All that said, I have a Rice Krispie treat recipe for you today. It basically flies in the face of everything I just wrote, but sometimes life is like that. So let’s just agree that it’s important to recognize that some things are occasional treats. Like processed cereal (although really, Rice Krispies aren’t so terrible in the scheme of things – at least they don’t have a ton of added sugar) and marshmallows (which I really do love, and if I had a stand mixer I would totally make them myself, thus making them ok).

The impetus for making these treats in the first place was the fact that I found a box of plain Rice Krispies in France. Usually, all you can find are the chocolate kind (which incidentally, were fantastic in this recipe that I made for a Super Bowl party a couple years ago). I can now get plain marshmallows at the shop just downstairs from my apartment, so a recipe that once may have been a project involving several days of shopping for ingredients kind of fell in my lap. That very same week, I read this blog post about rosewater Rice Krispie treats. It was fate, you see. I loved the idea, and was halfway through making them, but when I reached for the rosewater I saw the bottle of orange flower water and got an idea of my own. What if I put in some pistachios? Oh, and pine nuts would go nicely, too!

And that is how these Tunisian pastry-inspired marshmallow treats came to be. I’ve made them twice already.

Crispy Marshmallow Treats with Mediterranean Flavors

A combination of the very familiar with the mildly exotic makes for a surprisingly addictive sweet snack. To the chew and the crispiness of the classic, I’ve added the crunch of pine nuts and pistachios and the haunting perfume of orange flower water. Sometimes called orange blossom water, you can find it in Indian and Middle Eastern shops as well as some grocery stores. Once, running low on butter, I substituted in some olive oil, whose flavor marries perfectly with the other ingredients. I encourage you to do the same.

¼ c. / 40 g pistachios
¼ c. / 35 g pine nuts
4 Tbsp. / 60 g butter or olive oil or combination thereof
¼ tsp. fleur de sel or other coarse sea salt
1 tsp. orange flower water
2 c. / 150 g mini marshmallows
2½ c. / 85 g crispy rice cereal (you know the one)

1. Preheat the oven to 350F / 180C. Grease an 8” or 9” (20-23cm) square pan with butter or olive oil. The size of the dish isn’t hugely important – if it’s smaller, the treats will be thicker – it’s really up to you and the contents of your kitchen.
2. Place the pistachios and pine nuts on a baking sheet in a single layer, and bake 8-10 minutes until they smell toasty and are starting to brown. Remove and let cool.
3. Meanwhile, in a saucepan large enough to hold all the ingredients, melt the butter (or butter and olive oil) over medium-low heat. Add the salt, orange flower water, and marshmallows. Cook, stirring often, until the marshmallows are completely melted and the mixture is smooth.
4. Remove from the heat and gently stir in the pistachios, pine nuts, and rice cereal. Press this mixture evenly into the prepared pan. Your hands are the best tool for this job, and it helps tremendously if you get them wet first.
5. Allow the treats to cool, cut into squares, and dig in! In theory, these keep up to three days at room temperature, wrapped in plastic. I defy you to make them last that long.

Makes 12-16 treats.

On this day in 2011: Interlude: St. Malo - Butter and cheese and other stuff in Brittany.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

Upon entering Ajaccio’s Boulangerie Galéani (for no discernible reason the only bakery there mentioned in any of the guide books I read) on the first morning of my weekend there in late May, I was met with the sight of these tempting allumettes aux amandes. Sure, we picked up some of the supposedly great canistrelli (like a smallish scone or thick shortbread cookie, but barely sweet and extremely dry), and some awesome cheese tarts made with the local brocciu (fresh sheep’s cheese, similar in texture to ricotta), but the allumette was the star of the show.

Imagine a thick twist of  puff pastry, probably made with salted butter, dunked in sweet meringue and sprinkled with salted almonds, then baked until crisp and caramelized. Alternately flaky, tender, crunchy, sweet and salty, it was truly one of the most surprising things I’ve eaten in quite a while. We visited other bakeries during our stay, and sampled many delicious things – mostly on the savory end of the spectrum, now that I think about it: turnovers filled with cheese, onions, and Swiss chard, sausages wrapped in croissant dough – but never saw another allumette aux amandes. So my recommendation, if you’re ever in Ajaccio, is to visit the Boulangerie Galéani, skip the canistrelli (which were pretty unimpressive) and the bread (I didn’t see a single good baguette the whole time I was there), and load up on these sweet-and-salty delights.

Of course, the setting in which we ate this pastry could have something to do with it. After hiking up and around a gorgeous peninsula…

…we sat down to a picnic lunch high on a cliff overlooking the Iles Sanguinaires…

…which probably made everything taste better.

On this day in 2008: Nick’s Provençal Eggplant - a delicious ragoût, which I’m excited to make once eggplant comes back into season…hopefully only a few more weeks now.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

To start, I’m supposed to share 11 things about myself. I thought it would be interesting to think of eleven ways my life has changed since moving to Paris, so here we go:

1. I was never particularly passionate about driving (though I did love my car, which you’ll read more about later), but now I’ve become a devotee of public transportation. I’ve got the Métro map memorized – well, most of it – and would usually rather take a Noctilien or a Vélib than a taxi after hours.

2. I can’t really imagine life without a CSA. I love Paris’ markets, but even there it can be challenging to find locally and sustainably grown produce. Now, I get fresh, organic vegetables and eggs delivered to a nearby shop almost every week, year-round. I know where the food comes from, and I get a little direction in my weekly menu planning. Win-win!

