Madeleine Moments
It started with a mother offering her child, then grown, a plump little madeleine cake. This petite scallop-shaped sponge was to be accompanied by a steaming cup of tea, to restore the man as he sheltered from the bitterly cold, Normandy (northwestern France) weather.
This was a Madeleine Moment, as described by the French novelist and critic, Marcel Proust, in his novel ‘In Search Of Lost Time’ (which was published around 1913). Reminded of his childhood by the taste of a madeleine, dunked in tea, he made famous the existence of involuntary memories.
“And I begin to ask myself what it could have been, this unremembered state which brought with it no logical proof, but the indisputable evidence, of its felicity, its reality, and in whose presence other states of consciousness melted and vanished. I decide to attempt to make it reappear.” — In Search Of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust
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Involuntary memories require no conscious effort. They are a vivid remembrance of a situation, without the conscious will to bring it to the surface — they are the polar opposite of a voluntary memory. In short, involuntary memories are spontaneous long-term memories.
Proust’s tea-soaked, sugary moment, is now understood to be a ‘precious fragment’ [1] — an everyday experience which never-the-less takes us by surprise, often delighting or bringing us to tender, nostalgic tears in the process.
“Will it ultimately reach the clear surface of my consciousness, this memory, this old, dead moment which the magnetism of an identical moment has travelled so far to importune, to disturb, to raise up out of the very depths of my being? I cannot tell.” — In Search Of Lost Time, by Marcel Proust
They are a beautiful idea, but thankfully this kind of involuntary memory isn't all too common [2], otherwise find ourselves gently weeping into our Pumpkin Spice Lattes for three months of the year. It’d be unbearable.
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We have, in our brains, a small-ish seahorse-shaped structure called the Hippocamps. This bundle of tissue is tucked away towards the bottom of the Cerebral Cortex (the big lump we usually think of when we’re talking about brains) in an area called the Temporal Lobe.
Although it’s still a little unclear just how the brain allows us to experience the delights (and disgusts) of taste [3], it is fairly well established that the hippocampus plays an important role in how we remember those moments, as well helping us to learn what we do and do not relish.
It would seem our preferences develop before we’re born. The wrinkly little faces of newborn babies give us an indication of this. They’ll pucker their mouths when offered something sour and relax at the offer of something sweet. A study from 2000 demonstrated these tiny babies even have a preference for the foods their mothers consumed towards the end of their pregnancies. [4]
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The ruminations Proust, and pretty much any word to have left the lips or pen of the wonderfully sentimental food writer, Nigel Slater, our sustenance can be intertwined ever so strongly with memories.
Perhaps this is why taking a sip of beer can transport you back to that fireside pint of dark mild you enjoyed with a loved one, the winter after you turned 18. Even if you’d forgotten all about that evening, your brain has kept the moment safe for you — ready to savour it all over again.
Diary Entry #2
There are too many books to read.
Please send help!
Now Reading:
The Omnivorous Mind: Our Evolving Relationship with Food (Chapter 8 — Theory of Mind, Theory Of Food?), by John S. Allen
A Moveable Feast, by Earnest Hemmingway