The Black Madonna Painting of Czestochowa Story, Polish Legend

Czestochowa is a city in south Poland known for Pauline monastery of Jasna Gora. Every year many pilgrims from around the world travel to the monastery to see the famous painting of Black Madonna. The history of the painting is not clear. There are many legends surrounding it how it arrived there.

There are sources tracing the painting origin to St. Luke, one of the Four Evangelists. With his talented hand, he painted the image of Virgin Mary (Black Madonna) with a child on a cedar table top at which the Holy Family sat.

After the crucifixion of Jesus in Jerusalem, Christians were mistreated. They were questioned, imprisoned, or chased out of towns. It was a painful experience for Christians, who just lost their Savior and now were condemned for believing in him. Among the chaos that was surrounding the city; the house of St. Luke’s mother was spared a knock on the door, where the painting was hidden under the wooden floor.   

How the painting got uncovered from under the floor? It is not known. However, what is known is that two hundred years later, it was gifted to Empress Helena, who ruled over a huge kingdom called Byzantium. A devoted Christian, she was known for her dedication to the poor, wounded and ordinary worshippers. While making pilgrimage to Jerusalem, she received many gifts and among them was the painting of Black Madonna.
 

Through the following centuries the painting was passed on from one ruler to another. Constantine the Great received it from his mother, Empress Helena. Many centuries later, the icon was in the hands of another devoted Christian, Prince Lev. He brought it from Byzantium to Rus. (Today’s Belarus and Ukraine.) At his Belz Castle, the painting was decorated with a crown and presented to the people for worshipping. This way giving a start of adoring the Black Madonna.

After the death of Prince Lev, Polish King wanting to combine both lands, Rus and Polish, invaded the Belz Castle with the help of Duke Opolski. They succeeded after many days of ferocious fight, taking over the castle and the land.

Once inside the walls, the Duke rushed inside the castle to look for goods and chattels. Among many treasures, he saw something amazing.  His eyes rested on a painting. A serene peace surrounded him. He was staring at the face of Black Madonna. Deep in his thoughts, keeping his eyes on her face he whispered to the servants, “Take the painting to a bright room.”

With a special care, the servants carried the painting slowly to the next room. It was situated on a massive chair facing the window. Duke Opolski gazing at the image, which was brightened by the day light coming through the window, was astonished even more. It seemed as the time had stopped for him. He forgot about the troops awaiting him outside.

Not noticing a knight covered with heavy armor. He stood patiently in the door frame, until the squeak of the shield roused the Duke from his reflection. “Duke, we need your help with managing the troops.”

Without a word, Duke Opolski lifted his body from kneeling down in front of the icon. Passing by the knight, with his gaze gave him a sign to follow him. They trailed the narrow corridor up the stairs and upon reaching the walls surrounding the castle, he gave orders.

After the agreement of joining the lands together, it was time for the Polish army to go back home. Upon arrival in Poland, it seemed as the Duke couldn’t find the right room for the painting. The stone walls of the castle were not grand enough for the striking image. The red, plush covers were not majestic enough for the prominent icon.

He envisioned the painting being displayed at a place, where many people would come to worship it. After a longer thought, he invited Pauline monks to Poland promising to build a monastery for them. Why Pauline monks? They were a new Catholic religious order gaining popularity during that period.

The monastery was built in 1382 and enjoyed a peaceful time until 1430, when it was invaded by Hussites. They were Protestants having a different religious view than Catholics. They plundered through the monastery, taking many goods with them including the icon.

To their surprise, the heavy wagon with stolen possessions wouldn’t move. One of the Hussites trying to move the cart saw the icon at the very top not being concealed completely. “Throw it out of the cart,” he yelled to another Hussite standing by the wagon. He yanked it with a groan and threw it on the ground by the wheel. The angry Hussite on the cart drew his sword and with irritation stroke the icon three times, leaving two long scars and one short going across two scars on Black Madonna’s right cheek. Centuries later, there were many attempts to cover the scars without success. The scars remain and are clearly visible.

The holy painting remained at Jasna Gora. It seems as with its miraculous powers it chose its place. It was also credited with saving the monastery during a fire and during a Swedish invasion in the winter of 1655.

The church was spared during the fire like it was protected by an invisible wall. The raging flames took everything that stood in its way, but died down before reaching the church. Somehow the painting was left with darkened tone skin, giving her the name of Black Madonna.

Through the following centuries the popularity of the icon grew. More and more of the faithful people made the pilgrimage to Jasna Gora. Many of them were cured from its illnesses leaving tokens of gratefulness. Those tokens were in the forms of thank you plates or jewelry including pearls, precious stones, rosaries and others. They are still displayed in the church.

