Kings cake is famously eaten during the Mardi Gras and Carnival season. We Americans know it as an obnoxious green, purple and yellow bread cake with a baby hidden inside. The French as per usual have a more elegant and understated interpretation of the pastry. Le Gallette des Rois as it’s called in French has no topping, no artificial colors and no baby. It is a simple pastry cake with a sugary-almond inside with a knife-drawn picture on top. Well, simple is what I thought, but I’ve learned. She promised it would be easy…

It all began when my French friend Clem came over a few weeks ago to visit Germany for the first time. Clem is an incredible cook; your typical French stereotype fits her in the best way. To thank us for letting her stay over she asked us if we would allow her to bake us the Kings Cake, or Le Gallette des Rois. I tucked away my immediate excitement and told her that I would only permit it if she allowed me to watch, record her recipe and gather her secrets.

I find more pleasure in cooking when learning from friends than from printing off a random website’s recipe. There is no heart in that and no good dish is made without some soul. I am not a robot after all and step-by-step directions is not a language I speak.

To mutual delight we had an agreement.

We purchased all the ingredients: sugar, prepared dough, granulated almond, butter and eggs. She brought along with her la fève, the little toy found in the cake that makes the eater “King for a Day”. Typically in America this toy tends to be a baby who is supposed to portray Jesus. I find the fève to be a little less creepy.

We set everything up in the kitchen and before we began she looked at me and made this disclaimer: “You know, I cook like *this*” shaking her hand quickly side to side as if to say she is not so strict on measurements. “I make my food by taste.” I have tried her cooking before. I knew whatever she was doing, she was doing it with purpose. But what I also knew was that I needed to be hyper-aware of whatever she was doing.

I observed her every move simultaneously pecking away on my iPad. Everything was recorded- the way she prepped the kitchen, the way she cut the butter block into 9 squares to let it soften, her pattern of strokes she used when washing the dishes, the way she knotted the edges of the cake. I watched and diligently recorded everything and anything as she made changes to the initial recipe along the way. She on the other hand was more surprised by my overwhelming interest.

Which, by the way, I totally get. She’s been doing this her whole life, learning from her family who owns a farm in Northern France. Cooking is an immense pleasure for her, but one can tell it comes to her second nature.

The cake she made was perfect! Absolutely delicious. Everyone was mmm-ing and awe-ing at the finished product. She finished her last bite and said, “It is simple. You cannot fuck it up.”

Warning: you can fuck it up.

Two weeks later I attempted my first Kings Cake from scratch, minus the dough. Everything seemingly went so well. I reserved my sugar, I watered the edges to hold it in, I poked a hole at the top to let the air out. I proudly stuck the dish into the oven and took a seat in front of it it watch it rise.

Five minutes in to baking, it all seemed great! And then the sixth minute came. Melted butter began flowing out of the cake like Niagra. Mind you, it was not on a stable pan. It was spilling directly onto the floor of the oven. I didn’t secure the side knots tight enough!

I scurried to do everything I could think of to save it. I tried rolling it up on one side, taking a fork to tighten the edges. But I opened it even more. What once was a 2-inch slit became a 5-inch gaping wound.

While there was no saving the cake completely, I patched it up enough to where maybe half of the butter mixture would stay inside. I stuck it out and stared at the cake for the remaining 20 minutes. Thankfully the worst of it had passed.

I wish I could say that half of the cake was salvageable but it just wasn’t. The half that still looked presentable didn’t contain any yummy inside, just the fève suffocated between the dough.

So admittedly it is not that simple, at least for a true beginner it isn’t. In theory I would agree with Clem, but reality showed otherwise. I am not discouraged however. Only recently have I began this journey into the kitchen underworld. First tries are for mistakes! Right..? You better believe those knots will be tight the second time around.

How do you and your friends celebrate Mardi Gras or Carnival? Does your family have any traditional dishes you enjoy around this holiday? I’d love to read about it in the comments below! Feel free to share your stories of cooking mishaps.

[top photo is from Google Images, the rest of the photos are my own]