Dessert now.
Cream, liquid and hot. Poured over dark broken pieces of chocolate. The cream is for texture and aspect, I do not want gloss. I want something to dive into, not see myself in. Wait, stir, taste, long for more. Don't we always? Sweet, when clear headed, begs for spice.
Cinnamon to show me how to recognize beauty in confusion, nutmeg to illustrate how sweetness must be layered, black pepper to teach me to always expect the unexpected, cloves to remind me to find balance - that more is not always better.
And salt, fleur-de-sel, flower of the salt. Salt that was hand-raked by someone who knows more about salt than I know about anything.
I peel an orange. Blood, by chance. Organic and pure. Its red not the color of blood but of a perfect Bourgogne, tales to tell in that shade that dances between lands.
Peeled and sliced, full of sweetly sour juice, covered with warm, spiced liquid chocolate. A dessert made to show me where I can go.
Showing posts with label food post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food post. Show all posts
Monday, March 15, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
And so it begins
It began with onions, thinly sliced. Garlic too, three cloves. Pancetta, olive oil. Salt and then pepper. Chicken thighs, skin intact. A long pour from a bottle of Quincy, Loire bred. Things simmered. Too pale, too something, a few peeled tomatoes were needed. More salt, more pepper, herbs and spices.
We've all heard of a maître saucier, a master of sauces, we've eaten his work, noticed, even, how he is too dependent on his skill. This leads him to ignore the basics on occasion. In mastery there is control, domination. His sauces make you forget what you're eating.
In the steam of my kitchen, I knew I did not want to master. I had had no recipe that night, only random ingredients and cold weather that made me want the comfort and warmth of a deep sauce.
I would not control, I would not dominate. Being a master is not for me. A mistress, however, that I could be.
Is she controlled, is she controlling? One can never really say. With a mistress, you never know who holds the power or if she even cares.
Rebirth that night, as every magical meal is.
But this one in particular. I had made many, countless even, sauces before. But this was different. I found myself.
A mistress of sauces.
We've all heard of a maître saucier, a master of sauces, we've eaten his work, noticed, even, how he is too dependent on his skill. This leads him to ignore the basics on occasion. In mastery there is control, domination. His sauces make you forget what you're eating.
In the steam of my kitchen, I knew I did not want to master. I had had no recipe that night, only random ingredients and cold weather that made me want the comfort and warmth of a deep sauce.
I would not control, I would not dominate. Being a master is not for me. A mistress, however, that I could be.
Is she controlled, is she controlling? One can never really say. With a mistress, you never know who holds the power or if she even cares.
Rebirth that night, as every magical meal is.
But this one in particular. I had made many, countless even, sauces before. But this was different. I found myself.
A mistress of sauces.
Monday, June 23, 2008
My new toy
Is a whipper. Or a siphon or whatever you call it.
You know, one of these things. Because you can never have too much nice kitchen equipment.
So far, I've only used it to make eggless chocolate mousse (basically just whole cream, cocoa, melted chocolate and sugar) and strawberry yogurt cream (whole cream, whole plain yogurt [I used sheep], strawberry purée and sugar).
It's all very fluffy and sweet and pretty. The chocolate mousse tastes very good on coffee. And fruit. And my index finger when I go to the fridge 'supposedly' to get something else, like water. The strawberry cream tastes good on those things too, except for the coffee, although I think it probably would. I just haven't tried it there.
I can apparently also make fruit espumas and avocado mousses and foie gras foams. If I can get beyond the chocolate mousse stage. Which is looking doubtful at this point.
Between the chocolate sorbet and the ganache and now the mousse, chocolate has become something of a theme lately. Wonder what that means?
Crise de foi? Or crise de foie?
You know, one of these things. Because you can never have too much nice kitchen equipment.
So far, I've only used it to make eggless chocolate mousse (basically just whole cream, cocoa, melted chocolate and sugar) and strawberry yogurt cream (whole cream, whole plain yogurt [I used sheep], strawberry purée and sugar).
It's all very fluffy and sweet and pretty. The chocolate mousse tastes very good on coffee. And fruit. And my index finger when I go to the fridge 'supposedly' to get something else, like water. The strawberry cream tastes good on those things too, except for the coffee, although I think it probably would. I just haven't tried it there.
I can apparently also make fruit espumas and avocado mousses and foie gras foams. If I can get beyond the chocolate mousse stage. Which is looking doubtful at this point.
Between the chocolate sorbet and the ganache and now the mousse, chocolate has become something of a theme lately. Wonder what that means?
Crise de foi? Or crise de foie?
Monday, March 24, 2008
Ah, les profiteroles
Otherwise known as dessert bliss. And I'm not exaggerating. I ate some yesterday. We had Easter lunch at a restaurant. I'm cooking an Easter meal today (Easter monday is a holiday here) and I really didn't feel like cooking two Easter-worthy meals in a row. So, we ate at a restaurant. I had beef carpaccio. Yes, the former vegetarian now eats raw meat. But it's just so good. With paper thin shavings of parmesan on top.
Anyway. For dessert I got profiteroles. Which is probably one of my favorite desserts of all time. And one that I never make. Ever. Because it seems like a pain, although that doesn't always stop me.
Want to know why it's my favorite? Because it's complicated and simple at the same time. It's hot and cold at the same time. It's chocolate and vanilla at the same time. It's crunchy and smooth at the same time. It's so many things at once and no one thing dominates or loses its integrity. You have to respect that in a dessert.