People touched by the Black Madonna’s miracles announced about the phenomena through the words. Their healed bodies were the visible and most tangible prove of miracles.

Many petitions were signed and sent to Vatican City for the coronation of Black Madonna. With the approval of Pope Clemens XI, the coronation took place on September 8, 1717. Both heads of the Black Madonna and the child were decorated with golden crowns.

The icon, marked with three scars, saved from the fire and invasions, is the symbol of remarkable powers, giving the name of ‘luminous’ to the mount on which the monastery stands. Jasna Gora meaning Luminous Mount.   

 

 

How Halina Saved Sandomierz from the Tatars - Polish Legend

The city of Sandomierz is located by the river Vistula on a picturesque hill surrounded by rich green grass. The city is very inviting. While approaching the city surrounded by the charming nature, it invites you to proceed inside it to the old town, which is full of colorful buildings. Centuries ago, the brick buildings replaced wooden structures, which were destroyed by Tatars. The city was invaded by Tatars three times in the 13^th century. This leads us to a legend of one brave citizen, who wanted to save the city.

 

“They’re approaching!” a horseman with a panic in his voice rushed around the town to warn the residents, “They’re approaching!” The people didn’t ask Who? As they already knew the answer. That’s the third time the Tatars were attacking their place within the same century. With each time, they tried to be prepared better as they knew the ruthlessness and cruelty of the enemy.

 

“We will take them by surprise,” the residents suggested at one of the sessions. The leader Krempa, creased with many lines on his face showing his age, slowly raised his hand as asking for attention, “And how are you proposing to surprise the enemy?”

 

“Attack them at night, before they approach our walls,” suggested one of the attendees standing in the back of the room. Murmurs spread through the room with many heads tilting forward as in agreement. So it was decided to attack at night.

 

When the darkness covered the sky and only the Tatar guards were trying to keep their eyes open, the locals attacked the enemy. The Tatars, even though asleep, raised quickly to the challenge. Both sides fought fearlessly. The locals were outnumbered by Tatars and at the end had to retreat back inside the walls.

 

Many were left behind as they lost their lives, among them was the leader Kempa. The citizens felt hopeless, there were not too many strong men left to continue the battle and there was no leader. At the council of the town, they agreed that they had to accept Tatars conditions, except Halina.

 

“The Tatars will not keep their word!” exclaimed Halina, the daughter of lost leader Kempa. “They are sneaky and revengeful. We need to fight with their weapon.” The elders didn’t like the girl’s outburst, but at the same time they felt sympathetic for the loss of her father. They calmly explained, “We do not want to act as Tatars.” However, the girl persisted, “Then I will act sneaky on my behalf to revenge my father. I just need you to do one thing for me.” After presenting her idea, the elders agreed still reluctantly.

 

The night was quiet, only the rustle of the leaves from the nearest trees was heard and the sorrow surrounding the walls of the village was felt. Halina quietly left the village. At the edge of the forest, she looked back for a while as trying to engrave the picture of the place in her memory.  

 

As soon as she entered the forest, she was surrounded by Tatars with arrows pointing at her. “What are you doing here girl?” asked one of the Tatars. “I need to see your leader.” The Tatars already suspecting something with a watchful eye took her to the leader.

 

At the fire in red coat sat the leader surrounded by guards. He was slowly sipping hot drink. He raised his eyes, when hearing approaching feet. Good at masking his surprise, he didn’t show it, when the girl in long green tunic and blond long hair showed in front of him.

 

“The girl asked to see you,” announced one of the Tatars. “What is the reason for you to be wandering the woods at night?” asked the leader. “I had to leave at night, so nobody would see me missing. I’m here, because I want to settle an old score with some people. There is a secret underground passage that will take you to the town. I can take you through the dark tunnel.” Halina spoke with convenience not leaving any trace of suspicion. He watched the girl very carefully, while she was talking. Now, the silence stood between them. He took his time to see if girl would give out any trace of deceit. “Settle the horses. We’re leaving now.”

 

It didn’t take long to arrive at a secret passage covered in thick thicket. It wasn’t easy to find it, but Halina had no problem identifying the entrance. They lighted the torches. The Tatar turned to the girl and commended, “Now lead us.”

 

When they were half way in the tunnel, the townsmen, who were hiding near the entrance, did what was agreed on. They blocked the entrance filling it with boulders.

 

The Tatars not suspecting anything yet eagerly followed the girl. When they got to a wall, which was blocking any farther walk, they were surprised looking for a solution. “This is a dungeon and it ends here,” announced the girl.

