Day 279


Close your eyes, and imagine a taste, a flavor, a smell
that could be THE synthesis of a specific period of your life.

Name the talcum your granny used when you and your brother where kids,
the canteen smell of your primary school,
the cigar aftertaste in the office of your high school principal
- certainly a hotspot of your teen years -

or the taste of those dry and thin cookies, soaked in the morning coffee
when the frost made the view from your windows blurry and yet intimate

your family is downstairs, waiting for you on a sunday brunch.

Now open your eyes, turn on the TV and discover that the baking factory
producing those dry cookies went through bankruptcy and its employees 
are now occupying the factory, trying to keep the production alive, waving their 
trade union flags in front of the reporters.

Honestly, I hope Proust doesn't have any Tv in the whatever after-life dimension he is living in.
Or an Ipad. Or a pair of brand new Google glasses.

In fact his beloved madeleines, which triggered his memories and recollected
his childhood, his aunt Leonie and Combray, were actually produced in Caen,
a small country town in the Calvados region, quite near to Illiers, the country town
that Proust describes as Combray.

The Biscuiterie Jeannette opens in 1850, teasing French palates with its buttery recipes
even in the hardest times, when the Nazi bombs almost demolished the building.
The production grew until it reached the far away export market of China and Japan in the early 2000,
before The Crisis came.

Similarly to many (too many) other activities, the Biscuiterie declared bankruptcy on December 2013,
but the employees refused to surrender and started a worker-managed production,
trying to sensitize the public opinion, through the social and the tv channels.


Perhaps a little help from Marcel would help!

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Biscuiterie-Jeannette/120545878096156?fref=ts

And the soundtrack could be just...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okJpAybjpQs&list=PLEDD3B3B896A08860