Three choux pastries -cut in half and filled with vanilla ice cream, a pond of melted dark chocolate for them to bathe in, grilled slivered almonds sprinkled over all, for fun.
What's your favorite dessert?
Anyway. For dessert I got profiteroles. Which is probably one of my favorite desserts of all time. And one that I never make. Ever. Because it seems like a pain, although that doesn't always stop me.
Want to know why it's my favorite? Because it's complicated and simple at the same time. It's hot and cold at the same time. It's chocolate and vanilla at the same time. It's crunchy and smooth at the same time. It's so many things at once and no one thing dominates or loses its integrity. You have to respect that in a dessert.
Three choux pastries -cut in half and filled with vanilla ice cream, a pond of melted dark chocolate for them to bathe in, grilled slivered almonds sprinkled over all, for fun.
What's your favorite dessert?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Confit de canard
Nearly 10 years ago I was still sort of a vegetarian. Well, actually , not really. I had started eating fish again because being a strict vegetarian in France is just so impractical if you're living anywhere other than Paris. And, despite what some of you might think, I am practical, on occasion.
I was working in Nantes at the Chamber of Commerce, a lot of hours. On fridays I rarely had time to go home for lunch so I often ate in a little brasserie nearby. They always had fish on fridays (Catholic country). But one friday, I didn't want the fish. It was one of those really boney fish, more effort to eat than I was willing to make. The other special of the day was confit de canard. I grew up in a family of hunters (don't analyze that please) and had fond (and delicious) memories of duck, not confit, but still. And it was poultry, not meat meat (doubled intentionally). So I got the duck. And a glass of thick dark red wine, the kind I like most.
And I ate the duck. Oh my. The perfectly crispy skin, the most incredibly tender meat, the whole thing just melted in my mouth. It was amazing, that thigh that had soaked in duck fat for months, being infused and penetrated by flavor and fat. It was the perfect welcome home.
I was working in Nantes at the Chamber of Commerce, a lot of hours. On fridays I rarely had time to go home for lunch so I often ate in a little brasserie nearby. They always had fish on fridays (Catholic country). But one friday, I didn't want the fish. It was one of those really boney fish, more effort to eat than I was willing to make. The other special of the day was confit de canard. I grew up in a family of hunters (don't analyze that please) and had fond (and delicious) memories of duck, not confit, but still. And it was poultry, not meat meat (doubled intentionally). So I got the duck. And a glass of thick dark red wine, the kind I like most.
And I ate the duck. Oh my. The perfectly crispy skin, the most incredibly tender meat, the whole thing just melted in my mouth. It was amazing, that thigh that had soaked in duck fat for months, being infused and penetrated by flavor and fat. It was the perfect welcome home.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Voluntary Damnation
aka - I like Martha Stewart.
I really do. Maybe not her personally since I don't know her. But I like her magazines a lot. And her recipes. Thanks to Martha, I always save the leftover olive bread and chorizo baguette from fondue to use for croutons. And I never arrive at a dinner party without a delicious hostess gift to offer.
Anyway.
It was the Boys' school fair yesterday. They danced and sang and played games and won rinky-dink prizes and ate too much sugar. It was as it should be. I'm a pta member so I was supposed to have helped with a lot of things but I didn't have time for anything but work last week so I didn't do anything. To make up for it, I spend 8 hours in the kitchen on saturday making cookies. I made Martha's Outrageous Chocolate Cookies, Lemon Bars, Chocolate Meringues, and Chocolate Drizzled Spice Cookies.
They were all wonderful, as is usually the case with Martha's recipes. Although the meringues were not crispy enough - it was really humid on saturday and I should have left them in the oven longer. But that's not Martha's fault.
Anyway. Everyone loved the cookies. People tend to love the things I make in general. Not because they're amazing, but because they're different from what most people here make. A dozen people came up to me yesterday to gush about the lemon bars. "Just perfect." "Sublime." "Not too sweet and not too sour." "A se damner!" Which I'm translating as 'worth voluntary damnation'.
I'm thinking no lemon bar, even mine and Martha's is worth a trip to hell so next time I'll go heavy on the lemon or light on the sugar.
I'll post the recipes only if you take full responsibility for the souls of those you make them for.
I really do. Maybe not her personally since I don't know her. But I like her magazines a lot. And her recipes. Thanks to Martha, I always save the leftover olive bread and chorizo baguette from fondue to use for croutons. And I never arrive at a dinner party without a delicious hostess gift to offer.
Anyway.
It was the Boys' school fair yesterday. They danced and sang and played games and won rinky-dink prizes and ate too much sugar. It was as it should be. I'm a pta member so I was supposed to have helped with a lot of things but I didn't have time for anything but work last week so I didn't do anything. To make up for it, I spend 8 hours in the kitchen on saturday making cookies. I made Martha's Outrageous Chocolate Cookies, Lemon Bars, Chocolate Meringues, and Chocolate Drizzled Spice Cookies.
They were all wonderful, as is usually the case with Martha's recipes. Although the meringues were not crispy enough - it was really humid on saturday and I should have left them in the oven longer. But that's not Martha's fault.
Anyway. Everyone loved the cookies. People tend to love the things I make in general. Not because they're amazing, but because they're different from what most people here make. A dozen people came up to me yesterday to gush about the lemon bars. "Just perfect." "Sublime." "Not too sweet and not too sour." "A se damner!" Which I'm translating as 'worth voluntary damnation'.
I'm thinking no lemon bar, even mine and Martha's is worth a trip to hell so next time I'll go heavy on the lemon or light on the sugar.