 

“You betrayed us girl! You know what that means for you?” yelled the leader. “I can die now knowing that I revenged the death of my father and that the town will be safe from you,” Halina calmly answered.

 

Halina died under Tatar’s sword, but she took all the Tatars with her. There was no way back for them from the dungeon.

The Two Swords - The Battle of Grunwald, Polish Legend

In the northern part of Poland, there is a small village called Grunwald. Outside it, in the green fields stands Monument of Grunwald Victory commemorating the most important victory in the history of Poland. Poland fought a battle with Teutonic Knights, which put the end to the rule of the Knights over Polish lands.

It all started in good faith. The Teutonic Knights’ purpose was to convert people to Christianity. In the 13^th century, they built a massive red brick castle in Malbork, helping them to strengthen their control over the surrounding area. But it simply wasn’t enough. They wanted to control more, throwing their weight about Polish lands and tormenting people.

The voices of poor folks were deep in sorrow. They echoed throughout the villages. Polish King Jagiello felt the sufferings of his people as his own. With determination, he picked a date of July 15^th, 1410 to face the Teutonic Knights at the field of Grunwald and end the pain of his people.

Standing in the open field, both armies were facing each other. The summer was hot with sunrays reflecting in the shiny armor of the Knights. The colorful flags fluttered by delicate breeze. The heat and the heavy armor were making the Knights anxious to start the battle. Over the nearby forest, frightened birds made circles as feeling that something was about to happen.

King Jagiello was eagerly praying, taking his time. On the other side of the field, the Knights’ leader, Ulrych, was getting inpatient.

He called for an envoy demanding, “Take two swords to King Jagiello. So he has something to fight with,” standing nearby Teutonic Knights burst out laughing.

Trotting slowly towards the King Jagiello, the Knights stopped facing the King. With raised two swords high above their heads, they swiftly plunged them into the ground. “We were sent to deliver these two swords in case you were missing your own arms.”

The King noticed contemptuous smile on the Knights’ faces. Unmoved, he thanked them. “No, we do not miss arms.”

As soon as they left, Gniewko soon to be a knight approached the King. “Please, my King, allow me to use one of the swords and take part in the battle.

Gniewko was Jagiello’s favorite squire. He knew the boy’s family, who died from the hands of Teutonic Knights. The boy was like his own son and he felt the need to protect him. “Not this time. Soon you will be a knight and ready to help me in the next fight.”

The boy loved the king dearly, who watched over him for many years, hiring the best tutors to teach him knightly skills. Gniewko felt in his heart that this was the right time and keenly wanted to show his gratefulness, insisting, “Please King, allow me. I know I am ready.”

With the love in his eyes and clam but determine voice Jagiello said, “I have fought many battles and I want you to trust me that this is not the right first battle for you. What I want you to do instead is watch over those two swords until I come back from the battle.”

Tilting his head in obedience, the boy stood proudly by two swords, while the king moved to the battle field.

The rumble of the armor aroused announcing the start of the battle. It was long and straining, the winning kept switching from one side to another. The heat and fatigue were weighing heavily on both sides. Many were wounded and many had to return to the camp for their wounds to be tended.

Many Polish Knights either died or were wounded. The lack of them on the field had to be filled with peasantry eager to help to get rid from the oppression they received from the Teutonic Knights.

With heavy batons and axes in their hands, they fought willingly for every inch of Polish land that was taken away from them. They didn’t worry about their own lives. They wanted freedom for their families.

As the bottle continued, one young Teutonic Knight who was wounded dragged his feet towards the two swords. “I have to reclaim the swords,” he kept repeating as he just recently witnessed the death of his leader Ulrych.

He didn’t know that the swords were under watchful eyes of Gniewko, who seeing the approaching Knight from the enemy’s side moved quickly by attacking the Knight. The fight was quick. The already wounded Knight lay motionless on the ground. Wounded Gniewko with the remaining strength was still protecting the swords. He already lost the conscious, when the battle reached its end.

The victorious King Jagiello rushed to the boy to give him the good news. The air was thick with the dust. The sun was setting down giving the tired men a break after ferocious battle filled with heat and dust.

While approaching the camp with a clearer view in front of him, he saw the boy motionless on the ground. Jagiello bent down on his knees with the boys in his arms, tears ran down his face.

Suddenly, where the ends of the swords cut the ground, a small stream came out meandering towards the boy. The King quickly pulled the cover from his short knife and filled with the water. With pain, the boy swallowed a few drops of water.

