Poires au Chocolat

Foundations no.6 - Egg Yolk Custard

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 19:36:00 +0000

I'm not sure I can imagine a life without custard. It seeps into so many recipes and cultures. It never stops flowing into trifles and over crumbles.

As well as creating custard to pour lavishly over your dessert, this method (and variations upon it) can be used to make a stirred custard base for ice cream. And that's before we even look at baked custards like crème brûlée, custard tarts, crème pâtissière style concoctions or relatives like lemon curd.

Yet traditional custard can be a bit daunting - all the talk of curdling, lumps and long stirring times often put people off (and, it seems, a rather strong attachment in the UK to custard powder). Being able to make an egg-thickened custard is a great skill to have, which is why I chose it for this series.

Though you can use vanilla extract as flavouring, there's nothing quite like infusing custards with a proper vanilla pod. Above I've shown my method for splitting and scraping a pod. The photos run l-r, top to bottom.

1/ Take your pod and place it on a chopping board. Hold it down then run your knife along the pod at an angle to flatten it - it may be easier to use the blunt side of your knife.

2/ Insert your knife into the middle of the pod, then pull down along it, splitting it. It can help to press lightly on top of the knife with a finger as it moves.

3/ Run the knife down the inside of each side, removing the seeds.

4/ Add both the seeds and the scraped pod to the pan.

When you want to start making your custard, you need to get everything ready.

For my custard (based on this recipe) I had 300ml milk, 1 vanilla pod, 5 egg yolks, 25g caster sugar and 50ml double cream.

In particular, your yolks need to be in a bowl by the stove (as you can see, I'd run out so a big teacup had to do) with a whisk handy (the first one I tried was too big for my teacup, so do check). It's also helpful to have the cream in a jug big enough to hold all the custard (i.e. not the one pictured...) and to have a sieve on hand.

Add the milk and sugar to the pan with the vanilla pod. Place over a medium-high heat and briefly whisk to release the seeds and help the vanilla infuse.

When it starts to steam, you're ready to temper the egg yolks. Turn the heat off.

Start by whisking the yolks to break them up. Then slowly pour in about 1/3 of the hot milk, constantly whisking the yolks.

Once you've added the 1/3 milk, quickly give the yolk mixture an extra whisk.

Return the yolk mixture to the pan, whisking as you add it. Scrape all the last drops into the pan with a spatula.

Remove the whisk from the pan and exchange it for a wooden spoon (I find a spatula doesn't hold the coating like a spoon, making it hard to test). Turn the heat back on under the pan - a low to medium heat should be enough. I would start low and then increase another time if you're happy - it will take a bit longer but is worth it if you're nervous.

Stir constantly over the heat until the custard thickens, making sure you scrape the corners and bottom to stop lumps forming. When you remove the spoon at first, the custard won't coat the back at all (see below, left).

Once it's thick enough, it will coat the back of the spoon and you will be able to draw a clearly visible line through it, as you can see on the right. (It's not normally blotchy - they seemed to have formed around clumps of vanilla seeds - butP it's the thickness you're looking for).

When you're happy with the thickness, strain the custard into the jug containing the cream and stir well. You need to strain the custard to catch the chalaza (the little connecting threads between the yolk and white) and any little lumps that have formed.

The process of straining and the cold cream will also quickly stop the cooking. You can also sit the jug in a bath of ice water - ice cream recipes often include this step. Cover the surface of the custard with clingfilm so a skin doesn't form.

I should note that I generally use a recipe for custard that doesn't call for the blanching the egg yolks and sugar beforehand. Many recipes do and if you're making crème pâtissière or similar, you will need to. I haven't included it above but you essentially just whisk the two together until very pale and thick before adding the milk. Be careful to start whisking the sugar in immediately - if left on top of the yolks the sugar will 'burn' them, forming lumps.

Four recipes that use this technique:

Mixed Berry Meringue with Custard
Buttered Pecan and Butterscotch Ice Cream
Mint Choc Chip Ice Cream
Rich Vanilla Ice Cream

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This is the last post of my Foundations series. The first post was on rubbing in to create pastry. The second covered brown butter, followed by a third on creaming butter and sugar, a forth about icing cakes and a fifth looking at chocolate ganache.

The Guild of Food Writers Awards

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Thu, 31 May 2012 07:52:00 +0000

Last night I won the first Food Blog of the Year award at the Guild of Food Writers Awards party in London.

I can’t begin to describe what an honour it is. I never thought I’d win. I still can’t believe I have.

It was a lovely evening, filled with lots of familiar (mainly from book flaps and TV, I barely knew anyone) and new faces. It all seems like a dream. I even had to make a totally impromptu speech to all 330 people - hopefully I didn’t embarrass myself too much.

I don’t have any photos from the night yet so the photos are of my trophy in its home on my brand new mantelpiece. I had to polish it before I took the photograph as I stubbornly refused to put it down all evening (much to the despair of my wrists, it’s terribly heavy) so it was smeared with greasy canapé fingerprints and oh-god-I’m-nervous sweaty palms (I’m all about the glamour).

In case you’re interested (or are new to Poires au Chocolat– the last few pages of posts have been a bit different as I’ve been away), here are the five posts from 2011 that were under consideration by the judges:

Dusky Caramel and Raspberry Crêpe Cake
Apple and Quince Pie
Caramel Popcorn
Ginger Root Bundt Cake
Plain Scones with Clotted Cream and Raspberry Jam

There’s one more Foundations post to come on Friday – after that I’ll return to normal recipe posts.

Finally - thank you. I wouldn’t be where I am without my readers.

Foundations no.5 - Chocolate Ganache

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Mon, 28 May 2012 18:26:00 +0000

Ganache is a great playground to experiment in. There are so many ways to personalize and adapt the technique.

The first way is to try different liquid combinations. The gratuitous food porn shot above features a coconut milk ganache. Then there's half cream and half crème fraîche in a white chocolate ganache. Spiced water in deep, dark chocolate sauce. A splash of buttermilk, a touch of tea. The different water and fat contents give a variety of thicknesses and flavours.

Play around with ratios and you can have a pouring sauce, a cake glaze, a slick icing, a truffle and many other things. Add more liquid to thin the mixture and more chocolate to thicken it (funnily enough). Keep the serving temperature in mind - ganache thickens as it cools. It's so versatile.

The flavour will, of course, also depend on the chocolate. I usually use the most expensive chocolate I can afford - but then on one occasion I tried a Dairy Milk & single cream ganache and was utterly addicted (try it in a small pot with a light sprinkle of sea salt). Rules are made to be broken.

In this example I used 150g dark chocolate (72%), 125ml of double cream, 25ml of buttermilk and 1 tablespoon of brown sugar.

There are two ways to incorporate the cream/liquid into the chocolate. The way I've always used - and the faster way - is to heat the cream and then pour it over chopped chocolate, as you'll see here.

At Cordon Bleu they used a second method where you incorporate warmed cream into already melted chocolate. This might betray a lack of sophistication but I couldn't tell the difference between the finished ganaches. Leaving the hot cream sitting over the chocolate for a minute means it starts to melt anyway (which takes the heat out of the cream - if you use melted chocolate the cream needs to be cooler) and means less time and washing up.

Prepare the chocolate and put it into a big bowl - the chunks need to be fairly small (as you can see a few photos above).

Put the liquid and any additions over a medium heat and stir together - usually any sweeteners will be added to the cream. I like a bit of brown sugar when I'm using cream. Heat it until it just starts steaming - I look for little wisps curling out from the edges.

Pour the liquid over the chocolate.

If you wanted, you could infuse the cream (or any other liquid you're using) with spices or other flavours, then strain it into the chocolate bowl.

Use a spatula to push any pieces of chocolate under the liquid that are still poking out. Leave to stand for a minute or so.

Start stirring the mixture in the middle, using small circular motions. At first it'll look like nothing is really happening (as above), but then a rich dark swirl will start to form...

Keep stirring, incorporating more and more of the chocolate into the cream.

I used to use a whisk to make ganache. I think it makes it slightly easier to get any last lumps out - but it does mean you incorporate lots of little bubbles. These are a pain for almost every application of ganache so now I use a spatula.

Keep stirring until the ganache is homogenous. It should be gloriously shiny.

Like custard and ice cream, ganache is an emulsion of fat-in-water. This is why it tastes so rich and creamy, even when you use water. It is also why it can start to split if you mistreat it. As you can see below, it can look a little dodgy around the edges but keep stirring. It should come together.

At the end some recipes call for a bit of room temperature butter to be stirred in. I don't usually do this as in my mind it has enough fat already and doesn't make a huge difference. You can also add other things at this point - for instance I added the whisky to the ganache for my Beautiful and Damned Cake.

Cool the ganache a little (for instance if you're using it to ice a cake or pour over something) or a lot (if you're going to scoop truffles out of it).

Four recipes that use this technique:

Honeybee Chocolate Cake
Poires Belle Helene
Muscovado Truffles
Malteser Layer Cake

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This is the fifth post of my Foundations series. The first post focused on rubbing in to make pastry. The second looked at brown butter, followed by a third on creaming butter and sugar and a forth about icing cakes. The next post, on the 1st of June, will focus on egg yolk custard.

Best of... Strawberry Recipes

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Wed, 23 May 2012 23:34:00 +0000

As the glorious days of summer and strawberry season approach, I thought we could look over some recipes from the archives.

First, I had to mention my Wild Strawberry Custards or 'une douce pour l'été'. They're still one of the most delicious things I've ever made. My little baked custards (a Crème Brûlée base) were topped with a strawberry syrup and foraged wild strawberries - but you could use normal strawberries on top or try another small fruit.

Eton Mess is a British classic for a reason. Softly whipped cream, chewy and crisp chunks of meringue and ripe summer fruit. Simple is so often the best.

Last year I had a Strawberry Cream Layer Cake for my birthday. The fluffy layers of sponge are soaked in vanilla syrup and strawberry puree before being layered with fresh slices of strawberry and whipped cream. It's then iced with a marscarpone & icing sugar & puree frosting (the version pictured had a bit of extra whipped cream in it, so it didn't hold up as well as my second test). It's a perfect summer cake.

I was really surprised to find that Strawberry Frozen Yogurt has a much stronger strawberry flavour than normal ice cream. Definitely worth a try.

Two other recipes you could try - the unusual Pink Peppercorn Strawberry Ice Cream or the simply delicious Strawberry Meringue Cake.

Or, of course, you could just eat them out of the punnet or drizzled lightly with cream...

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P.S. I'm sorry if this post appeared in your reader a few weeks ago then disappeared - I got confused and didn't schedule it for the right date.

Foundations no.4 - Icing Cakes

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Sun, 20 May 2012 19:38:00 +0000

As a perfectionist, I struggle with icing cakes.

I can never get it absolutely spotless. There's always a slight line, a shallow hollow, an uneven surface or a bald patch caused by an overenthusiastic sweep. Sometimes I give in to the rustic look and swish and swirl the icing into patterns and loops - though, I have to admit, even then I'm always searching for the right look, the 'effortless' but pristine finish.