I'll post the recipes only if you take full responsibility for the souls of those you make them for.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Chocolate Crème Brulée that wasn't
Brulée.
Because I don't have a kitchen blowtorch or any blowtorch acutally and I was too chicken to try it under the broiler and Husband's lighters didn't work.
But it was still delicious. I topped them with chopped strawberries. People actually moaned at the table while eating it. And everyone's hands were visible and feet were on the floor so I'm sure the moaning was about the dessert.
Here's the recipe.
1 3/4 cups half and half (crème liquide légère - 15%)
1 3/4 cups whipping cream (crème liquide entière - don't ask)
12 tablespoons sugar, divided
4 ounces semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped
8 large egg yolks
pinch of salt
8 teaspoons golden brown sugar (but only if you're going to do the brulée part)
1. Preheat oven to 350°.
2. Stir half and half, 3/4 cup cream and 6 tablespoons of sugar in a heavy medium saucepan over medium-high heat until mixture begins to boil. Remove from heat and add chocolate. Let stand for 5 minutes then whisk until smooth.
3. Whisk yolks, salt and remaining 6 tablespoons sugar in medium bowl. Gradually whisk hot cream mixture into yolk mixture. Then whisk in remaining 1 cup cream. Divide among eight 3/4 cup ramekins. Place in a large roasting pan. Fill pan with enough water to come halfway up sides of ramekins to make a bain-marie. Cover loosely with foil.
4. Bake until creams are set around the edges but centers still move slightly when gently shaken - about 1 hour 10 minutes. Remove ramekins from water. Transfer to refrigerator. Child uncovered until cold, then cover and chill overnight.
5. To make them brulées, sprinkle each custard with 1 teaspoon brown sugar. Caramelize with a kitchen blowtorch until melted and brown.
So, in my version, I left out the last step and topped with fresh chopped berries. You could use raspberries too.
In my version part 2, I made these at about 9:30. And they were served for lunch so they only chilled for about 2 hours, which didn't seem to have an impact on taste or texture.
In my version part 3, I halved the recipe and used six ramekins. So they were slightly less full than in the above recipe, but that left room for the berries. And the portion size was perfect.
With the 4 egg whites leftover, I made these. Which were consumed without any attempt, by all members of the family, at moderation.
Because I don't have a kitchen blowtorch or any blowtorch acutally and I was too chicken to try it under the broiler and Husband's lighters didn't work.
But it was still delicious. I topped them with chopped strawberries. People actually moaned at the table while eating it. And everyone's hands were visible and feet were on the floor so I'm sure the moaning was about the dessert.
Here's the recipe.
1 3/4 cups half and half (crème liquide légère - 15%)
1 3/4 cups whipping cream (crème liquide entière - don't ask)
12 tablespoons sugar, divided
4 ounces semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped
8 large egg yolks
pinch of salt
8 teaspoons golden brown sugar (but only if you're going to do the brulée part)
1. Preheat oven to 350°.
2. Stir half and half, 3/4 cup cream and 6 tablespoons of sugar in a heavy medium saucepan over medium-high heat until mixture begins to boil. Remove from heat and add chocolate. Let stand for 5 minutes then whisk until smooth.
3. Whisk yolks, salt and remaining 6 tablespoons sugar in medium bowl. Gradually whisk hot cream mixture into yolk mixture. Then whisk in remaining 1 cup cream. Divide among eight 3/4 cup ramekins. Place in a large roasting pan. Fill pan with enough water to come halfway up sides of ramekins to make a bain-marie. Cover loosely with foil.
4. Bake until creams are set around the edges but centers still move slightly when gently shaken - about 1 hour 10 minutes. Remove ramekins from water. Transfer to refrigerator. Child uncovered until cold, then cover and chill overnight.
5. To make them brulées, sprinkle each custard with 1 teaspoon brown sugar. Caramelize with a kitchen blowtorch until melted and brown.
So, in my version, I left out the last step and topped with fresh chopped berries. You could use raspberries too.
In my version part 2, I made these at about 9:30. And they were served for lunch so they only chilled for about 2 hours, which didn't seem to have an impact on taste or texture.
In my version part 3, I halved the recipe and used six ramekins. So they were slightly less full than in the above recipe, but that left room for the berries. And the portion size was perfect.
With the 4 egg whites leftover, I made these. Which were consumed without any attempt, by all members of the family, at moderation.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The Bad
Le Bistro de Paris, Laval, France.
It pains me to write this post. Really.
The Bistro de Paris is the only restaurant in Laval to be rated in the famous French food guides, Michelin and Gault & Millau. It's been given the equivalent of one star by each, which is a lot considering that most restaurants never make it into a gastronomy guide in the first place.
The chef is a maître saucier, a master sauce maker. Uh-huh.
I've had, in the past, excellent meals at the Bistro. But not lately. Not even in a long time.
And the last one was particularly disappointing.
The service was too fast. Seriously, the server took the champagne flute out of V's hand. And took the crostini and anchovy butter away long before I was finished with it.
The first course was good. But nothing amazing. Shrimp with garlic and julienned vegetables.
The second course was fair. Duck breast with orange and avocado slices. Should've been reliable but wasn't. The sauce, of all things, was the worst part. Tasted a bit like that turkey gravy at the Dixie Truck Stop somewhere in Illinois between Joliet and Astoria, which was appropriate, good even, on the open-faced turkey sandwich. Not so much on duck and orange and avocado.
