Welcome to Aix-en-Provence in southern France and the world of the calisson. I call it a world because I entered the cultural mystique of calisson while a student at a French language school for six weeks in Aix. A tiny confection with a big name and a gigantic presence, calisson are steeped in a rich cultural heritage. But a word of caution, regardless of the esteem they hold in France, most hard-core chocolate chip cookie aficionados in the USA would dismiss these teensy cookie-looking things. I did at first, but changed my mind. Calisson are not to be ignored because they matter to the residents of Aix. I got curious and decided to research them as a serious cultural phenomenon.
As an edible, calisson are neither a cookie, a candy, nor a snack. The 500-year-old story that dignifies them it is neither a fairy tale nor objective history, neither lore nor myth. But what a story.
I saw them all around me. In the gorgeous upscale confectionary shops, on demitasse saucers at sidewalk cafes, and in small dishes at the hotel breakfast buffet. Our guide, Christopher, spoke about them with reverence and through him, and others, I learned that calisson live in the minds of the Aixois (people who live in Aix pronounced “Ex-wa”).
Almost 500 years ago (1434-1480) Good King Rene ruled the south of France from his home in Aix-en-Provence. He had a good wife, Isabelle, with whom he had eleven children, many of whom became famous rulers throughout Europe. When Queen Isabelle died, the good king took a new bride, Jeanne de Laval, in 1454 when she was twenty-one and he was forty-six. Rene loved his beautiful young queen and wrote long love poems to her. Jeanne was sweet and affectionate and loved the artistic and literary life at Rene’s court. But Jeanne was a God-fearing woman and had a serious demeanor. She seldom smiled. The king sought to please her and encourage her happy visage, so he ordered the court baker to concoct a pleasing, yet reverent indulgence.
It came to pass that the wise court baker created a delicate tidbit built upon an unconsecrated communion wafer, which made the treat almost sacred. He created a petite boat-shaped mold, mixed candied melon and orange peel with almond paste, added orange blossom water, baked them in the miniature molds and frosted each precious morsel with a thin layer of royal icing.
Voila, when le petit delicatesse was presented to the queen and she tasted the small confection, she smiled broadly and exclaimed to the chef, “Oh my, what is it?” And the chef replied in Provencal, the ancient language of the region, “di calin soun,” or, “they are hugs.” Calin soun became calisson, and thus, the tiny hugs came into being.
Clearly, calisson hold a place of honor that runs deep in Aix-en-Provence. Today, making calisson is serious business. They must be made within the region of Aix following strict guidelines for ingredients, composition, process and production standards, all enforced by law. They take a long time to prepare and certain parts of the process must be done by hand. But, they are worth the effort. They are distinctly fruity with a unique marzipan-like texture and make an elegant nibble with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. As you can imagine, they are expensive and, well, effete (very refined.)
On the tour of the Le Roy Rene bakery, the largest producer of calisson in France, I watched the calessoniers working together in a spotless factory-style kitchen. There was a sense of camaraderie among those men and women as they worked to make sweet hugs for all of us.
“What the heck,” I thought, in the gift shop at the end of the tour. “What’s a hundred bucks if I can take home 500-year-old, 1 1/2-inch-long, sweet French hugs to my friends and family.” Anticipating buyer’s remorse, I grabbed a basket and took out my credit card.
I’m so glad I did, because after my research I have discovered that calisson are even more important than delicious French hugs. They are bite-sized pieces of the heart of Provence. Let’s face it, you can’t put a price on a sweet, sacred morsel of love.
