Brioche King Cakes

     The Epiphany has come and gone, but to a New Orleanian that just means it's time for King Cakes.  This week I made the recipe for "Rich Man's Brioche" from The Bread Baker's Apprentice.  It is an extremely rich,  light, buttery bread that would be wonderful on its own, but I used it as the dough for my King Cakes.  I divided the dough into three equal pieces to make 3 King Cakes; each King Cake a little different from the other two.  One King Cake is a brioche ring topped with purple, green, and gold sugars.  The second King Cake has cinnamon sugar, topped with a white glaze and sprinkled with the sugars.  The third is filled with almond paste and slivered almonds, topped with sliced almonds, white glaze, and the trio of colored sugars.  I told Wayne choose one for tasting tonight, and he chose the almond filled King Cake.  I am almost at a loss for words as to how good it was.  The King Cake practically melted in our mouths.  It was a ring of soft, tender, buttery, moist, flavorful deliciousness.  Wayne said it was the best King Cake he has ever had, and I hate to brag but I have to agree.  It was a little taste of heaven.  For a little more information about Mardi Gras and King Cakes check out the following link Short Mardi Gras & King Cake History
     King Cakes evoke many memories, but the one I remember most was a memory from my mother's childhood.  My mother was a child of the depression.  She was one of seven children: Malcolm, Alguinaldo, Antonio, Soulita, Dolores (my mother), Louiska, and Rosita.  For those of you who don't know about King Cakes there is a small plastic doll in it.   The person who gets the baby is supposed to buy the next King Cake.  When my Aunt Rosie was about 10 years old, one of  her classmates brought a King Cake to school.  Aunt Rosie got the baby, and she held it in her mouth all afternoon because she knew her parents could not afford to buy one.  As adults they would laugh about it, but I'm sure when it happened there was nothing funny about it.
     When I was a child I knew of only one kind of King Cake, a simple brioche ring from McKenzie's Bakery (no where near as rich as the recipe I prepared).  It was sprinkled with purple, green, and gold sugars.  There was no icing, no cinnamon, no filling, no braiding, but I remember it as being pure delight.  On the Monday before Fat Tuesday my mother would make her pilgrimage to McKenzie's.  She would buy soft hamburger rolls, Mardi Gras donuts, and a King Cake.  The rolls were for our ham sandwiches.  The Mardi Gras donuts were small square donuts with cinnamon sugar; they were for breakfast.  The King Cake was for munching on through the day.  There was also the annual burning of the peanuts.  Every year my mother would buy raw peanuts to roast, and every year she would burn them.  We would leave early in the morning and go to my Aunt Rosie, Uncle Carney, and cousin Linda's house.  We would pile into Uncle Carney's car and to St. Charles Avenue.  We would be there from the time Pete Fountain's Half Fast Walking Club until the last float of Comus would pass.  By the end of the night we were all tired, full of junk food, with bags full of treasures that we caught by yelling, "Hey, Mister, throw me something," and ready to go home.
     Way back then everyone costumed on Mardi Gras Day, and people were out for a day a family fun.  No one showed their tits for cheap beads.  People could enjoy parades without fear of violence. It was truly a magical, majestic time.  And joy was found in little things like a slice of King Cake.