The dessert, a sablé covered with chocolate sauce (yum) and vanilla ice cream, was good. But I've made the same at home.
The little dessert bites they brought out with coffee were beyond disappointing. A funky cherry thing that was just too strange to be good, texture-wise. And I won't even go into the macaroons or the meringues.
Sigh.
It pains me to write this post. Really.
The Bistro de Paris is the only restaurant in Laval to be rated in the famous French food guides, Michelin and Gault & Millau. It's been given the equivalent of one star by each, which is a lot considering that most restaurants never make it into a gastronomy guide in the first place.
The chef is a maître saucier, a master sauce maker. Uh-huh.
I've had, in the past, excellent meals at the Bistro. But not lately. Not even in a long time.
And the last one was particularly disappointing.
The service was too fast. Seriously, the server took the champagne flute out of V's hand. And took the crostini and anchovy butter away long before I was finished with it.
The first course was good. But nothing amazing. Shrimp with garlic and julienned vegetables.
The second course was fair. Duck breast with orange and avocado slices. Should've been reliable but wasn't. The sauce, of all things, was the worst part. Tasted a bit like that turkey gravy at the Dixie Truck Stop somewhere in Illinois between Joliet and Astoria, which was appropriate, good even, on the open-faced turkey sandwich. Not so much on duck and orange and avocado.
The dessert, a sablé covered with chocolate sauce (yum) and vanilla ice cream, was good. But I've made the same at home.
The little dessert bites they brought out with coffee were beyond disappointing. A funky cherry thing that was just too strange to be good, texture-wise. And I won't even go into the macaroons or the meringues.
Sigh.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
No sneering allowed.
Black Forest Cookies With Raisins Instead of Cherries
(adapted from a Martha Stewart recipe from Everyday Food)
Makes 36
1 cup flour
2T unsweetened cocoa powder
1 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
8 oz chopped semisweet or bittersweet chocolate
8 T (1 stick) butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
2 eggs
12 oz semisweet chocolate cut into chunks
1 1/2 cups raisins
Preheat oven to 350°C. Line baking sheets with parchment paper.
Mix flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt together.
2. Place chopped chocolate and butter in a large bowl and heat over simmering water (or in the microwave but be careful - not too long) until melted. Stir until smooth. Remove from heat, whisk in sugars, then eggs. Whisk unitl smooth.
3. Whisk in dry ingredients unitl just combined. Fold in chocolate chunks and raisins. I SAID NO SNEERING. Cover with plastic and refrigerate until firm, about 30 minutes.
4. Drop mounds of 2T dough per cookie onto baking sheets, about 2 inches apart. Bake unitl edges are firm, 11-13 minutes. Cool and consume to be happy.
And since we're on the subject of great recipes, check this one out at Chitlins & Camembert. Certain to please even the sneerers. That means you, Lorraine and Spouse.
(adapted from a Martha Stewart recipe from Everyday Food)
Makes 36
1 cup flour
2T unsweetened cocoa powder
1 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
8 oz chopped semisweet or bittersweet chocolate
8 T (1 stick) butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
2 eggs
12 oz semisweet chocolate cut into chunks
1 1/2 cups raisins
Preheat oven to 350°C. Line baking sheets with parchment paper.
Mix flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt together.
2. Place chopped chocolate and butter in a large bowl and heat over simmering water (or in the microwave but be careful - not too long) until melted. Stir until smooth. Remove from heat, whisk in sugars, then eggs. Whisk unitl smooth.
3. Whisk in dry ingredients unitl just combined. Fold in chocolate chunks and raisins. I SAID NO SNEERING. Cover with plastic and refrigerate until firm, about 30 minutes.
4. Drop mounds of 2T dough per cookie onto baking sheets, about 2 inches apart. Bake unitl edges are firm, 11-13 minutes. Cool and consume to be happy.
And since we're on the subject of great recipes, check this one out at Chitlins & Camembert. Certain to please even the sneerers. That means you, Lorraine and Spouse.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Frenzy
Of the baking variety.
It started with chocolate shortbread with white chocolate icing on monday. My first experience with a pastry bag. What a joke. We ended up using a spoon and made pretty zig-zags over the cookies. They were gone within 2 days.
During which time I made pain d'épice because I was out.
So wednesday we made Black Forest Cookies. Which were supposed to be double chocolate chunk cookies with dried cherries. But I didn't have any on hand that day so I used raisins. Which everyone loved, except Husband. Who doesn't like fruit in general and certainly not in his chocolate cookies. I believe his exact words were, "Why would you ruin a perfectly good chocolate cookie with a raisin?" He actually sneered when he said raisin.
Thursday afternoon I made vanilla cupcakes with milk chocolate frosting for the bake sale at school that afternoon.
And then. At some point, either drunk or delirious, I promised the boys we would make Easter sugar cookies to bring to school on the last day before Easter break. Which was friday.
So thursday evening we made 65 bells, fish, chicks, and rabbits. And then we iced them. Because I apparently promised that too.
Husband pouted because there were only 10 leftover for home.
My favorites? The Black Forest Cookies with raisins not cherries. They were amazing. And every mouthful tasted like Raisinets. Which are, along with ginger chews, my favorite candy. I think they deserve their own special food group. Happy food.
It started with chocolate shortbread with white chocolate icing on monday. My first experience with a pastry bag. What a joke. We ended up using a spoon and made pretty zig-zags over the cookies. They were gone within 2 days.
During which time I made pain d'épice because I was out.
