Recipe: Blackberry Madeleines

You can find my recipe for blackberry madeleines in today’s edition of Domestic Sluttery!

Blackberry Madeleines Tray

It’s a brilliant newsletter, adding a dose of cheer to your inbox, featuring stories of incredible women throughout history, recipes, gift ideas, sales spy feature and more. So if you’re not already signed up… what are you waiting for? https://www.domesticsluttery.com/

L x

 

 

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Les transbordeuses: the forgotten female activists of Cerbère

He had brought a large basket with him. From it came tumbling oranges, impossibly bright against the old, scrubbed wood.
‘Where did these come from?’ I asked Clémence, fetching a clean knife to copy Aaró’s peeling and slicing. ‘I haven’t seen any groves.’
‘Spain. They’re why this town exists. Buy an orange or a lemon anywhere in France, or England for that matter,’ she slid a look at me, ‘and it will have come through Cerbère.’
‘How so?’ The air around me was a spritz of juices, fresh and sweet.
‘The trains,’ she said. ‘Oranges have to travel somehow.’
Where the Wild Cherries Grow, p.204

If you were to walk through the bustling Les Halles market, “the belly of Paris” at the end of the nineteenth century, you would have come across barrows full of citrus fruits, their skins gleaming bright against the grey winter city.

A luxury for the wealthy, those oranges and lemons arrived in Paris after a journey of nearly a thousand miles. In 1900, lorries and commercial haulage didn’t yet exist. Canals were too slow for perishable goods, always at risk of spoiling. No, there was only one way to ship the precious cargo of winter citrus fruit from the southern coast of Spain all the way to the chilly, fog-wrapped Northern cities of Europe. The railroad.

On the surface it might seem simple, to load crates or oranges and lemons into a freight compartment in Spain and send them on their way, to arrive in Paris a few days later. It would have been, had it not been for a hitch: the gauges of the tracks in France and Spain were – and still are in many places – different sizes. This one distinct problem was a catalyst, bringing together the citrus freight, the railroad and a group of indomitable female workers into a remarkable, if forgotten, story of bravery, industrial exploitation and activism.

Cerbere Beach

The setting for this story is the small frontier town of Cerbère, the last station in France before the border with Spain, at the very edge of French Catalonia. Cerbère is a child of the railroad and the sea; a place that manages to be many things at once. French and Catalan, rural and international. For many years, it could only be reached by boat or by walking the goat tracks over the arid maquis.

Before 1870, Cerbère was a sleepy place, home to a few wine-growing families, fishermen, and the odd customs official trying to stop smugglers from crossing the border. But on January 21st 1878, the French Chemins du fer du Midi and the railway company of Tarragona met at the Cerbère border. There, they encountered the problem that was to give rise to one of the most fascinating chapters in Cerbère’s history, and in the history of women’s labour. The French rail gauge was set to the European standard – 1,435mm – while the Spanish was 1,668mm. As a result, nothing could roll from one country into the other. Any passengers or freight needing to cross the border had to be unloaded and reloaded, every time.

The solution that presented itself was both simple and indicative of the Victorian-era, when industry built profit upon the backs of the labouring poor. To move the freight, all that was required were hands, and a lot of them.

Soon, freight forwarding companies were springing up on either side of the border, eager to exploit the situation. They began to employ women specifically to move the citrus cargo, believing that they would treat the fruit more carefully and dextrously than male haulers. These women became known locally as les transbordeuses.

https://i0.wp.com/cessenon.c.e.pic.centerblog.net/74ab3aca.jpg

The job was hard and the pay was meagre – 75 centimes per team for every wagon loaded, and 1 extra centime for the team leader – but for several months of every year, these women were an essential part of the supply chain, moving vast quantities of fruit between carriages. It was tricky work; the oranges were a valuable winter crop, a luxury had to be expertly packed to prevent spoilage on the long journey north, to Paris, Brussels, sometimes even as far as Russia.