Even though I'm still never satisfied, I can tell that I've improved a lot over the past few years. A few simple tips and techniques can help to create a slick finish - and anyway (much to my continual surprise) most people don't notice the (glaringly obvious, horrific, can barely look at the cake anymore) flaws in my icing skills when I place a fresh cake on the table. I bet your friends and family are the same.

First cut four strips of baking parchment and arrange them on the plate, covering the edges. These stop the crumbs and drips of icing from marking the plate - even if you clean them off they tend to leave a smear.

Secure them by placing the bottom layer of your cake in the middle of the plate. Usually you reverse the cake so the bottom of the cake is at the top - it will be smooth and flat from the tin.

Add a big dollop of filling to the middle of the cake. Use a palette knife to spread the icing evenly over the middle and out to the edges. I often brush each layer with a bit of soaking syrup before I add the icing - this helps to keep the cake moist. You can also flavour the syrup for an extra boost.

Place the next layer on top, trying to align it with the first so it creates a flat surface. Sometimes I lightly score a vertical mark before I split the cake so I can align them perfectly when I reassemble it after filling. Repeat with any other layers, finishing with the smooth top.

Add another dollop of icing on top to start making a crumb coat. You don't need a huge amount.

The idea of a very thin coat is to secure the crumbs and create a smoother surface for the final layer of icing. It makes it easier to get a professional finish.

Use a palette knife to spread the icing over the top and down the sides. If you have a cardboard cake board the same size as the cake and put it underneath then you can lift it up - this makes the sides easier to ice, especially if you use a smooth diagonal downward movement. I didn't have a board so I couldn't show you this technique.

Run your spatula around the sides. Finish the top by pulling a spatula over the top in one sweeping motion, using both hands. When you're masking a cake confident, big sweeps give a better result.

I find that offset spatulas are easier to work with - I like to have a big one and a small one. They're the ones pictured here.

When you remove the paper slips - gently pull them straight out - you might need to tidy a flick or two. If you have the cardboard cake board underneath you can just set it down onto a clean plate.

I took a video of the final coat I put on the cake, which you can see below. I've only shown the crumb coat in the photographs as I didn't have two cakes to ice.

As you can see towards the end, my ganache started to deteriorate as I kept working with it. I had a bit of a dilemma at this point - most other icings can deal with more fiddling and finishing touches, so I kept going for a bit, then chickened out. I probably should have used a buttercream or something more stable to show you but this was the cake I had baked (it's the Peanut Butter and Chocolate Cake). So it's not quite as flawless as I'd like (perfectionism strikes again...) - but you can get the idea.

Four recipes that use this technique:

Rose and Pistachio Layer Cake
Butterfly Fleur de Sel Caramel Cake
Strawberry Cream Layer Cake
Buche de Noel

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This is the fourth post of my Foundations series. The first post was on rubbing in to create pastry. The second covered brown butter. The third looked at creaming butter and sugar. The next post, on the 28th, will focus on making chocolate ganache...

Foundations no.3 - Creaming Butter & Sugar

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Wed, 16 May 2012 17:23:00 +0000

The creaming stage is often overlooked. It's not glamourous or innovative - it's been a basic baking technique for centuries. Yet it does make a difference.

Unless you have experience baking, it's easy to read 'cream the butter and sugar together' and think that this just means to combine them quickly. I only realised quite how long you should beat the two together when I started baking seriously - my mum, though an excellent cook, never had much patience for creaming.

To cream butter properly, it needs to be at the right temperature. Recipes normally call for room temperature butter, expecting you to plan and remember to take it out early. I almost always forget (possibly because when I was taught, mum always used from-the-fridge butter, so it's not etched into my routine).

Microwaving and other shortcuts often melt the butter on the outside or make it oily. There's only one tip that always works for me, which is to use the method for plasticizing butter for puff pastry and other doughs.

I prefer this to chucking the butter into the mixer on its own for a minute or two before you start - but that is another option.

(l-r):

1/ Get a sheet of baking parchment and lay it on a work surface. Cut your butter into slabs (about 1 cm thick) and place them on the paper with a bit of a gap.

2/When you've arranged your butter, fold the paper over it, making sure you leave space all around. Grab something to bash with. A rolling pin is perfect but if yours has disappeared into thin air like mine, try a roll of tin foil or anything similar.

3/ Start whacking the butter (not too hard or the paper might split). It will spread out - you want to get it quite thin. (If you wanted to use this for making puff, you'd now need to roll it to make it perfectly even, but we don't need to).

4/ Touch the package. If it still feels very cold, hold it between your palms and let your body heat warm it a little. You don't want it too warm or oily - just malleable. Unwrap from the paper and place in the mixer bowl.

Bonus = you can use the buttery paper to grease your cake tin.

Add the sugar to the butter in the mixer bowl (beat the butter briefly by itself first, if you haven't bashed it). Put it onto the machine with the beater attached.

In this example I used 100g of butter and 100g of granulated sugar.

Beat on medium speed - the two will clump up as they start to combine. Keep beating.

I used to cream butter with the whisk attachment but now I think the beater gives a better result. If you don't have a stand mixer the whisk sticks on a hand beater work. Or, if you have very strong arms and a lot of time, you can attempt it by hand with a wooden spoon.

It will start to stick to the sides and as it comes together. Eventually it'll be spread evenly over the bottom of the bowl, as below. Keep beating - this usually takes four or five minutes at least.

Make sure you keep scraping the sides down to bring everything into the middle.

I stop beating once the mixture has visibly thickened on the side of the bowl (in volume not texture). It looks puffy and leaves a droopy peak when you scoop it up.

Keep in mind that creaming isn't just combining the ingredients - you're trying to create tiny air bubbles. The sharp edges of the sugar crystals cut into the fat to create the little pockets - this only works if the sugar is crystalline (i.e. caster sugar instead of honey). Chemical aeration helps give lift but the creaming is still important to give a great rise and texture.

The samples start from the top left and swing round. As you can see, the mixture goes from very solid at the top to fluffier. The colour changes from pale yellow to cream or ivory - obviously only if you're using white sugar, if you're using brown sugar it just gets paler. If I had used caster sugar instead of granulated, it would look smooth instead of grainy.

Some biscuits and cookies require a shorter creaming time, though they use the same method - for instance, Triple Chocolate and Pecan Cookies.

Usually recipes now call for the eggs to be added. To avoid the mixture splitting (and ruining all your creaming volume), beat the eggs together first and add them slowly, beating well between each addition (it needs to be totally incorporated). If you're worried about it splitting, add a tablespoon of flour from the amount used in your recipe. Don't add too much, though, as the gluten in the flour will start to form and toughen the mixture if you keep beating it. If it does split, don't cry - the cake should still taste delicious.

To give another example, I took a photo of the creamed mix for the Peanut Butter Cake. This was a combination of peanut butter, butter, caster sugar and soft brown sugar - so quite a different mix. As you can see, it fluffed up nicely - look at the little peaks created by the beater.

Four recipes that use this technique:

Blueberry Loaf Cake with Lemon & Mint Syrup
Coffee and Walnut Cake
Spiced Apple Cake
Espresso, White Chocolate and Rose Cake

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This is the third post of my Foundations series. The first post was on rubbing in to create pastry. The second looked at brown butter. The next post, on the 20th, will focus on icing/masking cakes...

Best of... Ginger Recipes

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Fri, 11 May 2012 18:33:00 +0000

Ginger is one of my favourite ingredients to bake with. As well as the traditional powdered ginger, I love using the fresh root, infusing it into syrups and grating it into pies and jam. When you add stem and crystallized ginger to the mix, you've got a party.

One recipe that uses three types of ginger is the utterly divine Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie. The multiple punches create a deeply nuanced pie.

I am addicted to ginger biscuits. The Gingernuts below, Ginger Oats or even Ginger, Orange & Chocolate Biscotti - I don't care. They're all amazing.

All I need now is someone to solve the mystery of why gingernuts increase in ginger-power when dipped in tea...

Though it started off as a random experiment, Ginger and Apple Jam has become a staple in our family. It's very easy to make and stores brilliantly. The apple flavour appears first, followed by the kick. It somehow feels clean and fresh. (I sound like a toothpaste advert. Error!)

Though the shock-factor ingredient in the Ginger Root Bundt Cake is the parsnip, the ginger (stem and ground) makes the cake. I used a lemon drizzle because the flavours work brilliantly together (see also the Lemon, Date and Ginger Cake). It tastes like dark, nutty gingerbread.

Finally, you could go back a few years to the Blueberry and Ginger Layer Cake I made for mum's birthday. I infused a simple soaking syrup with slices of fresh ginger then brushed it over rounds of plain sponge. The cake was then layered with a blueberry compote and covered with a ginger cream cheese icing and fresh blueberries.

Though I was worried that I could never improve upon chocolate as the flavour choice for her cakes, ginger proved me wrong.

Foundations no.2 - Beurre Noisette

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Tue, 08 May 2012 08:00:00 +0000

Beurre noisette is a way of life. Once you've started, you can't stop.

I keep trying to just melt the butter for a baking recipe but somehow I always give into temptation. Before I know what has happened my kitchen is swirling with the heavenly smell of toasted hazelnuts.

My name is Emma and I am a brown butter addict.

There's something magical about making beurre noisette. Of all the baking processes I've tried, this one has captured my heart.

Maybe it's because it represents a rare still moment in the kitchen. There's no need to touch the pan, it develops in its own time and you can't do anything but stand there watching carefully, enjoying the show.

I've also wondered before if it's because it engages so many of the senses. It changes before your eyes, developing almost like a polaroid picture. It crackles loudly as it transforms. Sometimes it spits and you feel a tiny pinch on your hand or arm. The smell is one of the most divine I've encountered in the kitchen. And, of course, it tastes spectacular.

I first discovered brown butter when making Joy the Baker's Brown Butter Blueberry Muffins. I remember being nervous and unsure of what was happening - what was this noise? This smell? Why is it foaming? What colour should it be? Was I doing it wrong?

It's a simple process but I thought it was worth showing the various stages that the butter goes through as it heats so you don't worry if you've never made it before. There's only so much you can do to describe it mid-recipe.

(This is the point that I get rather red-faced at the fact that I hadn't properly wiped the dust off the hob before I started...)

First, you take your unsalted butter and add it to a pan over low to medium heat. The quantity pictured is 50g.

I often use a small saucepan but some people prefer a wider frying pan or skillet - I haven't noticed any difference. The most important thing is that it has a light colour inside so you can see what's happening.

The butter melts into a yellow pool.

Once it has melted, you can see the milk solids floating in the butterfat. The milk solids are the part that toasts to create the characteristic flecks in brown butter.

Slowly, then faster and faster, it starts to bubble. At this point the water is evaporating from the pan - this has to happen so the fat can reach high enough temperatures for the solids to brown.

I took a short video of my pan at this point. I've uploaded a tiny clip so you can hear the crackle and watch it bubble:

Eventually the bubbles get smaller and turn into a foam. It slowly stops crackling and the wonderful nutty smell gets stronger - it's named beurre noisette because the smell resembles toasting hazelnuts.

Keep cooking until you have the colour you desire. I like my brown butter toasty with fairly dark brown flecks but you can pull it off a bit before - but make sure it's a deep golden amber with visible specks before you do. You may have to sweep back a little of the foam to see what is hiding underneath.

