Acacia Blossom Beignets, Men In TuTus And Kumquat Ginger Cake

I just celebrated Mother’s Day weekend, because in France it is commemorated at the end of May.  The celebration started Friday, with a surprise bouquet of very perfumed acacia blossoms picked by  my daughter  Aimée.

I can tell when they are blooming from the delicate sweet honey like perfume that starts to waft in the breeze about this time of year.   Acacia trees  line the green haven of an old submerged rail that once circled Paris called La Petite Ceinture near my apartment.

As they keep the trees quite trimmed, you are lucky to be able to gather some, which entails jumping high enough in hopes of grabbing some branches.  My daughter says she wasn’t the only one trying to yank these delights down, who voiced the same culinary intentions as she.

We both love Acacia blossom beignets, that we first discovered in a restaurant in the Loire.   The batter has to be thin, usually made with sparkling water, so as to lightly coat the flowers that resemble little white bells, that smell divine!

The flavour is subtle but unusual and you can dribble them with some acacia honey or a light shake of powdered sugar.  

These roses and flowers at the Marché Aux Fleurs look pretty enough to eat as well as I admired them last Thursday after attending the Fête Du Pain, which this year honored Alsace Lorraine.

Alsace Lorraine, by the way,  has the reputation of providing some the most glorious and talented pastry chefs of France.

There were mounds of Kougelhopf, Ropfkuche and Crementaise, an interesting brioche made with Alsatian Cremant, a sparkling wine.  A giant long one was made in honor of the occasion.

Saturday, Aimee had discovered an Indonesian festival going on and had bought surprise tickets to a dance review called TuTu, neither of which I was aware of.

After our usual Saturday morning outdoor market spree to gather the freshest vegetables and fruits, we headed for the Indonesian festival in the 12 arrondissement.

Paris was rainy and stormy as we set out in the bus, changing around

the Pompidou center where a whole rooftop of pigeons had flocked en masse.

It was held in the old Reuilly train station, where the Promenade Plantée now sits atop.  The city turned the ancient suspended rail From Bastille to Vincennes into a lovely flower and plant lined promenade making for a wonderful walk in good weather!

The rain didn’t damper the spirits of the barefoot dancers, nor of the Indonesian expats who all looked happy to show off their unique culture.  The small garden in front of the station was so water soaked that I had to dodge puddles lining the over crowded food stall.

I ended up not getting any of the food dishes, mostly of noodles, nor the various coloured sweets, not knowing what they were made from and fearing they would be too sweet.

I had wanted to make it to Bicêtre Hospital as they were having an open house and offering visits to this very historical hospital still going strong, but by the time we arrived back to the Pompidou again to catch bus 47 to Villejuif, it was too late.

Buses may take longer, but I much prefer the visual beauty that I love to get lost in on the way.  I always feel like a tourist each time admiring the sights that are everywhere in beautiful Paris.

Instead we stopped on the Rue Rambuteau shop of chocolate maker Francois Pralus, who is also famous for his brioche chock full of red “pralines” that he calls Praluline, created by his father in 1955.

These bright red pralines come from the Lyonnaise part of France made with very slightly caramelised almonds coloured red.

Though the yellow and red spotted brioche are delicious buttery mounds, I wanted one of his chocolate confections, called  Barres Infernale, filled with various fillings.  I loved the orange Grand Marnier ganache bought the last time, but wanted to try the one filled with nougat.

Instead of heading home, we thought we would walk around till it was time to go to the dance theatre. We stopped in a new boutique featuring products of the island of Reunion, and were tempted to come home with the vanilla beans, except for the price.

Rue de la Verrerie is one of the old cobblestone streets around Rue Saint Martin, where I saw an Asian entourage walking with orange cloaked Buddhists monks, which is not an everyday sight in Paris.

In retrospect I regretted not getting a photo, but I would have had my camera out and in hand for a quick shot, which I often fail to do.

When we passed by the side of the church of Saint Merri, we saw an advertisement of Nuit Sacrée, an all night ecumenical concert which we would have loved to attend if not having already purchased the dance tickets.

Saint Merri is well known for their free classical concerts on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, which I have enjoyed attending.   I then realized it was very probable that the monks might have been the ones set to chant that evening!

The dance revue of TuTu is a fairly long playing farcical dance composed entirely of male dancers.  Each of the six guys in various tutus looked a little strange at first,but all were very talented on their toes, imitating female ballet routines.

They all evoked a lot of laughter, not only for their appearances in various feminine dance attire, but for the well rehearsed awkward bumbling steps that only gifted professional dancers can pull off with style.

Laughter is good for the soul as well as seeing any form of live dance, and all worth the time and money spent.  Feeling pretty famished, I decided I would rather eat out, than go back home to cook, however much I enjoy my own cooking.

Nearby on Rue Daguerre, I knew of two good restaurants, one of which, the Bistro Augustine I had gone to before.    Remembering the succulent risotto with cuttlefish ink and octopus made me want to go back and it was so good, it got devoured before I thought of photographing it.

The restaurant having Corsican leanings are very generous with their portions, which is a rarity in Parisian restaurants these days.  Both the tuna and the cod were impeccable , which means not even a tad overcooked.

I forewent any dessert knowing that I was to make a glorious cake Sunday with kumquats from my own little balcony garden.   I had the idea of paring the flavours of sour sweet kumquats with ginger presented like a “frasier”, which is a pretty French strawberry cake.

I had bought my kumquat tree two months ago and it was already loaded with bright orange kumquats, that I have been plucking to eat as an afternoon snack.  It was time to harvest most of the mature ones, in hopes that I’ll get some new fruits to blossom mid summer.

The cake layers were ginger spiced genoise, that I  imbibed with fresh ginger syrup.  Then I confit (candied)the little kumquats, saving a few whole and pureeing the rest to flavour my cream filling.

The filling was a fluffy mascarpone whipped cream confection richly flavoured with my candied kumquats.  It was so delicious that half of it was delightfully consumed as a finale to Sunday night.

All in all, it is was perfect Mother’s day weekend, despite the rainy weather, and beautifully orchestrated by my daughter Aimee.

I chimed in with the cake, but pastry making is one of my creative passions that I like to do each Sunday anyway.

Thank you with much love and hugs Aimée!