Five women worked every compartment. Two “remplisseuses” unloaded the oranges into straw-padded baskets, two “passeuses” carried those baskets across narrow gangplanks to the French wagons, where a last woman, the “videuse”, carefully stowed the oranges in stacks, inserting long, hollow reeds throughout to ensure airflow around the fruit.

Between November and May every year, the women often worked sixteen or seventeen hour days, from six in the morning to eleven o’clock at night, hauling twenty kilogram baskets back and forth. Due to the seasonality of the work and the intense, busy hours, women would end up as the breadwinners of their families, sometimes earning twice as much as their husbands or fathers.

Soon, however, the freight companies began to find ways to abuse their workforce. They created a hierarchy of teams; the fastest and most loyal workers were at the top, and would win the most wagons. Those at the bottom might not get any work at all. This resulted in huge wage inequalities, and bred resentment, rather than cooperation between teams of women.

But by the beginning of the twentieth century, with change sweeping across Europe, the transbordeuses had had enough of poor working conditions and even poorer pay. On 26th February 1906, one hundred and seventy of the women went on strike, demanding a 25% pay increase and an end to the hierarchy system. After twenty-four hours, with three-quarters of the citrus wagons blocking the station and at a risk of spoiling, the freight forwarding companies gave in, and agreed to the pay-rise as well as a fairer rotation of teams. As a result of this victory, the women went on to form one of the first working class women’s unions in France; the Syndicat des transbordeuses d’oranges.

The newfound accord was not to last. Soon, tensions began to grow. Some workers were encouraged by the freight forwarding companies to start a union of their own to counter the Syndicat. The freight companies then refused to recognise the “red” Syndicat as an official trade union, while simultaneously signing a contract with the new, “yellow” union, promising them priority. The fair rotation scheme was destroyed, workers pitted against each other.

Throughout 1906, Syndicat members fought fiercely against the injustices, including abuse and unfair dismissal. In late autumn, they went on strike again and blocked the station doors, stopping “yellow” workers from reaching the wagons. The situation eventually grew so tense that the state dispatched two companies of infantry soldiers to the area. Fruit businesses in Spain appealed to the Spanish ambassador in Paris, begging him to try and resolve the situation.

But the women of the Syndicat refused to be bullied or threatened into going back to work. For two long months, they stood firm, all the while wreaking havoc at Cerbère station. On 29th November, they even lay down on the tracks in front of a train from Perpignan in protest, not moving until the train was finally called to a halt only two metres from where they lay.

In December, with the busiest months imminent, the freight forwarding companies and the Syndicat were finally brought together to discuss the situation. As a meeting, it was not without conflict. But in the end a solution, of sorts, was reached. The outcome was not what the Syndicat had hoped for; the freight forwarders demanded and won the right to give priority to their own “yellow” workers, though only during morning work hours.

Although the final outcome of the long strike left many of the transbordeuses angry and disappointed, it does not diminish the importance of their actions. By standing up for better pay, for fairer hours, against unjust dismissals, they made history by staging one of the first all-female strikes in France. They also formed one of the first women’s unions, captured international attention, and fought for the rights of the individual worker against company exploitation.

By 1930, buoyed by freight, Cerbère a thriving border station. Villas and ornate customs offices were built into the hills; a new road for touring cars, and a grand art deco hotel that jutted out above the sea like the prow of a ship. Passengers could travel along the coast, taking in the glittering bays of the Côte Vermeille, and alight at Cerbère to spend a night or two at the elegant Hôtel Belvédère du Rayon Vert, perched above the tracks. When their papers had been stamped by officials, they could re-board and continue their leisurely way into Spain.

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And all the while, the transbordeuses worked, passing the trade down from mother to daughter over the years. Amongst the glamour and money that came to the Cerbère thanks to customs taxes, it is easy to forget the women who made it all possible.