At this point you need to take it off the heat and pour it into a bowl to stop the cooking. If you're nervous, it might be worth putting the bowl in the fridge so it stops very quickly or dunking the pan into cold water (though if you have a heavy pan like mine it would take ages for it to cool down so the cold bowl is better).

It will eventually solidify, though it stays liquid for quite a long time at room temperature. It keeps well in the fridge. I usually make it as I need it but you can store it in bigger batches if you like.

I should probably note that - shock horror - people often use it outside baking, in sauces and so on.

You can also strain out the toasted milk solids if you like. I always leave mine in - if you tip the bowl you can see them at the bottom.

Four recipes that use this technique:

Dusky Caramel and Raspberry Crêpe Cake
Banoffee Pies
Almond Financiers
Toasted Coconut and Dark Chocolate Blondies

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This is the second post of my Foundations series. The first post was on rubbing in to create pastry. The next post, on the 16th, will focus on creaming butter and sugar...

Foundations no.1 - Rubbing In

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Sat, 05 May 2012 09:06:00 +0000

When I first started making pastry, I was terrified of overworking it.

I would sprint through the rubbing in process, obsessing about temperature. One day I actually chilled my hands in the cold tap, super-speedily dried them and then started working the butter into the flour.

Now I know that while it's important that the butter is cold, don't get it too cold. I used to put my cubes in the freezer for a few minutes while I got everything else ready. By the time I'd got my rock-solid butter into the bowl, it was a nightmare to rub in. So you want it firm and cold to the touch, but not freezing.

I make much better pastry now I've slowed down and take the time to properly work my butter into the flour. The most important chilling time is later on, once the dough is formed.

Pastry takes time. It's all about patience, repetition and rest.

In this example I'm using 120g plain flour, 2 tsp golden caster sugar, a pinch of salt, 60g of unsalted butter (and a little water) to make a tender shortcrust pastry.

Sieve the flour, sugar and salt into a big bowl. Toss in the cubed butter (my butter was in fairly big cubes but smaller ones are easier to work with).

Use your hands to toss the cubes in the flour so they're interspersed and don't start to stick.

Then start to 'rub in' - put your fingers together into a flat plate and scoop some some the flour and butter onto the them (cup your fingers slightly). Put your thumb down onto the knuckle of your little finger and then rub/run your thumb up along your knuckles and over the top. Your hand curls up as you complete the movement.

Keep scooping and rubbing in, squishing each cube of butter into the flour. It will slowly start to look more uniform.

The point of the process is to coat each starch granule with fat. This makes it difficult for water to enter the granule and therefore stops the proteins being hydrated and gluten forming when you add liquid to bring it together. Gluten makes the pastry tough - it is what you develop when you make bread - and you want to avoid developing it. It takes time to cover all the granules with fat - so you need to keep going.

When you've got rid of nearly all the bigger pieces of butter and it looks a bit like the bowl above, you can start using another hand movement. Essentially you gather a handful of mixture into your hands so it is sandwiched between your palms. Then start to let it drop through your fingers, moving your fingers between each other.

Don't do this for too long - it's just to finish it off. There will be a point where it starts to clump up again, including the flour, not just butter. You must stop at this point or it'll get oily and you'll overwork it.

You can see my rubbing in technique in the video below.

Aside from a lack of editing prowess, I wanted to show the length of the process, so you get a feel for how long it takes. The through-the-fingers bit starts at 1:44 if you particularly want to see that bit. I used a smaller bowl so you could see my fingers - it got a bit messy. The 'look it's a waterfall' bit at the end is optional.

The water or liquid you add at this point does need to be cold - the solubility of the proteins I mentioned earlier is related to temperature, so you will reduce hydration by keeping it cold.

As a little pastry-making bonus, I thought I'd add a note and video about how to 'fraser' the dough. I learnt this technique at Cordon Bleu - essentially you use the heel of your hand to squish the ball of pastry a few times (it depends slightly on the type you're making - for this, I went four times) on a dry surface with no extra flour. This fully combines the dough and makes it smoother.

Before I was taught I would never have combined the dough this much for fear of overworking. You do need to be gentle when you roll it out and minimize how much you work with it later on.

Then press the dough into a uniform flat disc (flatter than the one in the video) so that it chills quickly and evenly - a ball takes forever and you'll end up with a cold exterior and warm core. Don't skimp on resting multiple times - it makes all the difference.

Four recipes that use this technique:

Apple & Quince Pie
Peach and Almond Tart
Tarte au Citron
Tiny Plum Galettes

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This is the first post of my Foundations series. The next post, on the 11th, will focus on brown butter...

Peanut Butter & Chocolate Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 12:43:00 +0000

While I'm away in California, I've decided to detox from the internet.

I've spent a lot of time writing up posts for the eight weeks I'm away. I left it late in all the chaos so there were several nights where I found myself eating peanut butter off a teaspoon at 3am while staring at my laptop, desperately willing the posts into existence.

I often feel that normal recipe posts I schedule somehow lose their heart and end up a bit flat. So instead of trying to recreate my normal posting (as I did for my finals, for instance), I thought I would try something a bit different.

Enter the Foundations series. There will be seven posts on techniques and processes fundamental to baking (or, at least, to baking in my kitchen). The first post looks at rubbing in, a method mainly used to make pastry. It's going to be published on the 4th. I've even branched out into basic videos.

I know it's not exactly a novel idea in the blog world and there are lots of great guides out there. I still wanted to show my methods so you could see how I make the things you see featured here. The posts cover some of the kitchen tasks I love the most, that I want to share and help you to love too. They're the things that I type into my recipes but wish I could elaborate on.

There will also be two 'Best of...' posts focusing on some favourite summer ingredients.

I really hope you enjoy the posts I've organized, I've put a lot of effort into them.

For today, however, I have cake.

It's a significantly classier way to eat peanut butter than my sneaky late night spoonfuls.

I've been waiting for Joy the Baker's book to arrive for ages. Though many things caught my eye, this was the first recipe to have metric pencilled in and to be christened by butter smears. It's a great recipe - punchy with peanut butter without being dry. I made a half recipe in a 6" tin so that's what I've put below. Double for a 8-9" cake.

After two tearful, over-tired disasters with curdled cream cheese icing, I turned to ganache. I'm glad I did - I think it would have been too sweet. The cream I was using for the ganache was pretty thick so I was thinking of thinning it with a little milk. Then I opened the fridge and spotted the buttermilk. It made for a beautiful ganache - not too sweet with a very subtle tang. Another time I might add a bit more. Much to my annoyance, I managed to overwork the final coat so it lost the gloss and I couldn't repair a few mistakes - but, of course, it didn't change the lovely taste.

(While I realise it's somewhat ridiculous to claim I can write a series on the foundations of baking in the same breath as admitting several failures, we are all human & I think it's important that blogs show that).

Anyway.

Here's to a long holiday, to the birthday I'll have there, to summer, and to you, my lovely readers - have a slice of cake! I'll miss you all.

Peanut Butter & Chocolate Cake
(adapted from Joy the Baker's Cookbook)

For the cake:
130g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/8 tsp salt
100g peanut butter (I used crunchy)
45g unsalted butter, soft
50g caster sugar
50g soft brown sugar
75g (1.5) eggs, lightly beaten
75ml buttermilk

For the chocolate ganache:
150g dark chocolate (approx 72%)
125ml double cream
25ml buttermilk
1 tbsp light brown sugar

To finish:
small handful of peanuts (I used salted)
approx 1 tbsp cocoa nibs

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Butter and flour a 6" cake tin (double all ingredients for a 9" tin or two 8"). Sieve the flour, baking powder, bicarbonate of soda and salt into a bowl.

Weigh the peanut butter, butter, caster sugar and brown sugar into the bowl of a stand mixer. Cream together, beating for about 4 minutes until light and fluffy. Scrape down the bowl with a spatula. Add the egg in small splashes, beating very well in between. When the egg is incorporated, clean down the sides then add half the flour. Mix on low speed until the mixture starts looking uniform, then add the buttermilk in a steady stream. Once you've added all the buttermilk, take the mixture off the stand mixer. Add the rest of the dry ingredients and fold in with a spatula.

Transfer to the prepared tin and level. Bake for 30-35 minutes or until a toothpick can be removed cleanly from the middle. Leave in the tin for five minutes then transfer to a wire rack to cool. When the cake is totally cool, split it into two or three layers with a serrated knife.

To make the ganache, chop the chocolate up into small chunks and place it into a bowl. Put the double cream, buttermilk and brown sugar in a small pan and warm over a medium heat. When it starts to steam, pour over the chocolate, pushing all of the chunks into the liquid. After a few moments start stirring in the centre, slowly incorporating the rest of the liquid until you have a thick, glossy ganache. Leave to cool for a few minutes to thicken slightly.

Place the layer that was the top of the cake upside down on the serving plate on top of some strips of parchment paper. Smear some ganache over the layer, then add the next cake layer. Repeat for the next layer if you cut into three. Cover the cake with a thin layer of icing - a masking coat - then put in the fridge to chill. Finally cover the cake with a full layer of ganache, trying not to overwork it. Arrange the peanuts and cocoa nibs on top of the cake for contrasting crunch.

Best served at room temperature, though it keeps well covered in the fridge for a few days.

(Makes approximately 8 slices)

Crumbled Apples

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 13:01:00 +0000

On a beautifully bright day a few weeks ago, we went for lunch at one of my favourite restaurants in Verbier.

It's tucked away in the trees, up on the side of the bowl cradling our town. My friend B was staying with us, so the three of us walked up the snowy path with the dogs. I had my film camera with me and kept clicking away. When we arrived, the dogs curled up at our feet and we settled down to eat.

They make particularly delicious salads at La Marlenaz. I had one filled with hot chicken, toasted almonds and lots of other goodies, all topped with their wonderful dressing. B's had a generous helping of incredibly fresh goats cheese and slices of apple. Mum always (and I mean always) has soup for lunch - so she had a big bowl of asparagus soup.

Though I felt a bit out of depth taking shots of food on film (and outside of my kitchen!) I'm pleased with how they turned out.

For pudding, B had a lemon tart and mum and I shared the 'Apple Crumble'. In my opinion, it's actually Crumbled Apples, so that's what I've called my version. They essentially take chunky slices of apple, coat them in a crumble mixture and then bake them like that. It's served with a melting scoop of rich vanilla ice cream and a little biscuit (which I think has something like caraway seeds in it).

We returned for dinner on mum's birthday and had the same pudding. It was just as enjoyable the second time.

I decided to make my own version of their dish (just like I did with the Wild Strawberry Creams, adapted from a raspberry dessert we had there). I added ground almonds for texture, cinnamon for flavour and brown butter because I love it. I thought using liquid butter would also help get the right consistency so the mixture would stick, at least partially, to the apples. The result is the best tasting wet sand you'll ever find.

When baked, the apples soften and caramelize around the edges. The crumble is slightly chunkier in my version - it asserts its presence.

Though I'm generally against deconstructing perfectly good desserts, especially when they take something simple and make it incredibly complicated, I like this take on crumble. It's a nice change, especially for summer.