To the surprise of Jagiello and Gniewko, the boy’s wounds disappeared and he raised his own body without any help. The King called for medics, “Fetch the water for wounded soldiers and peasants.”

Before the medics arrived with vessels, the stream disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Gniewko looked for any traces of the water, but it was hopeless. The stream was gone. Many looked for it afterwards, digging deep into the ground. But the only trace that was left was the uneven ground without green grass.

The Knights and Gniewko with the King returned to Wawel in Krakow, where they celebrated the victory. Gniewko was knighted and received a sword from the King.

Later, he took part in many battles serving King Jagiello.

Malbork Castle

Syn and Vyr Statues at Lake Synevyr, Ukrainian Legend

In the Carpathian Mountains of Ukraine meandering through the gorges, the road leads to one of the most tranquil and beautiful lakes of the country, Synevyr. The lake with its crystal-clear water is surrounded by rare animals and plants.

The view from above from the nearby mountain of the blue lake with a tiny island in the middle, gives you an impression of a blue eye looking at you. While at the bottom, the lake gives you a reflection of two wooden statues standing by its shore, and holding a legend.

 

A long time ago, the lands surrounding the lake belonged to a rich Count. He had only one daughter, named Syn, who was known for her beautiful blue eyes. Every day, the Count would make his regular rounds checking on the woodcutters working for him.

One sunny day, as count was getting ready for one of those rounds, his daughter stated “Wouldn’t it be lovely to spend this nice day together.” So the plan was made; they would walk together to the site and while the Count was checking on the workers, the daughter would wander on her own for a little bit.

While Syn was admiring the beauty of the spruce trees, all of a sudden she heard the most charming melodies carried toward her by the delicate breeze. She followed the melody, which led her to a peaceful pasture land on which shepherd Vyr was playing on his flute. The boy startled by the girl stopped playing suddenly. “Oh, please, don’t be bothered by me” said Syn “I’d love to listen for a little bit longer, and then I have to go back.” Before Syn left, she promised to come back.

The meetings between Syn and Vyr became more frequent. When the Count found out about them, he was not happy. He made a decision to put an end to this relationship. The Count ordered his servant to roll a huge boulder down the mountain.

One day, as Vyr was peacefully awaiting Syn playing on his flute, the boulder rolled down unexpectedly. As Syn cheerfully was approaching the meeting place, she saw a huge boulder in its place. Once she realized what has just happened, she cried her eyes out. The tears rolled down as a tiny stream of water to the edge of the forest until a lake formed. The Syn disappeared herself.

The lake is of the blue color as Syn’s eyes and the small island in the middle of the lake, is where boulder covered Vyr. The names were combined giving the name to the lake, Synevyr.

Sicilian Marzipan Story

Sicily is the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea belonging to Italy. Sicily has been known for its healthy diet, because of using fresh vegetables and fruits and of course for some sweets including traditional Sicilian fruit-shaped marzipan.

According to the legend, a wealthy Italian woman commissioned a convent to be billed in Sicily. The nuns, who later lived there were so grateful and wanted to make something special for community. Using their creativity, they mixed chopped almonds with dough and shaped small pieces of dough into animals and fruits. They got even more creative with painting the animals and fruits with vibrant colors from natural dyes. The sweet treats became so popular especially with kids that they kept the nuns pretty busy.

 

 

Toledo's Marzipan Story

Many countries claim to be the origin of marzipan. However, it is believed that marzipan originated in Persia and was introduced in Europe by Turks. Which European country was the first one that was introduced to marzipan? We may never find out. However, stories from different countries are worth telling and here is one from Spain.

Toledo is a charming town located in central Spain. Once, known for its tolerance, where three cultures coexisted together: Christian, Jewish and Muslim. Today the city is famous for two gastronomical products: Manchego cheese and marzipan.

According to the legend, after a battle, there was famine. There was no wheat to make bread. However, there was plenty of sugar and almonds. The nuns from the nearest convent outside Toledo walls mixed the almonds with sugar and fed hungry people. The sweet delicacy was quite different from regular bread, but it worked for the survival time. Much later, it became famous as a sweet treat.

Another Marzipan Story from Lubeck

The city of Lubeck is famous throughout Germany for its exquisite marzipan. There are various stories how marzipan was discovered. We may never find out, which one carries the seed of truth. Never less, all those stories are entertaining and worth telling. Here is one of them.  

In the 17^th century, there was a chef by the name of Franz Marcip, who in search of a job had to leave his home town of Lubeck. He found a work for a wealthy man. Franz was a very creative chef. He came up with variety of dishes for different occasions with ease. He never stopped to amaze his employer. One day, the rich man was preparing for a very important banquet. He had no doubt that Franz would come up with the most superb dessert for that special day.

