Summary

An expatriate living in France eagerly awaits the arrival of Little Debbie snack cakes, while reflecting on the contrast between American and French pastry culture, as embodied by Little Debbie and Petite Madeleine.

Abstract

The author, an American living in France, expresses a deep longing for the comforting sweetness of Little Debbie snacks, which their daughter is set to bring from the United States. While appreciating the understated elegance of the French Petite Madeleine, the writer humorously compares the two confections, likening Little Debbie to a flamboyant bridesmaid dress and Petite Madeleine to a little black dress. The article delves into the history of Madeleines, their literary connection to Marcel Proust, and the stark difference in how they are consumed compared to the robust Little Debbie treats. The author also recounts a recent experience with mass-produced madeleines and looks forward to the upcoming reunion with Little Debbie, highlighting the cultural differences between American and French snack traditions.

Opinions

The author has a clear fondness for Little Debbie snacks, associating them with nostalgia and comfort.
There is a humorous tone in the comparison between the over-the-top American snack cakes and the subtle, classic French madeleines.
The writer seems to appreciate the cultural significance of Petite Madeleine, especially its connection to Proust's literature.
The author appears to be somewhat critical of the modern, mass-produced madeleines, suggesting they lack the authenticity and quality that would meet Marcel Proust's standards.
There is a sense of loyalty to American snack culture, as the author looks forward to enjoying Little Debbie snacks, even suggesting they pair well with wine, unlike their French counterpart.
The article subtly promotes the idea of cultural exchange and the personal significance of food in the context of expatriate life.

LIVING IN FRANCE: Little Debbie will soon arrive, safely packed in my daughter’s suitcase

I’ve already written at length (some might say in excess) about Little Debbie and my love for her gooey, sticky sweetness. Living in France: Here’s What I’ve Asked My Daughter to Bring Me From America. . .

I am eagerly anticipating her arrival . . . my daughter and son-in-law’s too, of course, but I have this glutinous, piggy side and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into an LD.

Here’s the thing though, I do like something sweet with my afternoon cuppa and, in the absence of Little Debbie, I must confess to a fondness for another temptress: Petite Madeleine.

I know, I know, but when in France . . .

Petite Madeleine is very understated, very je ne sais quoi.

Very French.

An unadorned little scallop-shaped sponge cake.

The cake equivalent to a little black dress.

Little Debbie would be . . .what? A pink frilly taffeta bridesmaid dress, maybe. With puffy sleeves.

Madeleine, of course, has this whole literary thing going for her, being inextricably linked to Marcel Proust.

This ‘short plump little cake,’ as he described her in Remembrance of Things Past, evoked a whole lifetime of memories.

His aunt, who spoiled him, would dip them for him in a soothing cup of lime-flower tea. How lovely.

Madeleines go back a long way in France — by one account to the 18th century and young pastry chef for the Duke Stanislas Leszczyński, named Madeleine. How she got the job, isn’t quite clear, because she knew only one recipe — a little cake her grandmother once made. I guess the duke liked them though.

So did King Louis XV and his wife Marie. She introduced them to the French court and, as starving peasants stormed the Bastille, may or may not, have uttered the immortal words ‘let them eat cake.’

It didn’t end well.

Anyway, back to the present.

Yesterday, I bought a large bag of madeleines, all individually wrapped in plastic, on sale at Lidl.

Marcel is shuddering, delicately, in his grave.

As I dipped one into my cup of Yorkshire tea, it hit the tea bag and half the cake dissolved.

I immediately thought of Little Debbie, who would never fall apart that way. Of course, being amply endowed with thick frosting and a jammy centre, she would need no dunking in the first place.

Oh, Little Debbie, I do miss you. Petite Madeleine has her understated charm, but I will be so happy to see you again. You even go well with plonk, something your French rival would never tolerate.

My daughter just sent me this picture of her packed suitcase with the various items I requested from America, plus, of course, Little Debbie.

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