By the 1950s, with the introduction of the variable gauges and gauge change systems, work for the transbordeuses dried up. As the decades went on, freight passing through Cerbère began to decrease, as long-distance haulage, cheap shipping and air freight were introduced. The railroad was no longer an artery, feeding the town, and traffic at the once hectic station slowed to a trickle.

Cerbere tracks

Today, Cerbère must be one of the quietest international stations in the world, with one or two freight passenger trains passing through, on the long journey between Paris and Barcelona. Most of the ornate customs houses that line the track are derelict, home to pigeons. The imposing Hôtel Belvédère du Rayon Vert was left to fall into disrepair after being occupied during World War II, but is now being renovated, slowly, a room at a time. Thankfully much of its art deco charm, its floor tiles and auditorium, grand dining room and entrance hall remains intact, albeit a little battered and faded.

 

Cerbère’s history as a border station makes it a fascinating place; humble yet grand, proud yet wry and welcoming, somehow more real and vivid than other nearby seaside towns like touristy Collioure.

Until last year, it was possible to take the sleeper train from the Gare d’Austerlitz in Paris at ten o’clock at night, and wake up at the feet of the Pyrénées-Orientales, and in Cerbère, in time for breakfast the next morning. Sadly, the train company have discontinued this route (although there’s a rumour that it might start up again soon) so I’m glad it’s a journey I was able to make while I could; tracing the route that the orange cargoes would have taken over a hundred years ago, packed by the hands of the courageous transbordeuses.

Cerbere Transbordeuses statue

How to get there:

Cerbére can be reached direct by train from Paris in around six to eight hours, for as little as €20-€30, if booked in advance. Alternatively, fly to Carcassonne, Perpignan, Toulouse or Barcelona and take the train from there.

Places to Stay:

Hôtel la Dorade

This modest but friendly family-run hotel is right on the seafront, and was the inspiration for the Café Fi del Mon in Where the Wild Cherries Grow. Yves, the owner, knows the history of the town inside out. Onsite café and restaurant that serves Catalan-style food and fresh fish, still using many of Yves’ mother’s recipes. (Tell him I sent you…)

http://www.hotel-ladorade.com/index.php

La Dorade – Front de Mer 66290 Cerbère (00 33) 4 68 88 41 93

contact@hotel-ladorade.com

 

 

Hôtel Belvédère du Rayon Vert

Belvedere Room

It’s possible to stay in one of the renovated apartments in this fascinating hotel, complete with 1930s furniture. Don’t expect five star luxury, but if you’re after a truly unique experience, this is the place for you.

Avenue Côte Vermeille
66290 CERBERE
Tél. +33 4 68 88 41 54
sinjeancharles@hotmail.fr

 

 

Wild Cherry Cake

Wild Cherry Cake 1

When it came to creating a cake to accompany Where the Wild Cherries Grow, I knew I wanted it to contain three things. Cherries – as might be found on Emeline and Aaro’s secret tree – were a must. Almonds too; the medieval Catalan recipe collection The Book of Sent Sovi is full of recipes featuring fragrant almonds, in broths, sauces, creams and puddings…

Last of all, I wanted it to contain a hint of sweet, heady wine, the kind I drank during my visit to French Catalonia. Banyuls is vin doux naturel, a strong dessert wine made in only four places along the Côte Vermeille: Banyuls-sur-Mer, Port-Vendres, Collioure and Cerbère. It’s almost a metaphor for the spirit of the place; the vines have to be hardy to grow in the rocky, arid soil, but they’re helped along by the bright sunlight that ripens the grapes and la Tramontana, the wind from the mountains, that sweeps any pests out to sea. In my memory, Banyuls tastes honeyed and deep, like peaches and apricots baked slowly in a clay pot over embers.

