If garbure is the soul, and cotriade is the sea — then this, surely, is the breath. A whisper of indulgence from the gentle lands of Anjou, where vines weave across sun-warmed slopes and rivers braid through château shadows.

 

The Crémet d’Anjou is a dessert from a time when elegance wasn’t shouted but murmured. It’s not flashy. It doesn’t flame or flake or fall apart. It simply exists — pure, white, and melting on the tongue like sweet spring mist.

 

We remember it served under the linden trees of a garden bistro in Saumur — in tiny glasses, with a raspberry on top and a look from the waiter that said, “Don’t rush.” And we didn’t.

 

🍨 The Recipe: Crémet d’Anjou

 

Serves 4

Time: 20 minutes (plus 2 hours chilling)

 

Ingredients

 

• 250 g (1 cup) fromage blanc (or substitute with well-drained Greek yogurt)

• 250 ml (1 cup) heavy cream (minimum 35% fat)

• 30–40 g (2–3 tbsp) sugar, to taste

• 1 tsp vanilla extract or seeds from half a vanilla bean

• Zest of 1 lemon (optional, for freshness)

• For serving: fresh berries, mint leaves, or a drizzle of raspberry coulis

 

Method

 

Whip the cream until it holds soft peaks. In a separate bowl, stir the fromage blanc with sugar, vanilla, and zest until smooth. Gently fold the whipped cream into the cheese — carefully, like folding laundry in a monastery.

 

Spoon into ramekins, dessert glasses, or wine cups — whatever feels graceful. Chill for at least 2 hours. Just before serving, crown each with berries, a mint leaf, or nothing at all.

 

You want quietness here — so the flavor can rise.

 

🍷 Wine Pairing

 

You’re in the Loire, darling. Go local. A Coteaux du Layon, with its golden honeyed sweetness and gentle acidity, is a lovely companion. Or a Quarts de Chaume if you truly want to impress. Both are dessert wines made from Chenin Blanc — bright, complex, and never cloying.

 

Serve chilled, in a small glass. Just enough to make you sigh.

 

🌿 A Note from the Table

 

Some desserts shout. This one listens. It’s the kind of thing you serve when the windows are open and the spoons are small. When the main course is a memory and the conversation drifts into the soft hours of the evening.

 

And if you ever find yourself near Angers in springtime, stop at a Sunday market and look for the stall with glass jars and thick cream under muslin. Ask for le vrai crémet — and watch their eyes light up.