Cookie

Sheila Malovany-Chevallier is a typical Parisian expat, one who lives a fascinating life. She and her husband, Bill, reside in a bohemian artist’s apartment in the Latin Quarter during the week, and in the countryside, near Dijon, on weekends. Spending her work time teaching English at the Institute d’Etudes Politiques, and doing a new translation of Simone de Beauvoir’s Second Sex, she would seem unlikely to have time to cook. But not only have she and her writing partner, Constance Borde, also an American living in Paris, written several American cookbooks in French, with all the Jewish recipes with which Sheila grew up, but when she is invited to dinner, she makes a point of bringing every hostess an elegantly packaged sweet she has made herself. These ginger cookie clusters are one of her and my favorites.

In Jewish homes in France and all around the world, recipes for macaroons have been handed down from mother to daughter for centuries. Jewish macaroons are descended from the Ladino marunchinos and almendredas, both terms for almond cookies. In fact, during the Inquisition, historian David Gitlitz told me, crypto-Jews were accused of having bought almond cookies from the Jewish quarter in Barbastro, in Aragón. The modern Jewish macaroon is specifically associated with Boulay, a town about twenty-five miles north of Nancy. It seems that a Jewish wine salesman named Bines Lazard opened in 1854 Maison Lazard, along with his wife, Françoise, and their son Léopold, where they sold macaroons, matzo, and wholesale wine. In 1898, the folklorist Auricoste de Lazarque tasted their macaroons, and proclaimed them the best in France, making the company enormously successful. During World War I, the Lazard family sold the wine business, and in 1932, they abandoned the matzo trade. Some thirty years later, the business, which included its secret recipe for macaroons, was sold to Jean Alexandre, who opened a shop in Boulay where macarons de Boulay are baked and sold to this day. Made from the traditional mixture of almonds, sugar, and egg whites, they are slightly robust, a departure from the flat and shiny French macaroons that are so popular today. Although the Alexandres would not give me their secret recipe, Yves Alexandre (no relation), from Strasbourg, had me taste his, which are very similar but made by hand, rather than machine.

When researching this book, I talked about Jewish food with Pierre Dreyfus, a greatgrandson of Captain Alfred Dreyfus, the Jewish officer on the French General Staff who was falsely accused of being a German spy. The one recipe that Pierre remembered from his childhood was for butter, or butterkuchen, simple shortbread butter cookies sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. A century ago, butterkuchen, similar to sablés in Brittany, were made by using equal weights of eggs in their shells, butter, sugar, and flour. Sometimes cooks would add a little kirsch or vanilla sugar. Some used a glass to cut round pieces from the cookie dough; others pressed the dough into pans and cut it into tiny squares or rectangles after baking. One elderly lady I interviewed told me how her grandmother would make butter in the summer from the fresh, unpasteurized cream of their cows and store it in a stone jar on a ledge outside their house all winter long. Then, when she wanted to use the butter for butter, it was right there. One day when I was visiting Sandrine Weil (see page 181), she and her daughters showed me how to make a tender butter. This is her take on the butterkuchen, made with rich French butter, which has a low water and high fat content, and is cut after baking into the traditional 1-inch squares.

This cookie was one that “Mamine”—an affectionate name for Maryse Weil, the matriarch of the Weil family from Besançon—baked as a young girl for family gatherings. Her granddaughter Martine Trèves makes it now in her kitchen. She showed me the recipe from a handwritten book that suggested adding a “grain of salt” to the batter.

These glorious pastries have a melt-in-the-mouth shell and a variety of fillings of dates or nuts—walnuts, pistachios, or almonds. See the variations for these. My mother always had a biscuit tin full of them to offer with coffee. In Syria and Lebanon they make them with semolina instead of flour. An uncle told us of a baking competition organized by a dignitary in Aleppo many years ago. The maker of the best ma’amoul would get a prize, the equivalent of about two pounds, to be paid by the dignitary. Hundreds of ma’amoul poured into his house, certainly more than two pounds’ worth, and enough to keep him eating happily for months.

These are delightful meltingly soft cookies. You must also try the variation with ground hazelnuts.

These most famous of Moroccan pastries are best known abroad by their French name, cornes de gazelle or gazelle’s horns. Stuffed with ground-almond paste and curved into horn-shaped crescents, they are ubiquitous wedding-party fare. I have eaten some with a very thin hard crust, and some with a thicker, crumbly crust. This one, made with eggs rather than butter, is thin and crisp.

Three recipes for “ka’ak” are given in the medieval Kitab al Wusla il al Habib (see appendix). Here is my mother’s. It makes rather a large quantity, but they keep for a long time in a box. My mother kept a biscuit tin permanently full of them. She said she used margarine rather than butter because it did not become rancid if you kept the kahk a long time.

These are good to serve with coffee or tea.

You will need ramekins to make this recipe. The pots de crème taste like coffee pudding. Both can be made a day in advance. Store the cookies in an airtight container.

These brownies turn out moist and fudgy. They bake in the convection oven at 25 degrees lower and for 10 minutes less baking time.

These cookies are a little less sweet than most. Preheat the convection oven while you quickly mix up the dough. Space the oven racks evenly in the oven and bake three panfuls at one time.

You can use these directions to adapt your favorite biscotti recipe to bake in the convection oven. Both temperature and baking time are reduced, plus you can bake on multiple racks with even results.

In the convection oven, the baking temperature is reduced from 375°F to 350°F, and the baking time from 12 to 9 minutes. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you to turn on the convection bake mode, I bake three sheets of cookies at one time, which is what the recipe yields, reducing the total baking time from 36 to 9 minutes.

Using a convection oven lets you bake multiple sheets of cookies at one time. Just be sure to use dark, rimless, noninsulated cookie sheets.

Chewy with nuts, coconut, dried fruit, and chocolate chips. Using my quick one-bowl method, you can stir up the cookie dough in the same time it takes for the oven to preheat.

These are shaped rather than rolled cookies. To shape even-sized cookies it is helpful to use a #40 ice cream scoop that measures exactly 1 tablespoon of dough. Arrange the oven racks so they are evenly spaced. This works best for most cookies and multiple pans will bake evenly at the same time.