Coffindaffer Michael - Stylish cakes: the extraordinary confections of the fashion chef

Circe Photography: Circe photography llc

For my mother, Christiane

F ASHION, A SENSE OF STYLE, AND FINE FOOD all have been an inherent part of my life for as long as I can remember. French was my first language, as my European parents had immigrated to the United States from Paris in 1948, three years before I was born. My father, Jacques, was a dashing and handsome home decor buyer for I. Magnin, the legendary high-fashion and luxury specialty store based in San Francisco. He was also an accomplished painter and draftsman, with a keen eye for color and composition. I was practically raised at I. Magnin: I have very clear memories of strolling along the Chanel-perfumed first-floor aisles, the sound of highly coiffed saleswomen cooing, There goes Jacquess daughter, wafting behind me.

My father, who began his career at Gumps in 1951, was fond of citing Richard Gumps motto Good taste costs no more. He moved on to I. Magnin in 1953, when I was one and a half years old. His responsibilities there took him all over the world to purchase one-of-a-kind antiques and objects and to collaborate with artisans to create exclusive designs for the store. His work seemed so exotic, and I saved the many postcards he sent home while on his travels.

My childhood home was a reflection of my fathers sophisticated tastes, a life informed by beauty. We had an extensive collection of books in many different languagesGerman, Italian, French, and English. My parents were both voracious readers, and books, especially art books, held center stage in our living room. One of my earliest pastimes was to sit with my father and thumb through art books on Alberto Giacometti and Leonardo da Vinci. It made me feel very important and grown up that he would share his books with me. These sessions together marked the beginning of my art history education, as my father would discuss the artists and then ask my opinion of their ideas and work.

Although my father spoke English well, my mother, Christiane, arrived in San Francisco speaking only French. She somehow learned to speak English, to cook, and to drive while raising two daughters, often alone, as my father was traveling the world. She came to speak English beautifully, though, and became a highly regarded dean of college counseling for San Francisco University High School. She was smart as a whipnot to mention curious, highly gracious, and, above all, practical. Years later, she would also become my trusted best friend.

Christiane was of firm convictions in all matters culinary. She became a gourmet cook, much to my chagrin as an adolescent. I used to beg for a normal hamburger when the rti de boeuf arrived at the dinner table. The kitchen was unquestionably and completely her domain and off-limits to my sister and me. Hence, my cooking experience was limited to making elaborate mud pies in our neighbors garden path. My grandmother, Jeanne, whom we called Goupi, used to save her empty tinfoil pie tins (she loved Swanson frozen pies!) for that express purpose.

The first time my mother allowed me into her kitchen, I was eight years old. We would work side by side, each on our own projects. My first baking specialty was buttermilk pound cake, although I once used the wrong measuring cup and ended up with double the amount of flour in the battersix cups, instead of three. The batter had to be thrown out, and I was devastated. I never made that mistake again. I eventually perfected the cake, and Im pleased to share the for it with you.

My mother and me, 1953.

Charlotte Neuville: Courtesy of Charlotte Neuville

At eight months old, with my parents, 1952.

Charlotte Neuville: Courtesy of Charlotte Neuville

With Madeleine (right) and my mother, 1963.

Charlotte Neuville: Courtesy of Charlotte Neuville

My mothers Buttermilk Pound Cake recipe card.

Charlotte Neuville: Courtesy of Charlotte Neuville

At age five, in the San Francisco Chronicle, 1958.

San Francisco Chronicle: San Francisco/Polaris

At fifteen, 1968.

Charlotte Neuville: Courtesy of Charlotte Neuville

In Fire Island, 1978.

Charlotte Neuville: Courtesy of Charlotte Neuville

Because I wanted my mother to invite me back to bake with her, I always made sure to leave the kitchen sparkling clean according to her exacting standards. Even though cleaning up thoroughly was part of the experience, I remember thinking the baking thing was worth pursuing and soon became known for my desserts, especially French fruit tarts. My father was my target audience. He loved dessert, and I always strived to make him happy and proud of my accomplishments.

My mother also had an unerring sense of style. For many years, she sewed dresses for my younger sister, Madeleine, and me, although she always bought a new dress for each of us at I. Magnin for the first day of school. Of course, it was a special treat to be taken there to shop. With its pristine white Carrara marble, I. Magnin was the temple of chic. I attended my first fashion show therethat of designer James Galanoswhen I was six. At that time, I. Magnin had in-house models and staged private fashion shows so their best customers could preview the new seasons garments and place custom orders on the spot. I remember sitting in the front row, gazing in rapture at the modelswith their bouffant hairdos and false eyelashestowering above me as they sauntered down the runway. I felt so special to be there, and the experience cemented my love of fashion at that very moment! I wanted so badly to be a part of that glamorous world, and to this day, Im sure this early exposure to style was a catalyst for my becoming a fashion designer.

A year after attending my first runway show, I had the opportunity to participate in a different kind of showand I couldnt have been more thrilled. In April 1958, my father opened the Far Eastern Gallery on I. Magnins mezzanine, the first in a series of annual events that he launched for the store for many subsequent years. That first year, he recruited me to model as a young Japanese girl. A geisha wrapped the traditional obi around my waist and tied my jet-black hair into a tight knot. I was in sheer heaven! A photograph of me with one of the I. Magnin fashion models even appeared in the