Domicile of paternal grandmother Coralie Strauss. In my grandmother Coralie's kitchen, Marie, our housekeeper, sometimes allowed me to help her roll out the greasy mass of pastry dough with the big yellow wooden rolling pin. When finally the finely rolled out dough found its place in the round black iron cake pan, Marie authorized me to peel off the excess dough with my fingers, raw, sugary, indigestible at will. These scraps of dough fell back into the flour spread on the kitchen cutting board, around the corrugated metal crown that barely held the layers of fruit stacked on top of the cake, stuffed with plums, blueberries, mirabelles, depending on the season. In my grandmother's house, we did not skimp on food, especially when it came to the almost ceremonial dessert that, during the summer or fall months, offered us all a taste of heaven.