Only through trial and error can you discover which restaurants are hidden gems, and which ones serve red wine in the chiller and leave the (wrong) bottle of white wine on the table to come up to room temperature. I call outings like these ‘entertainment’, and this wine gaffe was only one slice of last night’s underwhelming dining experience.

As much as I’d like it to be the case, my postings can’t always be about me griping. Indeed, there are loads of great restaurants in Dakar, as well as many opportunities for compensatory dessert and digestif afterparties that are sprinkled with a bit of fun culture. This happened to be the case last night. 

Behold the galette des rois.

For those of you who are better Christians than me, you know that Epiphany happened at the beginning of the month.  As a pretentious exchange student in France, I remember this only because of the many king cakes that I consumed with my second host family (who were caterers/charcutiers). Kind of like the cakes you see at Mardi Gras (and in Portugal, as it turns out), the cake is cut and divided up among guests in the anticipation of discovering who has the slice with the prize inside. Okay, not exactly a “prize”, but the Cracker Jack reference has a nice ring to it.

So not a prize, but there really is a small trinket stashed somewhere in the cake prior to baking. The person who winds up with this piece either:

 1) requires emergency dental work 

or 

 2) announces their find and gets to wear the crown that accompanies the cake. 

King for the day! I couldn’t help but think of my favorite Omar quote from The Wire, “Swear to God, yo, on a Sunday morning, they near shot her best crown off!”  [But around here, not many people get this reference but me…..]

Behold Liz, master King Cake maker and lightning crown crafter. I was ready to snap (and post) photos of whoever would get to wear their best crown.

Ready for carving, the cake is traditionally served with cider or champagne (or so Liz says).

Because you can often see the trinket once you cut into the cake, you are supposed to have the youngest person (a child, typically) hide under the table and direct which guest gets each slice. Our party of eight diners was unfortunately reduced to seven as our designated cake director, three year old Luke, couldn’t stay awake for the 11pm cutting festivities. What a quitter.

The fantastic naval officer that she still is, here we see Liz parading the cake. The dog looks more than happy to accept Luke’s slice.

The cake looks (and tastes!) fantastic. As a bonus, Liz’s deft cake cutting allowed for perfect sectioning that didn’t prematurely reveal the recipient of the crown.

There is absolutely no butter in this cake, which I verify by eating all the way to the crust. Despite my best searching techniques, I don’t score the crown.

Did I mention that we saved a piece for Luke? Hmmm….

A careful incision reveals that yes, the three year old really should be the one who gets to wear the crown. That’s probably why Burger King is such a hit back at home. Sadly, Luke is sleeping soundly in his bed, dreaming that he is Lightning McQueen. 

The rest of us kind of shrug our shoulders and move the butter soaked crown off to the side to wait for its rightful owner in the morning. The night is still as complete success as the drinks are served in proper fashion and complement Liz’s culinary creation perfectly.

But what about the crown? I’m still holding out for Mr. and Mrs. Luke to snap a picture of their child in his fancy new hat. I’m also wondering whether or not that last piece actually made it to see the light of morning..

UPDATE:

Luke got his cake, and after a slight crown modification, he wore his prize proudly!  Great job, Mom!