Sadly, Banyuls is notoriously tricky to find outside of France, so I’d suggest using whatever good quality, rich dessert wine you can lay your hands on. Of course, if you do happen to find a bottle, you know who to call if you want to share…

Wild Cherry Cake 2

Wild Cherry Cake

For the cherries in syrup:

  • 150g morello cherries, fresh or frozen (and defrosted)
  • 3 tbsp good quality sweet dessert wine
  • 1 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 2 tbsp golden caster sugar

For the cake:

  • 200g butter, softened
  • 200g golden caster sugar
  • 3 free-range eggs
  • 160g self-raising flour
  • 40g ground almonds
  • 1 tsp vanilla bean paste, or 1 vanilla pod, seeds scraped out
  • Large handful dried cherries
  • 1 tbsp flour
  • Handful flaked almonds
  • Icing sugar, to decorate

Allons-y!

  1. Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4. Grease and line a 23cm, 9 inch deep cake tin.
  2. Place the cherries, wine, cinnamon and sugar together in a bowl and toss gently until combined. Set aside to infuse.
  3. In another bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
  4. Add one egg to the butter mix, along with a tablespoon of the flour (to stop the mixture from splitting) and beat well. Repeat with the rest of the eggs, beating well in between.
  5. Add the rest of the flour in thirds, folding in gently until it is just combined and no streaks are showing.
  6. Gently stir in the ground almonds, vanilla and dried cherries.
  7. Spoon two-thirds of the infusing cherries onto a plate and toss in the remaining 1 tbsp of flour. (This’ll stop them all sinking to the bottom) Put the syrup and remaining cherries to one side.
  8. Carefully stir the flour-coated cherries into the mixture, making sure they’re evenly distributed. Add a splash of milk if the mixture needs loosening.
  9. Dollop into the tin, smooth over the top and bake for around 30-35 minutes, or until golden and risen, and a skewer inserted comes out clean. Leave to cool slightly in its tin on a wire rack.

To decorate:

  1. While the cake is still warm, prick holes all over the surface with a skewer.
  2. Spoon the cherry-wine-cinnamon syrup over the top so that it soaks in.
  3. Lightly toast the flaked almonds in a dry frying pan for 2-3 minutes. Keep your eye on them, because they’ll catch quickly.
  4. Decorate the cake with the remaining infused cherries, almonds, and a dusting of icing sugar. Eat with a glass of brandy or sweet wine and dream yourself away to a warm summer’s night, outside a seafront café, at the very end of France…

Where the Wild Cherries Grow: Book Launch

I’m so excited; Where the Wild Cherries Grow is finally being released into the wild THIS WEEK.

WTWCG1

It feels like it’s forever since I sat in front of a fire, in a cottage in west Wales, writing the first few chapters of what would eventually become this book. But now it’s finally going to be available in the shops, and I can’t wait to wave it on its way!

Which I’ll be doing this week with a launch event at Waterstones Exeter Roman Gate on Thursday 15th June.

Living and working in the South West as I do, Devon holds a special place in my heart, especially as my family home is only a half an hour drive away, by the sea. And Exeter Roman Gate Waterstones is doubly important, since my sister – fantasy novelist Lucy Hounsom – also works there! So the launch will be something of a family affair.

Come and join us from 6.30pm on Thursday 15th June for a short talk and a reading by me (and free wine!) to help us launch Where the Wild Cherries Grow into the swirling currents of the bookselling world.

WTWCG close

Also keep your eyes peeled for a special recipe to accompany this book, which I’ll be posting on Thursday…

 

 

Five Hundred Years of The Kitchen Cat — Katzenworld

Minette, Julia Child’s first kitchen cat “Cats gravitate to kitchens like rocks gravitate to gravity.” – Terry Pratchett For as long as there have been kitchens, there have been kitchen cats: rodent hunters, defenders of the pantry, guardians of the warmest spot by the hearth, always on the look out for a stray piece of…

via Five Hundred Years of The Kitchen Cat — Katzenworld

Above is a piece I wrote about art, pop culture, food, chefs, kitchens and cats for the lovely folk at Katzenworld. Enjoy!