As long as you're not expecting Apple Crumble, Crumbled Apples are really very delicious.

Crumbled Apples
(inspired by a dessert at La Marlenaz, Verbier)

45g unsalted butter
40g plain flour
25g whole almonds (or ground)
30g soft brown sugar
3/4 tsp ground cinnamon
pinch of fine sea salt
2 apples (I used braeburn)

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. In a small frying pan or saucepan, melt the butter. Keep over the heat until the butter has bubbled, foamed and then died down - it should smell fantastic and there should be lots of dark brown flecks. Take off the heat and leave to cool. Place the flour and whole almonds in a food processor and blend until the almonds have been reduced to fine crumbs. Add the sugar, cinnamon and salt and pulse to combine. Leave in the processor.

Peel the apples. Slice into quarters, remove the pips and stalks, then slice lengthways into 3 or 4 slices. Add the brown butter to the food processor and blend until it looks like wet sand. Tip onto a baking sheet, add the apple slices and toss together.

Place into the oven and bake for 25-30 minutes or until a knife slips easily into the bigger apple slices and the crumble pieces are golden brown and crisp. Serve either alone or with a scoop of rich vanilla ice cream or chilled double cream. Best eaten while still warm.

(Serves 2-3)

My Experience at Le Cordon Bleu

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 07:49:00 +0000

Now the dust has settled and I've had time to think, I want to talk about Le Cordon Bleu.

From the day I announced that I was thinking of going to culinary school, I've had a lot of emails about where to go and what Cordon Bleu is like. I can't advise you on your choice - it is yours to make and very personal - but I wanted to clarify my position now that I have left.

I must stress that this post is based only on my experience and my opinions.

First (and in some ways most importantly), the chefs I had were wonderful. Some took a little time to get used to and they all had quirks. Yet every one was incredibly hard working and essentially there to help. I have a huge amount of respect for them and their skill and knowledge.

During the course I learnt a lot of techniques and skills. For instance, I can properly temper chocolate (one of my biggest goals as I'd always failed at home). My work is much faster, cleaner and more accurate. My work also didn't feel like my own. This is not the place for creativity - it is about replicating and repeating. This is good preparation for working in the industry. You can, of course, take the techniques and apply them how you like when you get home.

I met some lovely people. In my first term I was very lucky to find myself in the midst of Group G, a fabulous collection of human beings. We had a lot of fun together and I still miss them. We were all trying hard and about the same standard. Everyone was friendly, supportive and up for a giggle. We had a lot of Saturday classes with our favourite chef and I will remember those days as my fondest Cordon Bleu memories.

I was lucky because a good attitude in your classmates is not guaranteed. Most of the demonstrations in our first term were with one particular class. It was like being back at school. They whispered, talked, were constantly playing on their phones, ate and drank noisily then left the rubbish, made sarcastic and rude comments and noises about the chef and food, turned up late and even put headphones in and listened to music. They were young, wealthy and seemed to think they knew everything (though, from the rumours about their practical classes, they definitely didn't). The chefs did try to control them but it didn't always help. Besides, we were all adults - they shouldn't have had to discipline us.

On the flip side of the coin, I was lucky because there are also a lot of stories about extreme competitiveness, bitchiness and even sabotage. The lottery doesn't end at the beginning of your first term - classes get jumbled at the beginning of each term and you cannot ask for a group to be kept together. There is no real admissions process - only the need to pay the fees. There is a statement to show your enthusiasm and future plans but I have a feeling it is a formality. People start at quite different places in terms of how much experience and knowledge they already have.

Part of the reason your group is important because you do a lot of practical work in pairs (for instance, one person makes 2x the pastry, another makes 2x the filling, you share then both decorate your own). If you had a good partner, it worked well - you could help each other and get used to working in a team in a kitchen. It does mean that you don't get to make everything yourself and gain the experience that comes with that. It also adds pressure - if you mess it up, it might ruin their mark (and vice versa). There can also be problems when people who work at different speeds get paired as everything gets out of sync.

You have a mixture of technical, demonstration and practical classes of 2 1/2 hours - usually five a week for patisserie. The demonstrations and practicals are paired - you see something made by the chef in the demo and then try to replicate it in the practical. The classes can be scheduled at 8am, 11:30am, 3pm or 6pm. This schedule runs Monday to Saturday.

You have to be at school at least 30 minutes before to get ready (don't get me started on the changing rooms) and into your full uniform. For instance, this means you need to be in school at 7:30am, which means some early mornings - some students I knew who commuted in had to get up at 4-5am. I was lucky and only had to get up at six for our early classes.

You have absolutely no say over your schedule and will not be given it until the first day of term. It changes every week. This makes it hard to organise any work/childcare/life around your timetable, despite only having 12.5 hours of contact time. If you miss four sessions over an entire term (unless you have a doctor's note - even a funeral doesn't count) then you are failed.

Despite having spent a lot of time in the kitchen, I was totally unprepared for how exhausting the practical sessions would be (especially if you had a double back-to-back). I can't imagine what it must be like to do much longer sessions every day in a professional kitchen.

Possibly my main issue is the focus on aesthetics instead of taste. Most of the time it didn't feel like you were preparing food - it might as well have been an art project. They have a very specific style which you have to stick to.

Because everything must look identical from term to term, the fruit used is the same. If you're someone like me who believes in seasonal local produce, using tasteless strawberries in January is quite painful. The fruit was often in quite bad condition - either very unripe or mouldy.

Except on the final practical exams, the chef never tastes the food you make. You receive a mark at the end of each practical session which counts towards your final grade for the term. This grade is based on your hygiene, speed, how they saw you prepare things and the presentation of the final product. I could have made something inedible and as long as the problem was invisible they would never have known. This was made worse because I lived alone so I often had to give the food I made away to whoever would take it - without tasting some.

But it was also because in the second term, in the new building, they created a new rule that we were not allowed to taste the food the chef made for us in demonstrations. So we had no idea how it should taste. This was a huge problem for patisserie - but can you imagine how much worse it is for the cuisine chefs?

To me, the character of the school changed with the move from Marylebone to Bloomsbury. In the first building, it felt like the chefs were in charge and the student had some individuality. In the big new 'flagship' building, you could practically taste the desire for money. The management suddenly came into view. In particular, the sales people showing prospective students around became much, much more visible. It became a business instead of an institution dedicated to education, if that makes sense.

The building felt like a mildly dystopian chef factory from the moment you fingerprinted though the gates into the main area. Yes, the equipment in the kitchens is incredible and mind-blowingly expensive. But, to me, it felt like it had lost heart.

This was made worse by the increase in class size. Despite selling the entire course a few months previously on the small class sizes of ten students, they increased it to sixteen with the move. 16:1 feels quite different as a ratio to 10:1 - though it wasn't quite as bad as we feared, the connection to the chef and opportunity to ask questions was definitely diminished, however hard they tried to help. The demonstration rooms also increased in size so they held more like 60-75 students instead of about 20-30 (which was the reason given for the new rule about tasting the food).

Finally, I want to talk about money (however vulgar it is). Since I signed up a year ago, the price for the full patisserie diploma has risen from about £12,000 to £14,297 (correct as of today). If you don't contract yourself to stay for the full time and do it a term at a time, it will cost you £15,004 overall (roughly $23,500 for comparison). I imagine it will continue to increase. I know American schools can be more, but that is still a huge amount of money.

The knife kit and uniforms are included but you need to supplement it with extra tools for working in class and extra equipment for practicing the exam dishes at home. I probably spent an extra couple of hundred pounds in six months - and I already had a well stocked kitchen. You have to have a Kitchen Aid or similar at home to practice, which is a big extra expense if you don't have one. There is also the considerable cost of living in London and transport. They also strongly recommend you buy their books (priced, I believe, at about £45) and even at one point said that some of our technical exam questions would be coming from one of the books, not our classes or notes.

So I guess what I want to say about the money is think about it very carefully. I'm not convinced that it would give you a huge step up in terms of the jobs you could get (especially in competition with you working full time in a kitchen for 9 months, hopefully being paid). Chef salaries are generally not enormous (despite the incredibly hard work) - are you going to be able to pay that back? I know a lot of people want to set up their own place and that's why they go. I'm not sure how many people actually go on to use their LCB qualification practically.

When I was looking around for advice (try this post by David Lebovitz, with lots of useful links) many people mentioned volunteering in a kitchen first, to see if you really want to do it. I ignored it because I had my heart set on culinary school and can be quite stubborn. Now I see the value in that advice.

Many of my problems with my time there are unsolvable - they are part of running a culinary school and preparing you for industry. There are many great things about it but there are definitely limitations to what they can do, especially as they expand. I wanted to pass on what I have learnt so that you can make a choice with more information than a glossy brochure and a pearly smile can supply. As with most things, the reality is not as glamourous as it may seem from the outside.

(The photos are a selection of the Instagram photos I posted of the things I made in practical classes while I was attending Le Cordon Bleu London from Sept 2011- Feb 2012.)

Hot Cross Buns v.3

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 18:19:00 +0000

Happy Easter!

As I promised last year, I'm back with volume three of my quest to create a great hot cross bun recipe. I haven't had much time for testing this year, so there are just a few minor changes - I've updated the recipe to include the candied peel process (which I've also adapted again) and refined a few quantities, including upping the yeast for a lighter bun.

It's quite fun (/embarrassing) to see how things have changed - see v.1 and v.2.

***

Also, as you may have seen on my sidebar/twitter/facebook, I am a finalist in the SAVEUR Best Food Blog Awards 2012 in the Best Baking & Desserts Blog category! I am so touched and honoured that I have been picked by the editors from all the nominations.

I thought I would show you a little technique I learnt recently for getting smooth, round spheres of bread dough. I was rushing a bit yesterday so some of these buns are actually a bit wonky (and the sultanas and peel poking out don't help), but the technique is a good one.

1/ As you can see on the left, tease the chunk of dough out into a disc using your fingers.

2/ Start tightly folding the edges of the disc inwards.

3/ Pull the last edge inwards and press it into the centre, forming a ball.

4/ Place the ball on a clean table (no flour), with the pulled-in edges facing down.

5/ Place your hand over the ball, touching the table with your fingertips and the heel of your hand, and press down lightly. Start moving your hand in small circles, slowly cupping your hand more as the ball forms but keeping it touching the table. The dough should almost push against your hand as it forms.

6/ Voila!

So there you go - a useful little tip for prettier bread rolls.

Hot Cross Buns v.3
(heavily adapted from Delia Smith's Complete Cookery Course)

For the candied peel:
1 orange
1/2 lemon
100ml water
100g granulated sugar

For the dough:
150ml lukewarm water
1 tsp golden caster sugar
15g fresh yeast
450g strong white bread flour
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg
4 whole cloves, ground
50g golden caster sugar
100g currants/sultanas/raisins
50ml milk
1 egg, beaten
50g butter, melted

For the crosses:
1 tbsp plain flour (not strong)
1 tbsp water

Use a vegetable peeler to take big strips of peel off the orange and lemon - try to have as little white on the inside of the strip as possible. Chop into 2-3mm little squares, stacking a few strips together for speed. Place them in a medium pan and add 3-4 cm of cold water. Bring up to a strong boil and let bubble for a few moments until the water is bright yellow. Strain into a bowl, then add more cold water and the peels and repeat. Repeat again, leaving in the strainer. Throw out the bitter yellow water.