So wednesday we made Black Forest Cookies. Which were supposed to be double chocolate chunk cookies with dried cherries. But I didn't have any on hand that day so I used raisins. Which everyone loved, except Husband. Who doesn't like fruit in general and certainly not in his chocolate cookies. I believe his exact words were, "Why would you ruin a perfectly good chocolate cookie with a raisin?" He actually sneered when he said raisin.
Thursday afternoon I made vanilla cupcakes with milk chocolate frosting for the bake sale at school that afternoon.
And then. At some point, either drunk or delirious, I promised the boys we would make Easter sugar cookies to bring to school on the last day before Easter break. Which was friday.
So thursday evening we made 65 bells, fish, chicks, and rabbits. And then we iced them. Because I apparently promised that too.
Husband pouted because there were only 10 leftover for home.
My favorites? The Black Forest Cookies with raisins not cherries. They were amazing. And every mouthful tasted like Raisinets. Which are, along with ginger chews, my favorite candy. I think they deserve their own special food group. Happy food.
Friday, March 23, 2007
My first fraisier
The fraisier is one of my favorite cakes. Maybe even my favorite cake ever. It's what I had for my wedding cake. Sunday, we spent the day in Rennes with V and R. V is one of Husband's cousins, B is her husband, and their oldest child, A, is my godson. Anyway, they just had their third child so we went for champagne and lunch. I offered to bring the dessert.
Strawberries are out, at the grocery store at least. Mostly from Spain. I had spotted some lovely fraisiers at the pastry shops around town. There were 8 of us eating cake. A fraisier for 8 is 15€. At least. Which I think is just ridiculous. So I decided to make one myself.
I looked on French food blogs and recipe sites. I found something that looked perfect. A fraisier is not really hard to make, it's just a lot of steps and cooling and slicing and assembly.
First the biscuit. It should be light but not too light. Moist but firm enough to withstand the weight of the cream.
Second the crème. Which I thought was just a lighter crème patissière. Lighter in texture maybe, but certainly not lighter. After making a standard crème patissière and letting it cool, you process it with over a stick (!) of butter and a cup (!) of unsweetened freshly whipped cream. Excellent.
Third the strawberries and the assembly (one disk of biscuit smothered in crème and topped with strawberries, repeated twice).
Result? Not bad. But I won't use that recipe again. First of all, the cake part was defintely firm but way too dense. There recipe called for ground almonds which I would not use again. Second, I used a springform pan which was too big, so the layers of cake were a smidge too thin. And finally, I think I didn't let it cool long enough after putting the layers together because when I cut it, it looked kind of like a red, white, and yellow landslide.
With the 4 leftover eggwhites, I made chocolate meringues. Yum. The chocolate stays on the inside so when you take a bite, you're just expecting meringues and you get a mouthful of chocolate.
They taste like mischief. Which shall be their name.
Mischief Meringues
4 eggs whites
1 cup sugar
some salt
some cream of tartar
10 oz of chopped dark chocolate
Beat first 4 ingredients until soft peaks form. Slowly add sugar and beat until stiff and glossy. Fold in chocolate. Bake for 1 - 1 1/2 hours at 200°F.
Strawberries are out, at the grocery store at least. Mostly from Spain. I had spotted some lovely fraisiers at the pastry shops around town. There were 8 of us eating cake. A fraisier for 8 is 15€. At least. Which I think is just ridiculous. So I decided to make one myself.
I looked on French food blogs and recipe sites. I found something that looked perfect. A fraisier is not really hard to make, it's just a lot of steps and cooling and slicing and assembly.
First the biscuit. It should be light but not too light. Moist but firm enough to withstand the weight of the cream.
Second the crème. Which I thought was just a lighter crème patissière. Lighter in texture maybe, but certainly not lighter. After making a standard crème patissière and letting it cool, you process it with over a stick (!) of butter and a cup (!) of unsweetened freshly whipped cream. Excellent.
Third the strawberries and the assembly (one disk of biscuit smothered in crème and topped with strawberries, repeated twice).
Result? Not bad. But I won't use that recipe again. First of all, the cake part was defintely firm but way too dense. There recipe called for ground almonds which I would not use again. Second, I used a springform pan which was too big, so the layers of cake were a smidge too thin. And finally, I think I didn't let it cool long enough after putting the layers together because when I cut it, it looked kind of like a red, white, and yellow landslide.
With the 4 leftover eggwhites, I made chocolate meringues. Yum. The chocolate stays on the inside so when you take a bite, you're just expecting meringues and you get a mouthful of chocolate.
They taste like mischief. Which shall be their name.
Mischief Meringues
4 eggs whites
1 cup sugar
some salt
some cream of tartar
10 oz of chopped dark chocolate
Beat first 4 ingredients until soft peaks form. Slowly add sugar and beat until stiff and glossy. Fold in chocolate. Bake for 1 - 1 1/2 hours at 200°F.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Things I'm not ready for
1. Spring.
There are pink blossoms on fruit trees all over the place. It was in the 60's yesterday. I don't like spring that much, as it announces hay fever - a nightmare for both Boy1 and for me - and my least favorite season of all, summer. I tolerated summer in Seattle. It was mild. No mosquitoes. It never stormed. It never got too hot. (Ok, last year, but I wasn't there.)
But here, it's like being back in Illinois or North Carolina. Hot, stuffy, smothering heat that only ends with a storm (in Illinois) or the arrival of late September (North Carolina).
I muddle through summer only after having enjoyed a cool, brisk fall and a cooler winter. Haven't had anything like that this year. Except maybe one week of winter-like temperatures.