La ragazza delle ciliegie

It’s always an apprehensive moment, seeing cover designs for the first time. Do the designers share the same ideas about the book as me? What visual cues have they taken? Which colours have they focused on? Something that always surprises people is how little an author is usually involved when it comes to design; I tend to send mood boards and visual references to the publisher, but really, it’s down to them and their design team to come up with something that will both represent the content and catch a reader’s attention on a shelf. Not an easy task.

Nevertheless, it’s exciting too, and slightly unbelievable, when someone creates an book cover for a thing that started life as a word document on your computer.

I find it particularly interesting to see how different countries respond to cover design for the same book. The cover for the French version of The Confectioner’s Tale, (Le Portrait de l’oubli) is a case in point! Compared to the UK version, it’s definitely different, and not what I expected, but I love it.

So, I’m excited to reveal the cover for the Italian translation of Where the Wild Cherries Grow, published as La ragazza delle ciliegie by Piemme in June 2017. I think they’ve done a brilliant job on the design, both with the cherry blossom, and a hint of wild, windswept shore beyond. Bravo, Piemme!

la ragazze delle ciliegie

For contrast, here’s the cover for the German translation, titled Der Duft von Meer und Thymian, published in July 2017 by Bastei Lübbe, which is different again, somehow less moody, but also lovely.

der duft von meer und thymian

But of course, it’s the UK version that I’m going to focusing on over the next few weeks, seeing as it is released on the 15th June. I’m so excited that the book will finally be available in the shops, and can’t wait to hear from future readers.

In the meantime, watch this space for articles, recipes and book launch event info!

L x

Where the Wild Cherries Grow: a playlist

To celebrate the e-book release of Where the Wild Cherries Grow on the 23rd March, I thought I’d put together something special: a playlist of songs that inspired my writing, remind me of the characters, or just seem to fit the tone of the novel. This is a very mixed bag, from classical nocturnes to Hendrix, but hey, that’s the joy of playlists, right? Without further ado, here we are, a Where the Wild Cherries Grow playlist. I hope you enjoy it.

Laura x

  1. Gotta Get Up, Harry Nilsson (1972)

Yes, so I know that WTWCG is set in 1969, but 1972 is close enough, ok?? This is a great song, makes me think of Bill squeezing through the crowds of 1960s London, but it also captures the general mood of a generation, living fast, exhausting themselves. It’s a sort of Sergeant Pepper the morning after the night before…

2. Train Song, Vashti Bunyan (1966)

Anyone who’s read The Confectioner’s Tale will know that I’m a more than a little bit obsessed with trains, and WTWCG is no exception: train journeys are a fairly major feature of the text. So I couldn’t leave out this Vashti Bunyan classic.

3. Spiegel im Spiegel, Arvo Pärt (1978)

“Somewhere past the end of the cliff he stopped rowing, put the oars up and let us drift, tiny as a leaf on the dark water. The moonlight caught upon the ripples and scattered, until it seemed we were floating through stars.” (p.95, WTWCG)

4. Nocturne pour violin et piano, Lili Boulanger, 1911

This is an intriguing piece, written by Boulanger when she was only eighteen… It’s quite Emeline, simultaneously old and new world, impressionistic in places, with early jazz tinges in others. Boulanger sadly died at the age of 24, from pneumonia and Crohn’s disease, but we’re lucky some of her beautiful work survived.

5. Cosmic American, Anaïs Mitchell (2004)

Totally anachronistic, but who cares: this is one for Emeline and Puce, riding the freight trains in the dead of night.

6. Every Day’s a Lovely Day, Gulliver (1970).

I’m pretty certain Jem’s old, battered, green Citroen 2CV wouldn’t have had a tape deck in 1969, but if it did, this is probably what she’d be listening to, bombing around the dusty lanes of Norfolk with Bill in the passenger seat. (And yes, that is Daryl Hall, pre-Hall and Oates fame!)

7. Foxey Lady, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, (1968)

Come on, I had to. So long William Perch Esq, hello Bill. This one goes out to Matti, Javi and Luci.