Combine the 100ml of water and sugar in the pan and heat until the sugar has dissolved, swirling every now and again. Turn up the heat a little and add the blanched peel. Occasionally brush a little cold water around the sides to stop the sugar crystallizing. Let it bubble away until the peel is translucent, abut 10-15 minutes. Let cool for five minutes then drain the peel off from the syrup, reserving both.

To start the dough, pour the 150ml water into a small bowl, stir in the teaspoon of sugar and crumble the yeast in. Cover with cling film and leave in a warm place for 10 minutes until frothy. Meanwhile sift the flour, salt, sugar and spices into the bowl of your stand mixer (or a mixing bowl if making by hand). Stir in the dried fruit. Stir the peel into the milk (this stops them sticking). Pour in the frothy yeast mix, warm milk, melted butter and beaten egg. Attach the paddle attachment and mix until you have a combined dough.

Swap the paddle for the dough hook and knead for 6 minutes. (If making by hand make a well in dry to pour the wet into, then slowly pull in to create a dough. Then turn out onto floured surface and hand knead). Place the dough into a lightly oiled big bowl, cover with cling film and leave to rise in a warm place for about 1hr 15 mins or until doubled.

Turn the dough out of the bowl onto a lightly floured surface. Punch down. Cut the dough with a sharp knife into 16 pieces. Roll into balls. Line a tin with baking parchment and then arrange the buns on the sheet. Cover again with cling film and leave to rise for 45 minutes until puffy.

Preheat the oven to 220C (425F). Combine the flour with the water to create a thick paste (adding a little more water if needed) then scoop it into a piping bag or a plastic bag with the corner cut off. Unwrap the buns and pipe the paste over each bun in the cross pattern. Bake for 15-20 minutes until golden brown and hollow when tapped. Brush the reserved peel syrup over the buns then remove to a cooling rack.

Serve either hot from the oven with plenty of salted butter or split, toasted and topped with lots more salted butter. They freeze very well.

(Makes 16)

Poires Belle Helene

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 12:56:00 +0000

Sometimes the plate is empty. Sometimes it feels like you've got nothing left to give.

The last few weeks have been a wild tumble of brilliant and bad news, huge life decisions, multiple lifelong medical diagnoses and many hours at the doctors, almost constant house guests - all in the midst of plenty of work. Last night I got back from a 38hr round trip to the UK. It's been bone-achingly exhausting.

On Saturday this blog turned three. I had this post planned - the dish was made, photographed and eaten. I wanted to write something cheery and celebratory. I typed and typed but I couldn't find the words.

Usually the kitchen is a solace - a calming, healing environment. At the moment I'm finding cooking stressful. Hopefully this will ease as we settle into our new lives, irrevocably changed by these past few weeks. The horizon is very bright - but different.

The many hours of journeying in the past two days were useful. I had time to just sit and think. Process. To mourn what is lost and get excited about the new. To make lists, imagine how things will work out. To adjust to change.

Though blogging is usually something I really enjoy and find rewarding, sometimes it can be frustrating and dispiriting. An exciting new recipe doesn't work. Testing takes time, ingredients you might not have. You get an iffy comment that makes your heart sink. It's ok to acknowledge that.

But when I look back over these three years to the things I've learnt, the people I've met, the opportunities that have arisen, I'm amazed. Every time I've got frustrated and lost heart but not quit I've learnt something - even if it's just that I can keep going and that it is worth it.

So here is a true 'poires au chocolat' recipe for everybody - as healthy as I get and gluten and dairy free.

The sweetness of the pears is tempered by the lemon and the spices. The sauce still feels creamy and rich despite being made with the poaching juices.

You can jazz it up with ice cream - as in the classic French recipe - or leave it plain. I think I prefer it simple.

Poires Belle Helene
(a Poires au Chocolat original, based on the classic French dessert)

4 small pears - I used conference
water to cover (approx 2 ltrs)
2 strips of lemon zest + juice of whole lemon
1 cm fresh ginger, cut into 2 rounds
2-3 whole cloves
4 cardamon pods
1/2 stick of cinnamon, crushed
1/2 vanilla pod, split
1 tsp mild runny honey
100g dark chocolate (70%)
vanilla ice cream to serve (optional)

Select your pears carefully - though a few scratches won't matter, you don't want them to be badly bruised. They should still be firm to the touch - any riper and they'll disintegrate.

Fill a big pan with water and add the lemon zest, lemon juice, ginger, cloves, cardamon, cinnamon and vanilla pod. Fold a square of baking paper bigger than the pan into 2, then 4, then 8. Place the pointy tip in the middle of the pan and cut the bottom off so that it fits into the pan. Cut a cm or so off the pointy tip then unfold - it should look like a doughnut with a tiny hole in the middle. This is your cartouche.

Bring the water up to a boil then reduce to a gentle simmer. While the water is heating up, prepare the pears. Use your peeler/a corer/a knife to take out the bottom crown and the seeds inside - leave the stem. Peel the pears from the stem down in strips (this keeps the pretty shape). As you peel, dip them into the lemony water to reduce browning. Immerse in the simmering water. Repeat with the others. You need to work fairly quickly so the cooking time isn't staggered- if you'd rather go slowly (or have increased the number of pears), get a bowl of cold water and add some more lemon and leave them in there until you're ready to add them to the pan.

Top the water with the cartouche (so the pears don't poke out of the water and brown). Leave on a gentle simmer for roughly 15 minutes or until the pear gives to a toothpick but still firmly keeps shape. Remove the pears to a bowl then tip some of the water in so they're covered. Leave to cool while you make the sauce (if you're making them ahead, keep in the fridge once cool then reheat gently so they're not icy cold).

Chop the chocolate into small chunks and place into a medium bowl. Strain the remaining poaching water into a jug and measure out 150ml. Return to the pan and add the honey. Reduce by half over high heat - you can check it is about 75ml by pouring it back into the measuring jug. Leave to cool for a minute (it'll be boiling hot and would scorch the chocolate - but don't let it cool too far), then pour over the chocolate. Leave for a few minutes then whisk until smooth. Leave to thicken and cool for 10 minutes or so.

When you're ready to serve, remove the pears from the poaching liquid. Cut a slither off the bottom of each one so that it has a flat surface to stand on. Serve with the chocolate sauce in a jug and an optional scoop of ice cream.

(Serves 4)

Spiced Cocoa Nib Chocolate Cakes

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 17:57:00 +0000

These little cakes try to pretend they're muffins or simple treats - but they're not.

They're deeply laced with dark muscovado and quality cocoa. Their hearts are soaked with spiced syrup, pushing them into the league of squishy brownies and chocolate fondants. They're topped with crunchy, slightly bitter cocoa nibs.

Each bite needs the cradle of a spoon.

The spices in the soaking syrup are totally up for adaptation. I replaced the chili powder with some fresh ginger, added vanilla, used powdered cinnamon instead of sticks and so on. It needs to stand up to the powerful flavour of the muscovado, so make sure you give it some punch.

*

After thinking for weeks that I had to keep this piece of news deathly quiet, I realised a few days ago that I only needed to keep the image secret, so...

I'm very excited to say that I'm one of the finalists for the Pink Lady Food Photographer of the Year 2012! My image is shortlisted in Food Portraiture and will be displayed in the free exhibition at the Mall Galleries from 25-29th April. I still can't believe it!

Spiced Cocoa Nib Chocolate Cakes
(adapted from Paul A Young's Adventures with Chocolate)

For the cakes:
55g plain flour
35g cocoa powder
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp fine sea salt
110g dark brown muscovado sugar
95g unsalted butter, soft
1 egg
45ml double cream
40ml water
25g cocoa nibs

For the syrup:
75g caster sugar
75ml water
1/2 vanilla pod, or 1 once scraped out
1/2 cinnamon stick or 1/2 tsp ground
1cm width of fresh ginger, cut into rounds
1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Prepare a muffin tin with six cases - I scrunched up squares of baking paper as Paul suggested. Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt together into a bowl. In a stand mixer cream the sugar and butter together until creamy. Add the egg and beat well to combine. Add the dry ingredients in the bowl and mix to combine - it will be a stiff mixture. Finally add the cream and water in two additions, mixing well between each one. Divide the mixture between the cases. Sprinkle with the cocoa nibs.

Bake for 14-18 minutes, checking to see if they're done at 14. They should be lightly domed and spring back to the touch of your finger in the centre.

Once the cakes are in the oven, make the syrup. Place all the ingredients into a small saucepan and bring to the boil. Leave to simmer for a few minutes then take off the heat and leave to infuse. When the cakes are out of the oven, brush them with plenty of syrup while they're still hot. Keep feeding them as it disappears. Best served barely warm.

(Makes 6)

Chez Panisse Almond Tart

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 23:48:00 +0000

When I decided to leave Cordon Bleu early, I erased the marks on May and June. I created two fresh, blank pages.

Just before I made my final choice, I compared diaries with mum. She discovered a chunk of holiday sandwiched between the winter and summer seasons. So we decided to go on a trip.

California quickly established itself as the destination.

So you'll find us on a flight to Los Angeles at the beginning of May. Seven weeks later, we fly out of San Francisco. At the moment there's no fixed route or timetable - just a scribbled list of places to eat, people to meet, sights to see and a general direction for our little rented campervan.

Have you got any must-not-miss suggestions? We'll eat almost anything as long as it's not very spicy (and I have an irrational dislike of anchovies).

One of the places that I want to visit in California is Chez Panisse. I've had one of their signature recipes - this almond tart - bookmarked for years. It seemed like the perfect time to finally give it a go. It's an unusual recipe - you press the room temperature pastry into the tin with your hands. At the start it looks like it'll never be even and neat (see above...) but it does smooth out in the end.

The result is a crumbly, buttery, almost shortbread-esque bottom layer of the tart. The filling - described beautifully in the book as "creamy-and-russet caramel" - perfectly tightropes the line between chewy and gooey. It surpassed my high expectations.

There's no need for cutlery, cream or fruit. This is something to eat with your hands. It would be perfect for a spring picnic - the pastry might delicately crumble around the edges but otherwise it travels well.

You can find the recipe in Chez Panisse Desserts by Lindsay Shere. It's such a pretty book, sprinkled with Wayne Thiebaud illustrations. You can also find a slightly different version of the recipe on David Lebovitz's site. I used both to make this tart.

A few notes on the recipe:

1/ You can play with the dough quite a bit when you're lining the tin. As mentioned, keep a bit of extra pastry at room temperature and smear over any tiny holes/cracks after baking - be careful to not press too hard as it'll crumble. I totally froze my shell after I'd lined it - you don't need to blind bake, just put it straight in the oven. Keep in mind that it won't cook the second time so the pastry needs to be well cooked.

2/ I didn't have any almond essence so I didn't use any in the pastry or filling. It was still absolutely lovely.