Franz, who liked any kind of nuts, decided for the first time to add almonds to the dessert. He chopped almonds and mixed them with the dough he preferred earlier. He even went further, dipping the small pieces of already cut dough in some chocolate. The dessert was so well received at the party that it was given a name of Marcip in honor of the chef.

Franz with his experience and brand-named dessert returned to Lubeck, where he set up a bakery specializing in marzipan only. The rest is history as Lubeck remains the city of marzipan.

 

 

Victorian Sponge Cake story

A long time ago, Italian cooks were known for their baking skills. Many of them were hired in English and French households. During that time, they developed a soft cake by replacing yeast with beaten eggs. Later it became Queen Victoria’s favorite. She delighted herself having the afternoon tea served with the soft cake. And she even developed her own style, having the cake to be sandwiched with jam and whipped cream. This is still popular in England with many other variations of sponge cake.

Venetian Marzipan Legend

In the middle ages, in Italy, there was a Venetian baker, who had a daughter. The baker was busy making pastries for the weekend. So he asked his daughter for help “Why don’t you mix a small portion of chopped almonds into a large batch of cake dough.” The girl was so in love and daydreaming that she switched the ratios putting a large amount of almonds into a small batch of cake dough. When the father discovered the mistake, he was so furious that he rushed her off from the bakery for wasting so many almonds. He threw his hands up and lamented. However, when he munched on a piece of what he considered ruined dough, he became still and amazed by the taste of raw dough. It was the most delicious confection he has ever savored. The baker cut the dough into small bits and sold it with great success. What he considered a mistake at first, now was a blessing, which brought him a great riches. Therefore, he named the bread marcipani in Latin, after the town’s patron St. Marcus.

 

Lubeck's Marzipan Story

Lubeck, situated in northern Germany, is known for marzipan. Thanks to its location by the river, once it was a major port city. Many goods from Orient travelled through Lubeck including almonds, sugar and spices. According to local legend, when Lubeck was under a military siege and was running out of goods, one of the bakers made bread out of remaining supplies of almonds and sugar. When the ‘marzipan’ bread was gaining its popularity, a young man came to Lubeck and became an apprentice to a confectioner. His name was Johann Georg Niederegger. When the talented Johann achieved the experience he needed, he opened his own shop. He quickly became so popular for his exquisite marzipan that he was supplying even royalty with the marzipan. Today, Niederegger is the best known marzipan brand name in Germany praised for its superb quality.
 

The First Celebrity Chef

France occupies the western edge of the European continent. On a map it seems as an important part of a puzzle connecting the Iberian Peninsula with the continental Europe. The leaf-like-shaped country reminds us of the French elegance. It is a country known for good food and variety of pastry, which takes us to its capital Paris noted for a famous chef. A chef whose attention to details was displayed in his food. “It is a form of art,” insisted Antonin Careme and this is his story.

During the French Revolution, the time when France went through many turbulent changes and later with Napoleon becoming a leader, a ten year old Antonin was abandoned by his parents.

He wandered about the narrow streets of Paris in search of a shelter. In his view, appeared a place with chattering people and cluttering tableware. Savory aromas reached his nose. With growling belly, the boy peeked through the window.

Nicely dressed lady, with a feather in her hat, carefully chew her beef stew and continued chitchatting to a man sitting across her. The man not so talkative, nodding in agreement, simply tried to eat his roasted chicken.

“What are you doing here, boy?” asked a man with crossed hands on his big belly appearing on the door step. He came out suddenly, scaring the boy.

“I…I…was just looking,” Antonin stuttered.

“Go away,” yelled the man cutting off the boy.

Around the corner, Antonin sat against the wall with his knees bent, close to his chest, hugging the legs and tears rolling down his cheeks.

It was already dark and getting chilly, when the grumpy owner was closing the door and heard some weeping. “You’re still here. What do you want?” he asked not so nicely.

“I need a bed for the night,” the boy sniffed.

The man’s heart melted just a little, “You can help me in the kitchen at the crack of the dawn. Now, go upstairs.” He rushed the boy since he was tired and wanted to go to bed himself.

This is how Antonin started his career in the kitchen. With time, he had proved to have a talent for cooking and reinventing hearty meals. “A soup is a must,” he insisted on serving it before each meal. “It awakes your palate and prepares you for the main meal.”

Once he served a soup made of snails and frogs to his coughing client insisting, “It will calm down your cough.” He believed the soup had medicinal qualities.

