Happily, Edmund Levin is filling this void with this article in Slate, titled "How much did Proust know about madeleines?" He exerpts the famous passage and then reflects:
What can we glean from this passage? Proust's madeleine was quite dry. It demanded not just a quick dunk, but immersion to "soften" it (according to the new translation by Lydia Davis, said to be the most accurate). And, you'll note, Marcel never bites the cookie. The memory surge is triggered by crumbs.
The Crumb Factor is the key to this culinary mystery. A close analysis of the text yields the following sequence: Marcel 1) breaks off and drops the morsel into the tea. 2) The madeleine piece then wholly or partially disintegrates during its immersion. 3) Marcel then fishes about with his spoon, yielding a spoonful of tea mixed with crumbs.
The question, then: What recipe would deliver this dry, extraordinary crumb-producer?
I won't spoil this literary mystery, except to say that the author consults no fewer than three Proust scholars, one of whom contends:
[Levin's theory that] Marcel had "dissolved pieces of madeleine floating around in his teacup," [is] "not likely." And, to my surprise, he asserted that Marcel does dunk and bite the madeleine—which would mean there's no crumb production mystery to be explained. The professor insisted that the crumbs are simply created in the narrator's mouth after he bites off a morsel and shmooshes it around
Crumbled or shmooshed, these (possibly invented) madeleines are nearly as delicious as Proust's wonderful, lyric sentences. I have only read Swann in Love, but I hope to read more Proust this summer and find the prospect of reading him in French the strongest arguement for continuing with French instead of switching to Latin next semester.
Happy 137st! Requiescat in pace, at least until you see this.
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