3/ Be careful how much filling you pour in - mine bubbled up and over when I put it in the oven. I still had a little leftover. Lindsay mentions leaving the filling for 15 minutes before filling the shall and baking - I was in a hurry so didn't. The leftover bit thickened quite a lot in that time so it might make a difference.

4/ Getting it out of the tin is a pain. Mine didn't stick on the base (as happened to Adam) but as the filling flowed over, the sides stuck. I used a knife to push the sides away from the tin while it was still soft then pulled the tin off when it had firmed up a bit more. It didn't look pretty and crumbled a lot but hey - still tasted good!

Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Thu, 15 Mar 2012 22:08:00 +0000

As I swept this pie out of the oven and placed it upon the wire rack with a flourish, mum happened to walk by.

"Is that it?"

A few hours after her skeptical remark, she was softly moaning as she ate a thick slice. This is quite a pie.

Helen has been staying with us for the past few weeks. While peering over my shoulder at these pictures, she started crooning in a M&S voice.

"This is not just pecan pie....this is Poires au Chocolat Pecan Pie..."

(I have to note at this point - before you start thinking I've branded this pie - that the truly genius idea of adding three types of ginger and bourbon to a pecan pie is Allison Kave's, not mine. I did switch up a a few things but she definitely deserves a lot of credit for the recipe.)

The first time I made this I took it to Oxford. My friend Sam was having a birthday pub crawl. I carried it (along with a chocolate ganache tart) from 'spoons to the goth pub, from Far From the Madding Crowd to the Eagle & Child... and so on, from breakfast to supper time.

At that point we cracked open the bag and dug in, eating off napkins and spreading crumbs everywhere.

I learnt three things that day. One, though it did help it keep shape en route, pie dishes are pretty heavy. Two, due to the extremely chilly day, it was very cold when we ate this - it's much better slightly warm. Three, this is an absolute winner of a recipe.

You could serve it with a little scoop of ice cream (I tried a slice with some vanilla) but, to be honest, it's so good on its own that anything else - ice cream, cream, creme fraiche - only dilutes the flavour.

And so, in reply to my mum - yes, this is it.

It is punchy, deep and nuanced. It stands on its own. It is crunchy, silky smooth and flaky pastry all in one bite. It is softly sweet, spicy, nutty, fragrant and many other good things. It needs no more introduction...

Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie
(Filling adapted from Allison Kave of First Prize Pies's recipe in Remedy Quarterly Issue 7, pastry adapted from Michel Roux's Pastry)

For the pastry:*
250g plain flour
1 tsp sea salt, finely ground
1 tsp caster sugar
1 egg
1 tbsp cold water or milk
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
150g unsalted butter, cold and cubed

For the filling:
200g pecans
100g dark brown sugar
80g light brown sugar
3 eggs
135ml maple syrup
2 tbsp bourbon
a globe of stem ginger, finely chopped + 1 tbsp of the syrup
2 tsp fresh ginger, finely grated
1 tsp ground ginger
pinch of salt

Sieve the flour, salt and sugar into a bowl. In another bowl, whisk the egg, water/milk and vanilla together. Place the cubed butter into the flour bowl and rub the butter into the flour until it resembles wet sand. Add the egg mix in one go and mix with a knife. Pull together with your hands. Tip onto a surface and squish with the palm of your hand a few times to combine. Wrap in cling film and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Roll out 2/3 of the pastry into a big circle of about 3-4mm thickness. Lightly grease the pie dish then line with the pastry. Crimp the edges if you want. Don't prick the base. Return to the fridge to chill while you make the filling (or for up to 24 hours, wrapped in clingfilm).

Preheat the oven to 220C/425F. Tip the pecans onto a oven tray and place into the oven. Toast for a few minutes until they smell wonderful and look slightly darker. In a big bowl combine the sugars, eggs, maple syrup, bourbon, three types of ginger and salt together. Add the slightly cooled pecans and stir. Pour into the tart case.

Bake for 15-20 minutes at 220C/450F, then reduce the heat to 180C/350F and bake for a further 20-25 minutes. You may need to cover the top of the pie with foil to stop it browning/burning too much. The pie will have risen and cracked but will fall and settle when it cools. Best served slightly warm.

(Serves 10-12)

*This recipe makes about a 1/3 more than you need. You could use it for another tart or - as it's not a sweet pastry - for a savoury recipe. Or you could run a lattice over the pie - but I would worry that it would stop the gorgeous crust forming.

Chelsea Buns

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 17:53:00 +0000

Chelsea buns have been on my 'To Make' list for ages.

They're a very British bun - invented in London, at the Bun House in Chelsea, in the 18th century. A Chelsea bun is essentially a bit like a cinnamon bun - soft enriched bread stuffed with butter, brown sugar, warm spices and orange-infused dried fruit. They're also highly addictive, just like their cinnamon cousin.

Aside from the fact that Mum loves them, I kept on hearing about them in relation to Fitzbillies, the Cambridge institution famous for its signature Chelsea buns. It was recently saved from closure by Tim Hayward (a food writer who runs the wonderful Fire & Knives) and his wife, Al. You can read the story
here - it all started with a tweet! I haven't tasted their buns yet, but when I next find myself in tabland I'll definitely seek ~~a few~~ one out.

So I felt I had to try my hand at making some. Apart from anything else, I seem to be obsessed with dried fruit and spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger - at the moment. If you're not on a dried fruit kick, you could always make Super Chocolate Cinnamon Rolls...

I decided to adapt Peter Reinhart's recipe for cinnamon buns - his recipes always seem to give amazing results. The bread itself came out very soft, fluffy and full of flavour. I rolled it chunky and thick as it seems to help the bread be light instead of getting a bit leathery. I only used sultanas as that's what I had on hand - but raisins, currants or a mixture would be just as good.

Chelsea buns are traditionally square - a fact I conveniently forgot until they had already risen to full puffy glory and couldn't be touched for fear of squishing. If you arrange them in a square grid I imagine they would expand to fill the shape.

I actually love how irregular these are - all odd shapes and ungainly limbs. They're perfect in their imperfection, homemade to the core of each swirl.

Chelsea Buns
(Dough adapted from the cinnamon rolls in The Bread Baker's Apprentice by Peter Reinhart, filling inspired by Delia's Book of Cakes)

For the dough:
80g granulated sugar
70g unsalted butter
5g (1 tsp) fine sea salt
zest of 1 lemon
1 large egg
400g white bread flour plus extra for dusting/adjusting
250ml milk, at room temperature
16g fresh yeast (crumbled) or 2 tsp instant yeast
a little flavourless oil

For the filling:
100g sultanas/raisins/currants
1/2 orange, juice and zest
75g unsalted butter, soft
75g soft brown sugar
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg
pinch of fine sea salt

For the glaze:
30g caster sugar
1.5 tbsp water
strip of orange rind

To start the dough, cream the sugar, butter, salt and zest together with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer. Scrape down the sides then add the egg and combine. Add the flour, yeast and 200ml of the milk (you may need more to adjust the dough, but start with 200). Combine on a low speed until the dough comes together. If it is very wet, add a bit more flour. If dry, add more milk (keep in mind that some moisture will be absorbed during kneading).

Change to the dough hook then knead for 10 minutes (about 15 by hand, but it will be very sticky for hand kneading). By the end it should be smooth, silky and tacky - not too sticky - to the touch. Take a little ball out of the mix and do a windowpane test (with floured fingers stretch the ball outwards, smoothing it thinner and thinner. If you can make it thin enough to see your fingers through the dough without it ripping then it's ready - but this does take practice!).

Lightly oil a big bowl (your mixer bowl will be fine, it doesn't need to be cleaned) and place the dough inside, turning it so it is oiled all over. Cling film the top and leave to rise for 1hr30-2hrs until doubled. Sit the dried fruit in a bowl with the juice of the half orange and leave to steep, stirring occasionally if you're nearby.

When the dough is nearly ready, cream the butter, brown sugar, orange zest, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and salt together. Tip the dough out onto a lightly oiled table and punch down. Roll out into a fairly thick and even rectangle of about 45 by 22cm (18" by 9"). Spread the rectangle with the buttery mix. Drain off any excess orange juice from the fruit then sprinkle them evenly over the rectangle. Tightly roll the dough up from the long edge, moving along the bottom, then zigzagging from side to side. Finish with the seam on the bottom.

Use a sharp knife to slice the dough log into 12-16 pieces (I had 13 - a baker's dozen!). Place onto a lined baking sheet, leaving 1-2cm in between each round. Loosely cover with cling film then leave to rise at room temperature for 75-90 minutes or until the buns have puffed up to fill the gaps and nearly doubled in size. Preheat the oven to 180C/350F.

Bake in the middle of the oven for 20-30 minutes until the tops are golden brown - in some of the thicker sections you might also get a hollow noise when tapped. While they're baking combine the sugar, water and rind together and heat until clear. Leave to infuse then when the buns are fresh out of the oven, brush the syrup over the tops. Leave to cool on the sheet for 5 minutes then remove to a rack.

(Makes 12-16 buns)

Remedy Quarterly & Tarte aux Noix

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 18:20:00 +0000

I came across Remedy Quarterly on Design Sponge last summer.

Remedy is an independent ad-free food magazine run by the lovely Kelly Carámbula of eatmakeread. It's filled with stories, memories, recipes and little interviews. It's a great read and has cheered up many a miserable tube ride. I've made several of the recipes - these Cranberry Oatmeal Cookies were adapted from there.

I knew immediately that I wanted to contribute a story or two of my own. Submissions for this issue, Adventure, were open at the time. So I wrote in with a story idea based on my memories of skiing as a little girl (I spent 10 months on skis before I was 5) and the sweet treats we ate up the mountain - including Chez Simon's Apple Tart.

The recipe I wrote for the piece is for Tarte aux Noix - little pastry cases filled with toasted walnuts drenched in soft caramel. They're a delicious local speciality (they actually inspired the Salted Caramel and Walnut Coffee Bread too - note that the bakery have quite a different filling-to-pastry ratio to me!).

So I highly recommend you head over to their shop and purchase this issue - it's well worth the $7.50 - or a subscription or two. They're currently in between submission periods but keep an eye out for the next one!

PS. I'm writing this because I love Remedy (and because I want to squee with you about seeing my name in print...) not because I've been asked to/am being paid etc.

Welsh Cakes

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 19:29:00 +0000

On Wednesday I found myself sat on a train with Lac Léman speeding past. A wispy mist clung to the water, clouding the horizon so the lake looked endless if you looked backwards. The mountains majestically rose in the distance, huddling around my destination.

As I sat on the train, basking in the glow of the bright sun, I was consumed with joy, brimming with possibility and hope.

I had Ben Howard's beautiful song Old Pine streaming though my headphones, these words echoing in my ears:

"We stood
Steady as the stars in the woods
So happy-hearted
And the warmth rang true inside these bones
...
We grow, grow, happy as a new dawn
We grow, grow, older still"

Writing and editing my last post swallowed an entire afternoon and evening. I finally finished at past midnight. I couldn't sleep for hours, constantly checking my phone to see if anybody had reacted yet. I woke up aching with a nasty cold and spent the rest of the weekend feeling grim and exhausted.

