Ginger Baby

Of all the fanciful creations to emerge from the baker’s atelier, none carries the spirit-of-the-season quite like the gingerbread man.

The scent arrives to you first: a festive, fabled blend of cinnamon, cloves, and, yes, ginger—but to taste it is to complete the story. Bite into an arm or leg to reveal a hidden life, and the centuries of history behind it . . .

The word ‘gingerbread’ whispers of Latin and Old French roots—zingiber, gingebras—its meaning originally a reference to preserved ginger, the spice that would come to define this confection. Yet our tale begins not in snowy, medieval Europe, as one might imagine, but rather, in the more sun-baked climes of the ancient civilizations.

The Egyptians, it is said, left rustic, unleavened honey-cakes in the tombs of the Pharaohs, sacred, ceremonial offerings laced with ginger and other spices, and believed to be vested with life-giving powers.

Later, in Greece, ginger-flecked honey-cakes were molded into symbolic forms and presented to the myriad of gods: for the huntress Artemis, a leaping stag or crescent-shaped moon, perhaps. Legend has it, too, that such cakes were left for the dragons said to guard the steps of the temple Pallas Athena, a sweet bribe for mythological beasts.

Yet the true romance of gingerbread, or pain d’épices as it was known by its French admirers, began in the 10th century. A solitary Armenian monk, Gregory of Nicopolis, journeyed to France, where he took refuge in a cave near the town of Bondaroy, renouncing the material world for a life of prolonged spiritual contemplation. There, sustained by wild honey and ginger roots, Grégoire, as he came to be known, composed small, handmade cakes from his foraged ingredients, a tender hospitality to any visitor, bourgeois or peasant, who sought his company.

From France, the recipe wandered and evolved. The English, too, became entranced, as Crusaders returning from the Middle East came bearing their exotic cache, the very spices—ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg—that would lend the confection its warmth and mystique.

It was around the turn of the 16th century, then, that a lighter, drier ginger-biscuit began to appear: sold across European monasteries, pharmacies, and farmers’ markets, it was considered something of a medicine, each one believed to hold some curative power—a myth perpetuated, in fact, by sweet-toothed Swedish nuns.

It was a time of larger creative ferment, the English Renaissance in full bloom. William Shakespeare, even, immortalized the treat by quip of the clown Costard in Love’s Labour’s Lost: “An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy ginger-bread.”

And the great Queen Elizabeth I, a woman known for her exquisite taste and theatrical flair, famously commissioned gingerbread likenesses of her esteemed guests—extravagant creations, ornately-designed, and said to have brought unending delight to those who called upon her royal court.

Next came the gingerbread house, that famed wonder of German craftsmanship, first glimpsed in the 16th century. With walls of spiced-biscuit traced in delicate icing-filigree and adorned in gilded-leaf, it was all but destined to become an emblem of the Christmas season—and by the 19th century, all the more so, forever etched into the collective imagination with the Brothers Grimm’s tale of ‘Hansel and Gretel.’

In time, the complete array of gingery confectionary crossed the ocean, borne across the formidable Atlantic by English and German settlers. Once arrived, it wove itself in the fabric of the nascent country, appearing in what is now considered the first American cookbook, American Cookery, penned by Amelia Simmons in 1796. Within its pages were enshrined no fewer than seven distinct recipes for gingerbread, thereby ensuring its proper place in the annals of culinary history. 

And indeed, across the near century-and-a-half to follow, so completely did it come to embed itself within the broader cultural milieu that in the early aughts, Dunkin’ Donuts, American purveyor of the same, put forth a query to the masses: what limb or appendage of the gingerbread man are you inclined to devour first?

A substantial sixty-four percent of respondents declared they begin (gasp!) head first—an act which, we are told, displays the most resolute ambition. These are the natural leaders of the world, who tackle life’s challenges from, you guessed it, the top down.

A mere fifth of those polled admitted to starting with the legs. This gentle, perhaps tentative approach is said to reveal a thoughtful disposition, one more attuned to the delicate sensibilities of the world.

And finally, fifteen percent opted for an arm. Those who favor the right arm are, alas, a skeptical and pessimistic lot, prone to seeing the shadowed side of things. Conversely, those who begin with the left are vibrant creatures, full of creative élan and ready to seize the day.

Thus, a simple cookie becomes a looking-glass into the many characteristics of human nature. 

Today, Bar au Chocolat embraces the full whimsicality of the gingerbread tradition—with a playful, sturdily-composed character of our own. Meet our cut-by-hand ‘baby,’ crisp and crackle-topped with gently-rounded limbs, a ginger-cookie meant to be held and admired before it is savored. Decorate to the wildest extent of your imagination—be it with royal-icing, gum-drops, chocolate-buttons, or any such sugary morsel. And, when you’re ready to indulge, be certain that bite-by-delicious-bite will reveal its warming, spice-laden essence, and the heart at the center of it all.

Ingredients Flour, sugar, molasses, egg, butter, spices, Himalayan pink salt, baking soda

Ginger Baby 12" x 9" baby decked out for the holidays 
Net Weight 250 g

Ginger Baby Cookies 12 cookies in gift bag 
Net Weight 130 g