2. Making kouglof by hand.
I do not have a stand mixer (collective oh-poor-Nicole moment...now). My food processor is a cruel practical joke. But I adore kouglof and Joy of Cooking made it sound do-able so I tried. And met with success. But it was a total pain in the ass and a sticky mess and it took forever and I think I'll just buy it at the bakery until I get better kitchen equipment or master one arm push-ups.
On an up note, I saw two more rainbows today but decided to keep my mouth shut and enjoy the view.
I made this soup (scroll down to butternut squash soup) yesterday and it was delicious. I used leftover pain au chorizo from saturday night's fondue to make the garlic croutons and they were excellent.
There are pink blossoms on fruit trees all over the place. It was in the 60's yesterday. I don't like spring that much, as it announces hay fever - a nightmare for both Boy1 and for me - and my least favorite season of all, summer. I tolerated summer in Seattle. It was mild. No mosquitoes. It never stormed. It never got too hot. (Ok, last year, but I wasn't there.)
But here, it's like being back in Illinois or North Carolina. Hot, stuffy, smothering heat that only ends with a storm (in Illinois) or the arrival of late September (North Carolina).
I muddle through summer only after having enjoyed a cool, brisk fall and a cooler winter. Haven't had anything like that this year. Except maybe one week of winter-like temperatures.
2. Making kouglof by hand.
I do not have a stand mixer (collective oh-poor-Nicole moment...now). My food processor is a cruel practical joke. But I adore kouglof and Joy of Cooking made it sound do-able so I tried. And met with success. But it was a total pain in the ass and a sticky mess and it took forever and I think I'll just buy it at the bakery until I get better kitchen equipment or master one arm push-ups.
On an up note, I saw two more rainbows today but decided to keep my mouth shut and enjoy the view.
I made this soup (scroll down to butternut squash soup) yesterday and it was delicious. I used leftover pain au chorizo from saturday night's fondue to make the garlic croutons and they were excellent.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
That's just plain mean
Why would anyone mess with perfection? And don't go telling me that perfection is relative or personal or whatever. Some things are perfect and there's no denying it.
Take the escargot au chocolat that could be bought at Jacques and Véronique Duguet's bakery in downtown Laval, across the street from the cathedral. It was not a piece of chocolate, but a pastry. Croissant dough formed into a snail shape, like a pain aux raisins, but with dark chocolate morsels instead of raisins. And a light, faint caress of pastry cream the chocolate clung to. So wonderful.
When we first moved to Laval, we lived a block away from that bakery. I've never been a baguette-a-day kind of girl, preferring rye or sourdough or spelt varieties, and even those not every day. But I quickly became a chocolate snail every day kind of girl. Until I realized my metabolism couldn't keep up. So I cut down to once a week, on sunday morning. My special sunday treat.
Well, Jacques and Véronique got tired of their situation. A baker's hours are, to be fair, difficult. The bakery opened at 7:00 every morning except wednesdays, but Jacques started work at 3 and Véronique not much later.
So they sold their bakery to M et Mme Moise-Derval, who have a pastry shop on the other side of town. That's life, right?
Well, it would be if they had not changed the chocolate snail.
They have replaced the croissant dough with pain au lait dough (which is a bit like brioche dough but denser). Which has RUINED the snail.
I have nothing against pain au lait. It's good for some things. Spreading with jam or nutella or caramel. It does not, however, have a place in a chocolate snail.
The strange thing is, I've been to their pastry shop across town. It's quite good. Their chocolates are excellent, made only with cacao butter (no soy lecthicin or other such nastiness that doesn't belong in chocolate), they make excellent cakes and pies, and they sell the only ciabatta to be had in Laval.
So I cannot even imagine what possessed them to change the chocolate snail. If they wanted to differentiate themselves, they could've found a much more positive way to do it.
Take the escargot au chocolat that could be bought at Jacques and Véronique Duguet's bakery in downtown Laval, across the street from the cathedral. It was not a piece of chocolate, but a pastry. Croissant dough formed into a snail shape, like a pain aux raisins, but with dark chocolate morsels instead of raisins. And a light, faint caress of pastry cream the chocolate clung to. So wonderful.
When we first moved to Laval, we lived a block away from that bakery. I've never been a baguette-a-day kind of girl, preferring rye or sourdough or spelt varieties, and even those not every day. But I quickly became a chocolate snail every day kind of girl. Until I realized my metabolism couldn't keep up. So I cut down to once a week, on sunday morning. My special sunday treat.
Well, Jacques and Véronique got tired of their situation. A baker's hours are, to be fair, difficult. The bakery opened at 7:00 every morning except wednesdays, but Jacques started work at 3 and Véronique not much later.
So they sold their bakery to M et Mme Moise-Derval, who have a pastry shop on the other side of town. That's life, right?
Well, it would be if they had not changed the chocolate snail.
They have replaced the croissant dough with pain au lait dough (which is a bit like brioche dough but denser). Which has RUINED the snail.
I have nothing against pain au lait. It's good for some things. Spreading with jam or nutella or caramel. It does not, however, have a place in a chocolate snail.
The strange thing is, I've been to their pastry shop across town. It's quite good. Their chocolates are excellent, made only with cacao butter (no soy lecthicin or other such nastiness that doesn't belong in chocolate), they make excellent cakes and pies, and they sell the only ciabatta to be had in Laval.