On Monday afternoon I watched Steve Jobs's speech on TED. I lay on the sofa, throat lozenges, DVDs, empty bowls and mugs strewn around me, and thought. If this was my last day, what would I do? The answer was resoundingly, loudly obvious. I would go to the mountains and see my family.

Writing that post drew a line underneath my choice. My heart wasn't in it any more. Your insightful comments cemented my resolve. I wasn't excited about the subject of any of the remaining practicals and the thought of the exams put me into a pointless cold sweat. I had tutoring jobs waiting for me at home. I had already chosen the path - hopping from foot to foot at the junction was only giving me sore feet.

And so I jumped. I booked a one-way flight and packed my bags.

In the midst of all of this I've tried to make three separate things this week- some little cakes, a pudding and a sorbet. Every one has been off the mark. I thought about using some of the photos for this post but I just don't feel the same way about photos of foods I didn't enjoy, even if they're of the ingredients.

So I went back to drawing board. Take Four.

I chose to make a recipe that I'm amazed I've never posted before. Mum has been making welsh cakes regularly since I was little - often for tea after school, cooked directly onto the Aga hotplates. They're comforting, easy and delicious. Mum usually makes them in a food processor but I like to feel the dough with my hands. I knew they would never fail me.

We have specific ways of eating these. I butter the top of mine then cut it into segments and like them cooked medium rare. Mum splits hers and the butters both sides before segmenting and likes them well done. We both, inexplicably, always eat them off the flat side of the knife. I took the photo below in between cooking two batches, quickly snapping it over mum's shoulder. No staging at all - just a captured moment, a shared habit in my home.

Welsh Cakes
(adapted from Delia's Book of Cakes)

225g plain white flour
75g light brown sugar (or caster)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
good grind of fresh nutmeg - about 1/4 tsp
1 clove, freshly ground
big pinch of sea salt
110g unsalted butter
75g sultanas (or raisins)
1 egg
a dash of milk, if needed
butter, to fry and serve (salted is best)

Sift the flour, sugar, baking power, spices and salt together into a mixing bowl. Rub the butter into the dry ingredients until everything is even and has the texture of fine breadcrumbs - just like making pastry. Stir in the sultanas. Add the egg and bring together into a dough - adding a dash of milk if needed. Bring into a ball.

Dust a work surface with flour. Roll out the dough to about a centimeter thickness. Cut rounds out with a fluted or smooth cutter. Place onto a plate. At this point you can chill them for up to a few days - we usually eat a batch over three or so days, cooking them as we go.

Heat up the frying or griddle pan with the heaviest bottom you can find - or the hotplate of an Aga. Grease with some butter. Fry the cakes in batches (I tend to do two at a time), turning over when well browned. Try a few at various cooking times to decide how you like yours - medium rare to well done.

Serve immediately (we tend to eat them in batches as they're ready, though I hear they're also good warm or cold - ours have never got that far), slathered in butter.

(Makes about 16)

Cumin & Lemon Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 00:33:00 +0000

I have some news.

I’ve been avoiding telling you for a while. I’m not entirely sure why. I guess I’m worried that you will be disappointed.

The truth is that since I finished my finals – even as I was tucking away each folder as my exams progressed – I’ve been missing the topics I studied, missing the medieval world and words.

Though I always enjoyed my course, the bug only truly bit in those last few months as everything started to slot into place, to create a bigger picture. I actually enjoyed revising, happy in the knowledge that I was going to be a pastry chef and nobody would care what grade I got – so I could learn the topics I loved and take risks as I scrawled out essay after essay.

Then my results far exceeded my expectations and opened doors I hadn’t even noticed. And so, even before I started at Cordon Bleu, I started to think about possibly returning to university.

At first I wanted to study part-time (after I had finished at CB), while I set up a business selling wedding cakes. I'd been drawing up careful plans of the business I wanted to create for many months by then, looking at many of the practicalities and dreaming about designs. I had a lot of ideas. A lot of opinions.

Under 'Any plans for the future?' in my college yearbook, I wrote: "My dream at the moment is to set up a bespoke wedding cake business". Now I look back and note that even then I included 'at the moment'. Tellingly, I didn't mention it here.

On our very first day at Cordon Bleu the chef asked what we hoped to do when we left. I stood there in the then-unfamiliar kitchen, a strip of my back chilled by leaning on the frosty marble, surrounded by my new classmates (the infamous Group G), waiting my turn. When it came, I didn't mention anything about wedding cakes. I spoke about this blog and about writing, recipes and photography. Maybe it was the nerves, maybe I knew by then.

So I can comfortably say now that I have put that dream to one side. I would love to make a wedding cake one day - but I don't want to make my living out of it.

As the months ticked by and my wedding cake plans started to crumble, I became more and more serious about studying again. In January I sent in three applications to study full time – I recently received two unconditional offers (I’m waiting on the last result).

So now I know that when the leaves fall and autumn arrives, I will be studying again. I will get to immerse myself back in the bewitching world of medieval languages, culture, history, religion, art and above all, literature. I’m incredibly excited.

This all leads to the final choice I've recently made – this one is only a few weeks old. I have decided to not take the third certificate at Cordon Bleu. I’m therefore leaving at the end of this term (the end of March).

I'm really content with the choices I've made. I hope you will be happy for me too, even though it means stepping away from pastry for the moment. I don’t know where life will lead me, what paths I’ll take, so maybe I will still spend some of my time in a professional kitchen of some kind. I'd like to try it out. I have every intention of continuing to blog - my love of eating, cooking, writing and taking photographs hasn't changed.

I will always be grateful for the support, encouragement and enthusiasm you - my readers and friends - have shown towards me, the course and this blog.

These cookies taste incredibly familiar and unusual all at once. The timeworn sweet flavours of butter, sugar and lemon intermingle with cumin, the second most used spice in the world after black pepper (according to wiki, anyway...). I love the little stripy seeds in savoury dishes - particularly mixed with olive oil and salt then tossed with cauliflower florets and roasted.

When I saw the recipe I knew I had to try it - though I have to admit I was a little skeptical. I'm a convert. They're chewy while warm but crisp when cool - a buttery riot of flavour.

I didn't change anything major in the recipe (by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in the Guardian) and as it's online I decided to not write it out - you can find it at the bottom of this article.

Make sure you cream the butter very well - I did mine for quite a while in the stand mixer. I then cut the flour in by hand to make sure it didn't toughen. I rolled mine into a sausage, chilled it, sliced it and pressed it onto a sheet (leaving the rim you can see) - another time I'll make it longer and thinner as these were a bit big. I think another time I'll also reduce the cumin to 2 teaspoons and put it all in the mix itself, though the seeds do look pretty on top. I only baked half the dough - I've frozen the other half in slices.

Crêpes Suzette

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 15:45:00 +0000

Do you like to play with fire? If so, this is the recipe for you.

Do you like soft and wispy crêpes? Buttery caramel sauces? Bright and seasonal citrus? If so, you should make this dish.

It's pancake day or Strove Tuesday this week. As I've already written about my favourite brown butter crêpe recipe and made a Dusky Caramel and Raspberry Crêpe Cake, I thought I would try something new.

Crêpes Suzette is a traditional French dish. Depending on who you believe, it was either developed in 1896 for the Prince of Wales and his female companion 'Suzette' by the chef Charpentier at Monte Carlo or - more likely - discovered at Restaurant Paillard in Paris in 1889 and named after an actress.

They're also made by Mrs Patmore in Downton Abbey, which adds a little glamour and yet another excuse to try them.

I served these with homemade cinnamon ice cream. I use David Lebovitz's fantastic recipe - you shatter a load of whole cinnamon quills into the base and steep it all overnight. The flavour is incredible. It works really well with a lot of wintery desserts so I try to keep a tub in the freezer.

I haven't written the recipe out as this is already a long one and I've probably written about too many Perfect Scoop recipes as it is. I really recommend you buy the book, I love it and use it all the time. (But, ahem, you can find the cinnamon recipe online in both US and metric here).

I know the recipe seems very long. It's not actually that complicated but I wanted to make sure everything was clear and you could work quickly and smoothly through it. If you prepare everything in advance - I made the crêpes and measured everything else - it's really easy to do with guests and they'll love the dramatic flames.

I've tried this using bought orange juice with a squeeze of lemon instead of fresh juice and it was nearly as good (I still served it with a slice of orange). The first batch of crêpes were half wholemeal but I preferred them with just plain for this. I've also tried it with both navel and blood oranges - both were delicious. I've made two batches of crêpes and four sets of the dish in the last three days - it's that good.

I don't think it's traditional to serve this with slices of orange or with ice cream but I think they finish the dish beautifully. The fresh orange brightens the taste and adds texture. The ice cream gives a creamy temperature contrast and the cinnamon melds beautifully with the caramel and citrus.

Crêpes Suzette
(Crêpes adapted from Delia's Complete Cookery Course, sauce adapted from Matthew Fort and Raymond Blanc here)

For the crêpes:
15g butter
55g plain flour
1 egg
100ml milk
25ml water
extra butter for frying

For the sauce & to serve:
2 big oranges
1/4 lemon
60g caster sugar
50g butter
good splash of Cointreau or Grand Marnier
2 scoops of cinnamon ice cream (optional)

Melt the butter in a big, heavy-bottomed frying pan. Keep heating until the butter foams up and dies down and is full of rusty flecks. Pour into a bowl to cool.

Weigh the flour into a mixing bowl and whisk it to get rid of any lumps. Make a well in the centre and break the egg into it. Start whisking the egg into the flour, slowly incorporating more from around the edges. Once you have a thick paste (about half the flour will still be there), start adding the milk. Keep whisking and incorporating splashes of milk and more of the flour until you have a smooth batter. Whisk in the cooled butter. Add most of the water, reserving a little to adjust if needed.

Heat the frying pan up again and add a little bit of butter. Either transfer the crêpe mix to a jug or find a ladle. Once the pan is smoking hot turn the heat down a bit. Pour some of the mix into the pan at an angle and swirl quickly. Flip when starting to brown at the edges. Once browned on the bottom too, remove to a plate lined with a piece of kitchen paper. Repeat until you've got four crêpes you're happy with (you should have batter for about 6). You can now keep them covered in cling film in the kitchen paper (I dampen the top piece) for a few hours or proceed immediately.

Slice one of the oranges so that you have two slices from the middle to serve fresh, and two ends to juice. Carefully pull the peel off the two slices and set aside. Juice the rest of the orange, the other orange and the lemon into a measuring jug. You should have about 150ml of liquid.

Clean the pan that you made the crêpes in. Have everything ready - a whisk, some tongs or a fork to maneuver the crêpes, the butter, the juice, the crêpes, the alcohol, a small frying pan to heat it, matches, the garnishes, plates.

Scatter the sugar evenly over the surface of the pan. Heat over medium-high heat, shaking the pan slightly every now and then to maintain an even layer. Once the sugar has melted and begins to caramelise, scrape the sides down and swirl lightly so that the sugar colours evenly. Once it has reached a deep golden colour, take off the heat, add the butter all at once and whisk until smooth and frothy. Add the juice in two goes, whisking well between each - it may clump up a bit but will melt down in a minute. You'll have quite a bit of liquid.

