So before we get to the story, a little preamble ...

... Aunty Sharm had been thinking that she really needed to “lift her game” regarding the writing on the blog. She had noticed that of late (mostly due to time constraints) her blog had turned into, primarily, a repository for her recipes (which was its main function from the off) with a paragraph or two of preface, as to what she had been up to recently or how she came to be cooking that particular recipe.

Aunty Sharm decided, that considering she was a writer by profession, even though prose was not her genre of choice, the quality of text she was delivering on the blog, represented pretty “poor form”. As anyone who knows Aunty Sharm will agree, she is a champion of “good form” so if that wasn’t enough inspiration, almost as soon as the thought about better writing had entered her head, she read on Bong Mom’s blog about a Food Fiction event called “Of Chalks and Chopsticks” being hosted by Aquadaze.

As far as Aunty Sharm was concerned this was the Universe telling her to “get on with it” and, as she is currently (and unusually) working on some non-fiction, she thought that “having a go” at some food fiction might be healthily inspirational for her ...

... so much for Aunty Sharm worrying whether she would be able to wax lyrical any more.

Once upon a time ... (well really? How else did you expect me to start? Everyone knows that’s how all the best stories begin)

... at the very end of the 80’s, a twenty-something young woman called Renuka, arrived back in London after a couple of years working in America. The United States of the late 1980’s was not the gastronomic heaven that it is today. The 80’s was the decade in which “fast food” exploded across America, when “convenience foods” flooded supermarket shelves, they were the days before the Internet brought you food blogs.

Notwithstanding having had a multitude of wonderful culinary experiences (including real New England Clam Chowder, Austin Leslie’s Fried Chicken and her first visit to Chez Panisse) during her time in the US, Renuka had also had her first (and only) experiences of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese Dinners, Twinkies and Wonder Bread (was any of it real food? It was a wonder that they could legally call that bread, it certainly wouldn’t be allowed in France.) So one of the things Renuka was most looking forward to about being back in the United Kingdom, was its proximity to Europe and the gastronomic delights to be sampled starting 20 miles off the coast of England, in France.

Apart from being (possibly only in the opinion of the French, Renuka certainly knew some Chinese, and a lot of Indians who would strongly dispute the point) the gastronomic centre of the world, France had a long and glorious childhood association for Renuka. The relationship was formed resultant from France being the closest country where you could eat absolutely delicious food, practically anywhere (from a restaurant in a city, to a motorway café, to someone’s home) something that was considerably more difficult in the United Kingdom of Renuka’s youth.

Renuka loved her new job and quickly made friends. A few months after starting, Renuka was floored by one of Cupid’s errant projectiles and fell “lock, stock and a smoking long-bow” for the brother of one of her colleagues, when he came into the office one evening to pick up his sister for a drink and managed to charm Renuka into joining them. The romance was much to Renuka’s surprise, as she was not one for “impulse” anything.

Fortunately for Renuka, Jeff began to reveal himself as a potential “man of her dreams” smartly involving her in the best version of a whirlwind romance a girl could hope for. Apart from the customary flowers (though unusually sunflowers and gladioli) and chocolates (extravagantly Neuhaus and Leonidas) he also asked Renuka away for a weekend in Normandy, soon after meeting her. In Renuka’s mind, one of the best bits about the weekend away, was that she would be getting her first ride on Jeff’s shiny new Moto Guzzi Targa, which, being more than a bit of a “petrol-head” was quite a thrill for her.

Jeff had planned for them to visit to the balloon museum at the Château de Balleroy and after disembarking the ferry at Le Harve (these are days before the EuroTunnel) the pair drove through the Normandy countryside, in uncharacteristically balmy weather. It was late afternoon by the time the pair drove into village of Balleroy and passed Manoir de la Drôme which advertised itself as a gastronomic restaurant. Jeff decided that it might be a nice place to eat and pulled into the driveway.

Contrary to being startled by two “bikers” in black motorcycle leathers (as might be the case at a English country fine dinning restaurant) the maître d’hôtel calmly took the booking for dinner later that evening, then came out to inspect the bike and engage Jeff in discourse about the latest Moto Guzzi model, being a keen motorcyclist himself. Having gleaned from the conversation that Renuka and Jeff had been riding all afternoon, the maître d’hôtel most kindly offered them some coffee.

Renuka and Jeff took a seat at one of the terrace tables, undid their jackets and loosened their kerchiefs. When the maître d’hôtel arrived back with the coffee, he was accompanied by the chef, who had also wanted to see the bike. In a random act of kindness, Jeff offered the maître d’hôtel, a test ride of the bike, and the maître d’hôtel’s face beamed with joy, as Jeff lent him his own jacket and crash helmet.

Meanwhile, Renuka was sipping her coffee, and nibbling on the most delicious biscuits that she had ever eaten. The chef informed her that they were Galettes au beurre Normand, sucre, a speciality of the region, that also came in a savoury version. Renuka told the chef that as a keen cook, she would be researching a recipe for the scrumptious biscuits so that she would be able to make them herself. The maître d’hôtel returned before long, now glowing with pleasure, and stating that he hoped one day to be able to afford a machine as fine as the Targa. Shortly after, Jeff and Renuka departed for their hotel to wash and change.

Later that evening, after a spectacular meal that included oysters in citron butter, cochon de lait and a Mont Blanc that would remain forever etched in Renuka’s memory, Jeff requested that the chef, who had been such good company earlier in the day, joined them for a digestif, after their coffee. The chef arrived with a bottle of ancient Calvados under one arm and carrying the recipe for the galetes which he kindly offered to Renuka. Jeff and Renuka didn’t stumble out of the restaurant until the early hours of the morning. Fortunately, their hotel was but a short walk down the road.

Galettes au Beurre Normand, Sucre

Makes approx 24

280 g plain flour

2 large eggs

100 g icing sugar

140 g butter

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

½ teaspoon baking pwder

A pinch of salt

1.  With an electric mixer beat the butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and vanilla extract and beat until blended.

2.  Sieve the flour into a bowl and stir in the salt and baking powder.

3  Add the flour to the butter mixture and mix to form a soft dough. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and rest in the refrigerator until firm (at least 3 hours.)

4.  On a well floured work surface, roll out the dough to no more than 3 mm thick. The dough will still be quite soft and need to be handled gently.

5.  Working quickly and gently, use a cookie cutter or a large glass, cut as many biscuits as you can from the dough. Refrigerate the dough again for 15-20 minutes.

6.  Lightly whisk the last egg with a tablespoon of water and use it to glaze the biscuits just before they go into the oven.

7.  Bake in a preheated 180ºC/350ºF/gas 4 oven for 10 - 15 minutes or until the biscuits are golden.