8. Wonderful World, Sam Cooke, (1960)

This song is Bill, through and through. I always think of it at the end of the novel when… well, you’ll have to read it for yourself!

Where the Wild Cherries Grow: ebook release

I’m going to jump on the bandwagon with the sentence that everybody is saying today: I can’t believe it’s March already!

We’ve officially left February behind, with its long, grey days of neverending winter. Now, the daffodils and irises are out in my garden, the blossom is starting to froth on the trees and spring is on the way.

And I have some exciting news for readers with kindles and other e-readers, which is that my latest novel Where the Wild Cherries Grow is scheduled to be released in e-book version early, on 23rd March!

where-the-wild-cherries-grow-cover

It’s currently available to pre-order on Amazon, in ebook (£4.99) and paperback.

I’m afraid that paperback readers will have to wait until the official release date of 15th June 2017 – sorry! – although eagle-eyed shoppers may be able to find early editions in WH Smith Travel shops from April. I can promise too that there’ll be all sorts of exciting content, interviews, articles and recipes appearing between now and then.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all of my readers for their patience regarding the publication of this book; as you may know, it was originally intended to be published last year, but for various reasons (ah, the mystical world of publishing) has been delayed. I’m so excited that it will finally be making its way onto shelves, it feels like I’ve been waiting a long time. I can’t wait to pass it on to new readers.

Thanks again, and more from me soon!

Laura x

New Book Klaxon! Where the Wild Cherries Grow

Last week I received some gorgeous-looking proofs, and as a result am exceedingly excited to finally be able to reveal news about my new book… Although some of you may remember that it was originally scheduled for publication in August 2016, after a few delays (plus a re-titling, and a re-design) I’m thrilled to say that this is it! The official version.

It’s called Where the Wild Cherries Grow, and is due to be published by Transworld on 20th April 2017.

where-wild-cherries-grow

Here’s a brief synopsis:

I closed my eyes as I tried to pick apart every flavour, because nothing had ever tasted so good before. It was love and it could not be hidden.

It is 1919 and the end of the war has not brought peace for Emeline Vane. Lost in grief, she is suddenly alone at the heart of a depleted family. She can no longer cope. And just as everything seems to be slipping beyond her control, in a moment of desperation, she boards a train and runs away.

Fifty years later, a young solicitor on his first case discovers Emeline’s diary. Bill Perch is eager to prove himself but what he finds in the tattered pages of neat script goes against everything he has been told. He begins to trace a story of love and betrayal that will send him on a journey to discover the truth. What really happened to Emeline all those years ago?

As the cover hints, this book swaps Paris for the wild foothills and coast of French Catalonia; the refinement of French patisserie in The Confectioner’s Tale for earthy, sun-drenched, vivid, passionate flavours that are hopefully just as transporting. Readers of The Confectioner’s Tale might even spot the odd familiar face… And of course, it includes a special recipe.

I’m so excited to finally be able to share this book with readers. I just hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I loved researching and writing it.

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Where the Wild Cherries Grow is available for pre-order. If you’re a blogger or reviewer, and would like a proof, please contact Transworld.

 

Domestic Sluttery Back in Town

So I’m very excited to announce that the brilliant team behind Domestic Sluttery are BACK with DS 2.0, this time in the form of a daily newsletter.

If you like stories about remarkable women, stylish homeware, ridiculous objects, fancy jewellery, sales bargains, gift ideas, easy, tasty recipes and swishy skirts then Domestic Sluttery is the newsletter for you.

© Laura Madeleine 2016

St Clement’s Polenta Cake

I’m back on occasional cake duty for them, too! So far, recipes have included St Clement’s Polenta Cake and Caramapple Pudding. Future ones? You’ll just have to sign up… https://www.domesticsluttery.com/

P.s. they’re also looking for brilliant food writers for paid, month-long residencies. Sound like your thing? Get on board!