So he made some small marks, but he recognized it quickly that he had to come up with something new and original to rise above the chefs in the city. And he saw it just in time for the next opportunity.

A famous pastry chef with a patisserie shop near the Royal Palace was looking for some help. Antonin knocked on the door and applied, “Sir, I’m here to help you, if you wish to hire me.”

The pastry chef, who was a kind man, looked at the skinny boy dressed in clothes too big for him as from a much older brother and asked, “When can you start?”

The pastry shop was located in a bustling area with crowds satisfying their sweet tooth.

A six tier ice-cream was carried to a lady sitting under the umbrella. “Pardon me madam,” confused waiter asked, “Is this for you?”

“Why, yes,” confirmed the irritated lady. “Why, I can’t have ice-cream,” she murmured to herself.

A crepe filled with fresh fruits, decorated with whipped cream in a shape of a pyramid and topped with a red cherry was carried carefully to a boy near the shaded area by lots of trees.

“Sir, I believe this is for you,” said the waiter with a smile.

“Thank you,” grinned the boy beaming with pride to be called sir.

Shortly, Antonin was learning how to make all that pastry himself and proudly displaying it in the patisserie’s window.

Pastry dough was formed in a shape of balls, flattened at the bottom and cut in half, then filled with whipped cream and decorated with a long neck, making it look as a swan.

“It’s ready to hop on the river and float away,” commented one boy staring at the window display and licking his lips.

Soft and crunchy macaroons in the colors of rainbow were stocked in a shape of cone and displayed on the opposite side of the swans.

The centerpiece of the window display was a three tier cake covered in smooth white cream and decorated with an eatable ribbon at the very top.

“A ready gift not needed to be wrapped. What an amusing idea,” observed one lady all sparkling in jewelry.

All this was coming out of Antonin’s hands. He worked hard and long hours. The pastry chef quickly recognized Antonin’s hard work and talent. He gave him some free afternoons from time to time. The truth was he knew that Antonin spent his spare time at the library studying buildings. Architecture was the inspiration for his cakes rising high and above with intricate shapes.

            “Attention to details, that’s the key to success,” he proclaimed. He used sugar-paste to carve details seen in classical buildings. Marzipan, the almond paste, was his favorite for building castles with towers and temples with classical columns.

Soon, the young boy, almost a young man was already making a name for himself among the Parisians, and with that came special orders.

“Toop, toop, toop,” the noise of a heel hitting the stone approached the shop.

“Antonin, I have such important guests this Friday. You can’t refuse to cook for me that night,” announced such skinny lady that you could almost see through her.

“Of course not milady,” answered troubled Antonin as he was already busy as it was. 

However, most of those special orders came from Talleyrand, a well-established politician, who encouraged Antonin to leave the pastry shop for freelance cooking. And that’s what he did with time.

His next move was the grand kitchen of Talleyrand’s place, where he made pastry for the high society of Paris including writers, poets and politicians.

Another venue that came with time was banquet cooking at one of Paris’s hotels. This was a valuable experience for Antonin as he learned that serving hundreds of dishes at once was pleasant for the eye, but not palate. The meant to be hot dishes many times ended up being cold by the time they were served.

One of the most valuable lessons he learned at the hotel was preparation of sauces, which later became his signature as well. From the more experienced chefs he learned how to create flavorful dinners.

With Talleyrand’s recommendations, Antonin was gaining more customers including Pauline Borghese, Napoleon’s sister. To impress Pauline and her guests, Antonin made one of the most extraordinary pieces of pastry looking like a vase filled with fruits on top. It took ton of spinach to make the most delicate green color icing. Pistachios were chopped to add crunchiness to the pastry. This centerpiece was displayed with hundreds of individual tarts filled with custard, fresh fruits and topped with a small scoop of ice cream and a touch of a few chocolate flakes.  The guests’ big eyes admired the small tarts amazed at the size.

Talleyrand once challenged Antonin, “Why don’t you create a four entrée with some twist. So we can taste something different each day for a year.” It was quite a test that brought Antonin closer to nature as he used seasonal produce to create different meals for every day. A test, which he supposedly passed.  

However, Antonin’s heart was set on improving puff pastry. And that’s what he did at his patisserie between the freelance cooking. His first puff pastry was more of a thick layer filled with cream and topped with chocolate icing, known as eclair. But he wanted something so light that it could almost fly with the weakest blow of a wind. After many trials and errors, he succeeded creating a pastry full of delicate crusty sheets. But this was just the beginning of the soft pastry, which later came in different tastes and shapes.

