely into the top of your pan. Next, spread the rest of the cherry pur\u00e9e on top of the set mousse. Prepare a baking dish full of warm water large enough to hold your pan\u2014an inch or two of water will be enough; don\u2019t flood your cake. Place the sponge cake layer on top of the mousse pan, and place the pan in the warm-water bath for thirty seconds. Then place baking sheet on top of the pan and carefully flip it. Working slowly, remove the sides of your springform pan and then the top, being careful not to tear or dent the mousse layer. The mousse should hold its shape. Put in the freezer for thirty minutes or overnight.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

Make the mirror glaze. Bloom the gelatin: Mix the gelatin and cold water and set aside until the gelatin expands. Meanwhile, whisk together the condensed milk, water, and sugar in a small pot.\u00a0Bring to a simmer over medium-high heat, then whisk in the bloomed gelatin until it is fully dissolved and no clumps remain. (I suggest using an immersion blender for this step,\u00a0but be careful to keep it fully submerged,\u00a0so you don\u2019t introduce bubbles into the glaze.)<\/p>\n

Place the white chocolate in a mixing bowl, then pour the hot gelatin mixture through a sieve over the chocolate. The chocolate should melt completely. Mix with an immersion blender, and add red food coloring until you have a bright, shiny red. Transfer to a vessel that pours easily and allow to cool to 94\u00b0F, monitoring the temperature closely. The mirror glaze will set correctly if poured between 90 and 94\u00b0F. If it is too hot or too cold, you will not achieve the desired effect.<\/p>\n

While you are waiting for the glaze to cool, prepare the mousse cake for glazing. Remove it from the freezer, and using an offset spatula, transfer it to a cake stand or cooling rack set over a baking sheet (the glaze will be messy\u2014you want to catch any drips). When the glaze reaches 94\u00b0F, slowly pour it over your cake, starting at the center. The glaze should pool and drip down the sides. Continue to pour until you\u2019ve used all the glaze, taking care to coat the whole cake evenly. The glaze should set within one or two minutes. Once it has set, use the spatula to carefully transfer the cake to a serving platter.<\/p>\n

Garnish. I sliced my cherries in half and arranged them on the cake with the pits still in, to look like broken hearts. Cut small pieces of comb honey to go in between them, and garnish with a few red flowers.<\/p>\n

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Photograph by Erica Maclean.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Valerie Stivers is a writer based in New York.\u00a0Read earlier\u00a0installments of\u00a0Eat Your Words<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Cannibal Princess Cake tasted of orange blossoms and cherries instead of human flesh, but we made-believe.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":669,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[30795],"tags":[1671,31621,68721,67827],"class_list":["post-165623","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-eat-your-words","tag-cooking","tag-eat-your-words","tag-fairytales","tag-featured"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nCooking with Madame d\u2019Aulnoy by Valerie Stivers<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"October 5, 2023 \u2013 The Cannibal Princess Cake tasted of orange blossoms and cherries instead of human flesh, but we made-believe.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" 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