Return to the heat. Add the first crêpe to the pan, then carefully turn it over with the tongs/fork, making sure it's totally soaked. Fold in half, then into quarters and move to the side of the pan. Repeat with the next three crêpes until the pan is full of the four quarters. Let the crêpes soak and the sauce reduce a little over the heat for about 1 minute, until you have a deep golden syrupy sauce. Transfer the crepes to the plates with some extra sauce. Add the orange slice and ice cream.

Turn off most of the lights in your kitchen. Quickly add a splash of alcohol to the small frying pan and heat until vapours start rising. Light a match and touch it just inside the pan. Blue flames will erupt - watch for the flickers of gold. Pour over the two plates while still flaming and serve immediately.

(Serves 2)

Salted Caramel Brownies

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 18:45:00 +0000

Velvety and rich. Utterly decadent. Seductive.

I'm not sure you can even call these brownies - they're so soft and smooth they're almost truffles.

A few weeks ago I found myself in Paul A. Young's Soho shop. As well as buying a box of his chocolates to sample (they were excellent), I bought a brownie. A salted caramel, cocoa nib and white chocolate brownie.

It was so rich, so precious, that I ate it over two days. A slither with tea. A corner for pudding.

The craving set in the moment I ate the last chunk. I had to make some myself.

My quest was made considerably easier by the fact that I'd been given Paul A. Young's book for my 21st birthday. The book has a recipe for bing cherry and coconut brownies. A bit of tweaking and salted caramel and cocoa nib perfection was mine.

I didn't fancy adding in the white chocolate but if you do, I'd go for about 50g of chunks strewn across the top before you swirl. I made double the caramel recipe below to have some spare for another night (and to counteract the inevitable spoons that somehow find their way into my mouth).

I know cocoa nibs aren't always easy to find (I came across some in Whole Foods) but if you can they work brilliantly here - a slightly bitter crunch against all that silky sweet chocolate and caramel.

My friend Becky came over for bread and brownies last night. When we bit into the first pieces our chatter stopped and silence fell. For a few minutes we sat quietly on the sofa, caught by the flavours, exploring the texture. You know food is good when conversation stops and you lose track of your words.

Salted Caramel Brownies
(adapted from Paul A Young's Adventures with Chocolate)

For the caramel:
75g white caster sugar
50ml double cream
10g unsalted butter
1/8 tsp fleur de sel/good sea salt

For the brownie:
100g unsalted butter
150g caster sugar
100g light brown sugar
75g golden syrup
275g quality 70% dark chocolate
4 eggs
70g plain flour
small handful of cocoa nibs

Tip the sugar into a big heavy-bottomed pan in an even layer. Place over medium-high heat. Wait until the edges start to liquify then start to move the sugar around onto the wet spots to try and get it to melt evenly. Don't worry if it starts to clump a little, it will melt down later. Keep everything gently moving until you have a liquid. Keep cooking until it reaches a deep bronze, the colour of a penny. Take off the heat and whisk in about 1/3 of the cream. Keep pouring and whisking until all the cream is incorporated. Add the butter in chunks and the salt and stir until smooth. Pour into a bowl to cool - at the moment it will pour easily off the spoon in thin ribbons.

Preheat the oven to 160C/325F. Line a 20x20cm tin (at least 2.5cm tall) with paper. Get another big saucepan and add the butter, caster sugar, brown sugar and syrup. Heat until everything is melted together then beat until smooth. Take off the heat then add all the chocolate. Stir until melted and uniform. Lightly whisk the eggs in a small bowl then incorporate them into the mix. Finally add the flour and beat throughly until very smooth. Pour into the prepared tin.

By now your caramel should be gloriously thick, as in the picture above. Spoon fairly evenly over the mix then use a knife to lightly swirl it through. Scatter the cocoa nibs over the top.

Bake for 20 minutes then take out and leave to cool. Once cool, put into the fridge overnight or the freezer until frozen solid. Slice up with a sharp knife dipped into hot water and cleaned between each cut. Serve cold, warm or at room temperature - up to you!

(Makes about 16-20 small but rich squares)

NOTE 19/02 - I've found these freeze really well and come out perfect & ready to eat if you like them cold - they've generally firmed over time. I think the flavours have intermingled and improved too.

Grapefruit Olive Oil Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 20:15:00 +0000

As I was dusting off my bundt tin this morning, I realised that the last time I'd used it was to make the Ginger Root Bundt Cake. In that post, I wrote about taking my friend Helen for a bon voyage lunch at Dinner. I gave her a slice of the cake on that blustery November day.

Chance has it that today we had our welcome home lunch, as she flew in yesterday from Hong Kong. So I wrapped a slice of this up for her and took it with me - a full circle of cake, literally and metaphorically.

Once again we had a delicious lunch. We followed the foodie hordes to the tiny Pitt Cue Co in Soho, which opened a few weeks ago after running a very successful food truck last summer. They say it's the best American style BBQ in London. I had some incredibly tender pork ribs (the St Louis ribs) with some creamy mash, a little slaw, some pickles and a hunk of charred sourdough. I was covered in sauce and made an absolute mess.

Despite being stuffed we shared the bourbon and salted caramel sticky toffee pudding & ice cream. It was seriously good, probably the best I've ever had. Their dessert menu doesn't seem to be fixed, but if you go and they mention it - pounce.

This bundt was born out of my desire to try baking with grapefruit, mainly inspired by Kaitlin. I've commented on several of her posts like this or this saying I really should try it out. So here I am.

Before this my main use for grapefruit was eating it for breakfast. Usually I jazz it up by sprinkling caster sugar over the top and blasting it with the blow torch to create a crackly caramel topping. I made this cake early this morning (as I had to make and photograph it before the aforementioned lunch) so I had the other grapefruit (as you can see in the 2nd photo) and remaining yogurt for breakfast, which felt quite neat.

This recipe popped up in my reader a few days ago. It's from a beautiful blog, The Yellow House. I particularly liked that you start by rubbing the zest into the brown sugar to release the oils (as in the photo above). In the end, it's a very light and fluffy cake. It's not very sweet but, as Sarah said, quite "zingy and earthy". The fruity olive oil comes through clearly, as does the characteristic grapefruit. I can smell the wholemeal flour (is that weird? Do other people smell it even if they can't taste it?).

I think it would be perfect as part of a weekend brunch spread - or for second breakfast, elevensies or afternoon tea (yes, I do eat like a hobbit).

Grapefruit Olive Oil Cake
(adapted from the The Yellow House, who adapted from Melissa Clark)

2 grapefruit
180g light brown sugar
50-100ml plain yogurt
3 eggs
180ml extra virgin olive oil
115g plain flour
85g wholemeal flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/4 tsp salt
2 tbsp icing sugar

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Carefully butter the bundt mould (especially the bottom), dust with flour then tap to remove the excess. Zest both grapefruit into a big bowl. Add the sugar and rub the two together as if you're making pastry (this releases the oils from the zest) and make sure there are no lumps. Sift the flours, baking power, bicarbonate and salt together into another bowl.

Juice one grapefruit into a measuring cup - hopefully this will be between 65-100ml (if not add some from the other fruit). Top up with the yogurt to 165ml. Add to the zest/sugar mix and whisk until combined. Pour in the olive oil, whisk, then add the eggs and whisk again until silky smooth. Tip the flour into the bowl and fold in with the whisk until everything is combined - don't overwork. Pour into the tin and put into the oven. Bake until golden brown and a skewer/toothpick comes out clean from the middle - mine took 35 minutes, but it could be up to about 50.

Leave to cool on a rack for 10 minutes or so then turn out - I put a plate or rack on top then flip over. You might need to give it a tap. Stir the icing sugar with a bit of leftover grapefruit juice until it's thick and smooth. Drizzle over the top of the cooled cake.

(Serves about 6-8)

Bread & Butter Pudding

noreply@blogger.com (Poires au Chocolat) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 19:50:00 +0000

When I first started getting interested in photography, about five years ago, my grandfather handed me his camera. It's a Nikkormat (Nikon) FT from somewhere between 1965-7.

I thought it looked incredibly cool but didn't really know what to do with it. I had no concept of exposure at that point, having only ever used a digital point-and-shoot. I took a film but when I had it developed the envelope contained a discouraging sheet of blanks.

It moved from house to house, shelf to shelf, collecting dust. In one move, it was accidentally dropped and the rewind mechanism sheared off.

I finally got around to taking it to the specialists a few weeks ago for a full service and several repairs. When I finally got it back home again, I managed to complete the alien process of loading film after studying the manual. I took my first 24 exposures in 24 hours, rushing it to the developers as soon as possible.

Thankfully all 24 came out. I made mistakes and they're not perfect - but I was thrilled. The feeling of opening that envelope was priceless.

I can't wait to experiment with photographing food (and friends and places and...) on film. The photos below are a sample of my first film - a shot of the park in the afternoon light and one of my orchid (I thought I'd killed it by leaving it over Christmas but the one of the two remaining buds suddenly burst open that day).

Aside from the fascinating process - being forced to work without electronic gizmos and screens, the proper shutter noise, the agonizing wait to see how they've turned out - I love the character of film. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, but there's something special.

We made brioche in class this week. I intentionally left some to go stale just so I could make this pudding. The bread needs to be stale so that it doesn't disintegrate into a soggy mess when soaked.

I've left this recipe open to adaption. I made it with my marmalade as that's what I had to hand - I didn't add any extra peel/dried fruit. I brûléed a few of the peaks with some cinnamon-infused caster sugar after I'd taken it out of the oven for some crunch and flavour. The dusting of icing sugar was for purely aesthetic purposes.

I also really like the classic version with nutmeg, currants or sultanas and maybe a bit of quality mixed peel. Chocolate chips could sex it up. Try out different combinations and see what you like.

This is a proper pudding. Winter days were made for proper puddings.

Bread & Butter Pudding
(adapted from Delia's Complete Cookery Course)

Base:
4-8* slices of stale white bread (such as brioche)
unsalted butter, to spread
175ml milk
25ml cream
20g sugar
little lemon zest
2 eggs

Additions:
currants/sultanas/fruits/chopped chocolate etc - handful/approx 30g
sprinkle of spices - nutmeg, cinnamon etc
marmalade/jam/maybe lemon curd - few tbsps
icing or caster sugar to dust/caramelize

Start by buttering one or both sides of the bread, depending on how decadent you're feeling. If you're using jam or marmalade, sandwich the slices with a slick of the preserve. Cut in half into triangles. Stick into a dish (mine was about , standing up or propped up against each other.

In a jug mix the milk, cream, sugar and zest together. In another bowl break up the eggs. Whisk the two liquids together. Pour all over the bread. It seems like there's too much liquid but don't worry. Leave to sit for 15-20 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Sprinkle with any currants/etc. I also dusted the bread poking out with a little cinnamon sugar. Pop into the oven and bake for 30-40 minutes - the custard should be golden brown and set and the bread should be crispy on top. You can caramelize some caster sugar on the bread with a blow torch or dust with icing sugar - or both!

I find this is best eaten warm.

* Depends on size - mine were very small so I used 8, normal loaves you'll need 4-6.

(Serves 2-4)