One of those creations looked like many thin crusty sheets put together for each out of three layers. The two layers between were filled with whipped cream and topped with sifted confectioner’s sugar to make an even layer. The rumor had it that Napoleon had so much of this pastry that it was named after him. But this was just a rumor.

On a sunny summer day a lady hiding her pale skin under a parasol shyly approached Careme, who was on his way to the library.

“Sir, I do not mean to bother you, but I’ve heard that you fulfill special orders.” She stopped as hesitating if she should continue. “Would you be so kind and make some of your puff pastry for my daughter’s coming birthday?”

“Of course madam. Sweet or savory?” asked Antonin.

“Sweet, of course.” After a further thought she added, “And with custard if possible. That’s her favorite.” It was agreed it would be delivered to the house on the special day.

He shaped the pastry in rounds as individual cakes. Filled them with custard and topped with a strawberry circled with blueberries. It was simply amazing. “Attention to details,” that’s what he often reminded himself.     

            On another occasion, an order came from a gentleman. He knocked the door with his umbrella, which he carried on this gloomy day. He knocked like he needed to warn somebody that he was entering Careme’s patisserie. “I’m searching for a cook of savory puff pastry. Are you the right cook for this challenge?” the man asked.

“Yes, I am certain you found the right person.” Antonin nodded and took the order. He learned to appreciate all customers as they challenged him through his career and helped him become who he was.

The savory puff pastry was as successful as the sweet puff pastry. He filled it with clams savored in white sauce. “Simply mouth melting and superbly enjoyable for the palate,” exclaimed the gentleman, who stopped by just to say it.

            Antonin Careme also made his mark with a white, tall, round hat. “It must be stiffened to sit properly on the head,” he insisted. Later he even published an illustration of it and is credited with creating the first standard chef’s hat.

Today Antonin Careme is recognized as the first international celebrity chef.

Pasteli - The Road of Sesame to Olympia

When you look at a map of Europe, at the bottom you will see Greece between the boot-shaped Italy and a sandwich-shaped Turkey surrounded by the Mediterranean Sea.

Greece is a land of many ancient sites, meaning sites that were used a very long time ago and now serve as places that can be visited and learned from. One of those places is Olympia. It is where the Olympic Games had started and the first athletes had competed.

In ancient times, there was a farmer, who lived a few days walk from Olympia. He cultivated sesame plant for its edible seeds. Every four years he travelled on foot with his donkey loaded with big sacks of sesame to Olympia to sell it. This year was a special year as his son was going to join him on his first journey to the city.

The boy’s name was Aster and every day he followed his father in the fields like a shadow. He marched a step behind him trying to hide from the blazing sun. As the father inspected the plant, it was boy’s opportunity to ask, “Father, which story you haven’t told me yet.”

Now when the boy was ten years old and probably had heard all of the Greek myths, it was harder and harder to come up with a new one. Since the time was before the Olympic Games, the father thought it would be a perfect time to remind Aster about the birth of Olympia. “Alright, son.” The father checked the sesame plant and then kept on walking. “Since tomorrow morning we’re leaving for Olympia, let’s go back to its beginnings.” He paused for a second as searching for the right story and proceeded, “The city was built as a sanctuary to worship Greek gods, mostly Zeus, who was the father of all gods.”

“Then why the athletes compete with each other if this was built for the gods?” The stories about Greek gods didn’t always make sense to the boy, but they were intricate and the more puzzling they were the more questions they brought and the boy loved to ask questions.  

“This is how the athletes honor the gods by competing with each other.” This still didn’t make much sense to the boy, so the father continued. “At the end of the competition, the best athlete receives an olive wreath, which is the greatest achievement for an athlete. With winning the Olympic Games, he brings the biggest honor to his native city.”

The boy seemed to be getting into the story now, “But the Festival is only for a few days, right?”

“Right, it’s for five days,” nodded the father.

Aster moved in front of his father stopping him from checking the sesame plant and with both shoulders risen up and hands spread up in the air he questioned, “So what do they do for the rest of the year?”

“They train throughout the year. It takes practice and discipline to be the best at what you do. And good training is supported by a proper diet. Do you remember what I told you about the diet?” Aster thought with a long stare over the fields and with both hands now gripping his shirt. Not wanting to prolong the silence the father answered, “The diet is as important as training. You have to eat well, lots of fruits, vegetables, sea-food and …”

“And sesame!” the boy rushed with his answer proudly saying, “It is an important source of nutrition and that’s why we’re going to Olympia to sell sesame.”

“That’s right son and now is the time to finish our work for the day, so we can get plenty of sleep before our long journey.” As the sun was setting on the horizon making the ground look red, the father and son walked towards the house.

