Craqueline, 26 April 2011

On almost every visit to Vence, the next town over from Tourettes-sur-Loup, we would stop by our favorite bakery and chocolatier, G. Palanque. My guess is that the bakery came first and over the generations chocolate became another art form for them. In the window there was always to be seen - in pride of place - a brioche-like cake amidst the other enticing, smaller tarts, eclairs and glistening fruity delights. This cake, the Craqueline, was about the size of a cantaloupe and crusted with caramelized almonds topped with snowy sugar dust. It was a sight I never tired of as I looked from one to the other to see how beautifully each one had come out of the oven. They looked like sculptures, or Raku pottery made out of flour and yeast. It's my kind of cake, a so called, "coffee cake," like a good New York Babka, or Italian Panetone. One day while we were in the store two women came in and ordered coffees and a whole Craqueline which they tore into and demolished completely, even offering us some, so when I saw the look of pleasure on their faces I finally bought one, certainly to enjoy it, but also to have it around just to look at and to photograph. 

I have this thing about bakeries, they seem to call out to me wherever I go, particularly in France where baking is an art form unto itself. Maggie always says that "it's in the name of science" when I wander into a bakery to look around. In fact when someone once asked me "how do you know when to take a photograph" I found myself responding that it's like when you walk down a street, say in Paris, and as you're walking that special smell of butter and sugar wafts out of a doorway and stops you where you are, ah, that fresh baking aroma, but were you to move either a foot forward or back that fragrance on the air would be gone. It's only there, right where you are standing that it exists. That's photography! You recognize what moves you in an instant. It's there and then it's gone.

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