So I cannot even imagine what possessed them to change the chocolate snail. If they wanted to differentiate themselves, they could've found a much more positive way to do it.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Secret plans and clever tricks
I've been conducting experiments. Mostly of the linguistic variety but occasionally other varieties as well.
When I moved to France and was shocked and dismayed to discover the nearly national (the east of France being excluded) dislike of cinnamon, I couldn't help but wonder, was it nature or nurture? If Generation A doesn't like it, having never been exposed to it, they probably aren't going to introduce it to their offspring, Generation B. And so on.
I don't know any French people who like cinnamon. None. I'm sure there are a few out there, but they're rare. At least in my neck of the bois. You will be hard pressed to find any baked goods here with cinnamon in them, including ginger bread. Not that I'm complaining about the baked goods. They're excellent.
But I do like cinnamon. I like it in my gingerbread. I like it on in my apple tart. I like it in my carrot cake. I like it in my coffee cake. I like it in my fruit crisps.
Sometimes I make things with cinnamon when we have people over. They almost never like it. These are open-minded people. Could it be genetic? Have the French been short-changed at the cinnamon-liking-gene market?
My children, being half-French and raised in this cinnamon-disliking nation, have been excellent participants in my evil culinary plotting.
They love cinnamon.
You can all take a deep breath now, the suspense is over. It's been proven, it's nurture, not nature, that determines one's propensity to like cinnamon.
Peanut butter too.
When I moved to France and was shocked and dismayed to discover the nearly national (the east of France being excluded) dislike of cinnamon, I couldn't help but wonder, was it nature or nurture? If Generation A doesn't like it, having never been exposed to it, they probably aren't going to introduce it to their offspring, Generation B. And so on.
I don't know any French people who like cinnamon. None. I'm sure there are a few out there, but they're rare. At least in my neck of the bois. You will be hard pressed to find any baked goods here with cinnamon in them, including ginger bread. Not that I'm complaining about the baked goods. They're excellent.
But I do like cinnamon. I like it in my gingerbread. I like it on in my apple tart. I like it in my carrot cake. I like it in my coffee cake. I like it in my fruit crisps.
Sometimes I make things with cinnamon when we have people over. They almost never like it. These are open-minded people. Could it be genetic? Have the French been short-changed at the cinnamon-liking-gene market?
My children, being half-French and raised in this cinnamon-disliking nation, have been excellent participants in my evil culinary plotting.
They love cinnamon.
You can all take a deep breath now, the suspense is over. It's been proven, it's nurture, not nature, that determines one's propensity to like cinnamon.
Peanut butter too.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Let's call it honey spice bread
Have you ever had a perfect food day? Where everything you fix is just what you wanted?
Saturday was that day for me.
For breakfast, I had two slices of the pain d'épice I made Friday evening. I adore pain d'épice. I guess it's like gingerbread, you know, the soft kind, like gingerbread cake maybe. But no molasses. They sell it everywhere here, the best kind can ususally be found at the honey stand at the open air market. Since it's made with honey, not sugar. Or at least the good stuff is. The cheap stuff you can find at the grocery store is made with glucose syrup. Which probably gives you diabetes instantly.
Anyway, I can't keep myself supplied in pain d'épice, the good stuff is too expensive for how long it lasts at my house. So I've started making it myself. And, after fiddling with a recipe I found in a cooking magazine, I like the results. It's moist, dense but not compact, spicy but not overwhelming, sweet but not too much. Just perfect.
For lunch, I bought some fresh mussels at the market and had them with pasta and a curry cream sauce.
For dinner, I made 9 bean stew with cured garlic sausage. And frisée salad with homemade roquefort salad dressing.
Days like that help me forget days like this.
Pain D'Epice
375 g spelt flour (this really is the best flour for this - but if you can't get it, try using 250g of regular flour and 125 of rye flour)
100g butter, soft
1 egg
15 cl milk
1 package of baking powder - that's like maybe 2 teaspoons?)
250g good quality honey. Nothing that is sold in a bear. Unpasturized please.
100g orange and lemon peel confit
60g raisins
1 t baking soda
3 t of spices - I usually use 1/2 t of ground cloves, cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, all spice...)
1 t salt
1. Preheat oven to 180°C (that's like 375 maybe?). Butter and flour a large loaf pan.
2. Heat butter, milk and honey. Set aside.
3. Cut the lemon and orange peel. Set aside.
4. Mix the dry ingredients together.
5. Add honey mixture and the egg (beaten). Mix in all dried fruit.
6. Pour into pan and cook about an hour.
Let cool in pan before removing. Tastes better the next day. But I can never wait that long.
Sorry about the measurements, the next time I make it I'll use cups.
Sometimes if I don't have enough I substitute some applesauce for 50 g of honey.
Saturday was that day for me.
For breakfast, I had two slices of the pain d'épice I made Friday evening. I adore pain d'épice. I guess it's like gingerbread, you know, the soft kind, like gingerbread cake maybe. But no molasses. They sell it everywhere here, the best kind can ususally be found at the honey stand at the open air market. Since it's made with honey, not sugar. Or at least the good stuff is. The cheap stuff you can find at the grocery store is made with glucose syrup. Which probably gives you diabetes instantly.
Anyway, I can't keep myself supplied in pain d'épice, the good stuff is too expensive for how long it lasts at my house. So I've started making it myself. And, after fiddling with a recipe I found in a cooking magazine, I like the results. It's moist, dense but not compact, spicy but not overwhelming, sweet but not too much. Just perfect.
For lunch, I bought some fresh mussels at the market and had them with pasta and a curry cream sauce.