Meanwhile people from around the Greece flocked to Olympia either to watch the games or sell their goods. Those who could afford to watch the games travelled on horses and the rest journeyed on foot. Every path echoed with chatters filled with dust rising from the thousands of feet trudging the same way. But nobody minded the dust; the air was filled with excitement, pushing the dust out of the traveler’s minds.

In the morning, it was time for the father and son to join the rest of the travelers. The journey took them through the mountains, which trees provided a protection from intense summer sun. The boy’s excitement was very contagious sending greetings to all people.

After the first day of travel, the boy was very tired and fell asleep as soon as he laid down; only a blanket separating him from the ground. It was his first night under the open summer sky.

On the second day, Aster felt every muscle of his body, but the excitement was much stronger than the pain. Towards the end of the day as he started slightly dragging his feet, he tripped on the tree root sticking out of the ground. His knee bruised a little with a trickle of blood. The father rushed to help the boy as he saw his tiredness, “Are you all right son?” But the boy was very sturdy. He quickly raised himself up and only nodded, secretly wiping off a tear that rolled down his cheek. They continued a few more steps, when the father noticed a small clearing among the bushes, “This is a perfect spot to spend the night.”

The following day, Aster standing on a hill saw the first glimpse of Olympia. As they neared the city, the boy tried to take all in one gaze, the shining buildings surrounded by robed men, which almost blended with the marble statues, the hustle and bustle of merchants and spectators getting ready for the first day of the games. “There they are!” he pointed at well-built tanned athletes.

“Yes, you will see plenty of them during the next few days.” The father tried to calm down the boy’s excitement as passing by them people chuckled. “As soon as we enter the city, we have to look for a place to claim for our stall. Then you will have enough time to admire the athletes.”

Already in the city, while the boy and his father were setting the booth, the boy’s eyes didn’t stop following the athletes, who raced, wrestled and boxed. A man dressed in a robe looking very gracefully as a granite statue gave a command to two wrestling boys. “Who is he?” the boy inquired, not noticing his father selling sesame to the first client.

As soon as the buyer was served, the father explained patiently, “That’s one of the judges whose been training the boys for the past month here in Olympia. That’s a tradition.”

Suddenly the boy’s attention was distracted by a yelling food-seller, “Fresh fig cake.” Now his observation shifted on the busy market place. It was jam-packed with booths and stalls; merchants selling the wares, artisans offering hand-made figurines as souvenirs, and food-sellers yelling about their goods. He was amazed seeing such a vibrant market place.

The following day in the morning, a ceremony opened the first day of the Olympic Games, followed with the first contests. The afternoon brought something the boy had never experienced before. It was presented with the speeches by well-known philosophers. “Who are they?” this became the boy’s constant question during the games.

The father always took time to answer them all, “They are one of the greatest thinkers.”

Aster didn’t understand any of the words that were spoken by the philosophers, but they were spoken in such poetic way that it captivated him. While his fascination was with a philosopher, two athletes approached the stall to buy sesame. “That’s the philosopher who says that his long age and good health is thanks to eating honey every day,” spoke one athlete seeing the boy’s interest. The boy was caught off guard and it took him a moment to register what had just happened. As soon as the athletes left, the boy looked at his father with big round eyes and said, “He spoke to me.” The father only smiled. He knew it was a lot for the boy to absorb at once.

The games went on for the next three days. The last day of the Olympic Festival was marked by the procession of victors and crowning them with the olive wreaths, followed by feasting and celebrations.

With a heavy heart Aster helped his father to pack the stall. “We just got here and we already have to pack,” these were the only words that escaped his mouth that morning. He wanted the games to go forever. He didn’t want to leave Olympia.

The father read the boy’s mind and wanting to cheer him up said, “Son if the games went forever, they would never be so special.” It seemed to work as a small smile decorated the boy’s face.

Upon return, the boy filled his mother with all the exciting news of what he saw and who spoke to him.

A few months after the games and before the first frost covered the ground, when it was time to harvest the sesame the boy remembered one of the athletes mentioning the honey. Because the sesame was sold as loose seeds, he said to his father, “Why don’t we mix it with honey and create small bars?”

The father was surprised at first, but after giving it a thought, he said, “Why not?” And this is exactly what they had done after the harvest. They created the first sesame bars known to Greeks as pasteli. With time they created variety of them by adding nuts and raisins.

The sesame bars became very popular throughout the village. It seemed as the chirping birds and the rustling leaves in the bordering woods spread the word to other villages. It farther travelled with the direction of the creeks and through the wide opened fields to the cities; making its way to all Greeks including athletes.