For dinner, I made 9 bean stew with cured garlic sausage. And frisée salad with homemade roquefort salad dressing.
Days like that help me forget days like this.
Pain D'Epice
375 g spelt flour (this really is the best flour for this - but if you can't get it, try using 250g of regular flour and 125 of rye flour)
100g butter, soft
1 egg
15 cl milk
1 package of baking powder - that's like maybe 2 teaspoons?)
250g good quality honey. Nothing that is sold in a bear. Unpasturized please.
100g orange and lemon peel confit
60g raisins
1 t baking soda
3 t of spices - I usually use 1/2 t of ground cloves, cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, all spice...)
1 t salt
1. Preheat oven to 180°C (that's like 375 maybe?). Butter and flour a large loaf pan.
2. Heat butter, milk and honey. Set aside.
3. Cut the lemon and orange peel. Set aside.
4. Mix the dry ingredients together.
5. Add honey mixture and the egg (beaten). Mix in all dried fruit.
6. Pour into pan and cook about an hour.
Let cool in pan before removing. Tastes better the next day. But I can never wait that long.
Sorry about the measurements, the next time I make it I'll use cups.
Sometimes if I don't have enough I substitute some applesauce for 50 g of honey.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Ah, la pièce montée
I visited a blog yesterday, jintrinsique, and saw some pictures of wedding cakes. Which got me thinking about my wedding cake, which was just about the ugliest wedding cake EVER.
The traditional French wedding cake is a pièce montée. Cream puffs are piled together in a cone shape, about 2 ft. high at least. The puff mass is then decorated with pieces of nougatine and candied almonds and then the whole thing is coated with a sugar glaze that hardens, holding everything in place and adding crunch.
I like cream puffs as much as anybody. And I never say no to nougatine, who could? But I did not want a pièce montée. I was getting married in France but I didn't want it to be too French - I am American. I, probably like many little girls, have adored wedding cakes for as long as I can remember. I loved the big white kind they made when I was growing up, with lots of white frosting (no doubt made from hydrogenated fat and sugar) and those big frosting roses. Then people started to get creative and wedding cakes got better. I loved the pretty lemon curd filled ones, and the coconut groom's cakes, and the avant-garde chocolate ones. I tried to talk to bakers here about it. They were all stuck in the white cake phase, having seen too many episodes of bad American daytime television. None of them had ever made anything particular for a wedding other than a pièce montée.
The woman organizing the meal for the reception tried to understand. She consulted with the chef, they suggested a fraisier. Perfect! It's one of my all time favorite cakes. It's a vanilla genoise with strawberries and pastry cream in the cake or baked into the edges. I tried to describe how I wanted it to look. Apparently not very well.
When they brought it out, I could only laugh. Had I been a little more on edge, I would've cried. But I had already had my freakout crying session at the hair salon that morning, so laughing was the only option. Besides, I had just gotten married, my friends and family were with us, life was good.
There were four fraisiers, of various sizes, on a large aluminum foil covered board. A small plastic newlywed couple was stuck on top of one of the cakes. The organizer woman looked at me and said, "We tried to do just like you said." Yeah.
It was, without a doubt, the ugliest wedding cake I had ever seen. But, it was also the most delicious. Really amazing. The cake was not soggy, a risk with that kind of cake. It was a perfect balance between moist and firm. The strawberries were sweet and juicy. The pastry cream was light and vanilla-y. Even though it didn't look like it, it was the wedding cake of my dreams. I had two slices.
The traditional French wedding cake is a pièce montée. Cream puffs are piled together in a cone shape, about 2 ft. high at least. The puff mass is then decorated with pieces of nougatine and candied almonds and then the whole thing is coated with a sugar glaze that hardens, holding everything in place and adding crunch.
I like cream puffs as much as anybody. And I never say no to nougatine, who could? But I did not want a pièce montée. I was getting married in France but I didn't want it to be too French - I am American. I, probably like many little girls, have adored wedding cakes for as long as I can remember. I loved the big white kind they made when I was growing up, with lots of white frosting (no doubt made from hydrogenated fat and sugar) and those big frosting roses. Then people started to get creative and wedding cakes got better. I loved the pretty lemon curd filled ones, and the coconut groom's cakes, and the avant-garde chocolate ones. I tried to talk to bakers here about it. They were all stuck in the white cake phase, having seen too many episodes of bad American daytime television. None of them had ever made anything particular for a wedding other than a pièce montée.
The woman organizing the meal for the reception tried to understand. She consulted with the chef, they suggested a fraisier. Perfect! It's one of my all time favorite cakes. It's a vanilla genoise with strawberries and pastry cream in the cake or baked into the edges. I tried to describe how I wanted it to look. Apparently not very well.
When they brought it out, I could only laugh. Had I been a little more on edge, I would've cried. But I had already had my freakout crying session at the hair salon that morning, so laughing was the only option. Besides, I had just gotten married, my friends and family were with us, life was good.
There were four fraisiers, of various sizes, on a large aluminum foil covered board. A small plastic newlywed couple was stuck on top of one of the cakes. The organizer woman looked at me and said, "We tried to do just like you said." Yeah.
It was, without a doubt, the ugliest wedding cake I had ever seen. But, it was also the most delicious. Really amazing. The cake was not soggy, a risk with that kind of cake. It was a perfect balance between moist and firm. The strawberries were sweet and juicy. The pastry cream was light and vanilla-y. Even though it didn't look like it, it was the wedding cake of my dreams. I had two slices.
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