3. My instinct now is to “bise” (the two air-kisses used as greeting in France) people instead of hugging them. At first, bises feel more intimate, because that is the way you greet just about anyone, including people you’re meeting for the first time. When an American friend comes to town, and instinctively reaches for a hug, it feels weird at first, and then it feels wonderful. It makes me realize just how separate the bises keep you from people after a while.

4. Going out to dinner almost always means at least three courses. Where before, in the States, a three-course meal in a nice restaurant was reserved for special occasions, here in Paris it is the norm. (A special occasion merits five courses or more.)

5. In the first 30 years of my life, I took five transatlantic flights – two moving to and from France, two for our honeymoon, and one to move here again. In the last five years, I have taken eight – that’s four trips back to the USA – with another two coming up this summer. Where is all this extra travel money coming from? And what about the extra time?

6. To answer that first question, I have basically stopped buying clothes.  My shopping habits changed dramatically when we moved to Paris. I used to be something of a shopaholic, and I pretty much quit cold turkey. This was partly because I had no job and no income for the first six months, but more because there is very little mid-range shopping in Paris. Either you drop 600 euros on a designer coat, or you get a 20 euro one that will fall apart after a season. Neither option really appeals to me, so I mostly abstain.

7. As for that second question, five weeks of paid vacation a year. This just feels so civilized, so right. I fear that it may be making me soft, though, and that when we eventually return to the States, I’m going to have a hard time adjusting to working year-round with so little (if any) vacation. In my last job there, for example, I took two and a half weeks off (unpaid) in three and a half years of working. And that only because I got married.

8. Most of the TV I watch these days is over the internet. I realize this is probably true for a lot of people, and has less to do with the fact that I live in France and more to do with rapidly changing technology. But I will say that I miss having shows that I watched every week – the anticipation of a new episode, the discussion of plotlines and characters at work the next day… it’s just not the same when you can watch anything at will.

9. Having fewer than four types of cheese in the fridge constitutes being out of cheese.

10. The dryer is never used for clothes, only sheets and towels. All clothes hang dry. Having a dryer at all is kind of ridiculously luxurious.

11. In five short years, I have come to fully understand French bureaucracy, international tax laws, and parisian weather. Just kidding.

Next, the answers to the 11 questions I was given:

1. What is your go-to, most comforting meal?

I’d like to say foie gras, except that isn’t really a meal. I really enjoy making and eating homemade pizza, but it’s possible that I make this spicy vegetable dal more than anything else, and it always makes me happy.

2. Top 5 destinations you hope to travel to some day?

Rome is pretty high on the list right now, thanks to Woody Allen (romance!), Anthony Bourdain (food!), and a vibrant craft beer scene. I suppose they have some art there too. I’d also like to visit Japan, Machu Picchu/Peru, and Tunisia – Carthage in particular. It goes without saying that I would eat the hell out of the local specialties in any of these places. And I’m pretty excited about my upcoming trip to Corsica.

 3. Top 5 places you have already visited?

This is hard! In no particular order, and without thinking too much, and not counting France because I live here, my gut says: Barcelona, Jamaica, Lisbon, Germany (both Munich and Köln), and Bulgaria.

4. What song takes you back to your senior year in high school like it was yesterday?

I’m kind of drawing a blank here. But I’m pretty sure I listened to a lot of Weezer’s blue album that year. And a lot of The Beatles.

5. What was your first car?

A gray 1987 Volvo 240 DL. In fact, the only car I’ve ever owned. It had 211,179 miles on it when the odometer stopped working. I drove it for 5 more years after that, but I had to give it up when we moved to France.

6. Coffee or tea?

Tea, please.

7. What is your favorite thing to cook?

I never know how to answer this question. Yes, I do. Ice cream.

8. Favorite thing about blogging?

Having a place to practice writing on my own terms. And making/keeping in touch with friends all over the world!

9. Three pieces of advice you would give younger you?

12 years ago: Learn more about computers and the internet. Start a blog now. 5 years ago: Buy an apartment in Paris. 2 years ago: Your training and expertise in baking and pastry are worth more than you think. Don’t give professional advice for free, and protect your intellectual property.

10. What would be your perfect date?

Dates, at least in my limited and long-ago experience, seem to be awkward by definition. Dinner and snuggling on the couch with my husband and the cat? Perfection.

11. Could you recommend 2 books that moved you (any genre)?

The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut; La Nausée by Jean-Paul Sartre (at the risk of sounding snooty, it’s not nearly as good in English)

Now, I get to tag five blogfriends:

Hails of Coffee Helps

The Hungry Dog

Hopie of Hopie’s Kitchen

Ramya of The Mistress of Spices

Hannah of Wayfaring Chocolate

And the 11 questions I want you to answer:

1. What was the last concert you went to?

2. What was the best concert you’ve ever been to?

3. Name your top three favorite spices and what you like to do with them.

4. Wine or beer?

5. Do you have a pet? What is the most surprising thing he or she has ever done?

6. Where have you traveled that you most want to visit again?

7. What movie can you recite by heart?

8. Are you a morning person or a night owl?

9. What was the last book you read?

10. Where do you like to sing?

11. When do you feel most content?

Thanks, Melissa, for a fun distraction on a rainy day. And if you, reading this, feel compelled to answer any of these questions, I’d love to see your responses in the comments!

On this day in 2009: Why English Food Doesn’t Suck, part 3: Fergus Henderson

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

Fast forward many years, and I’ve developed a certain taste for assertively hopped beers. I tend now to reserve stouts, porters, and the like for dessert. Which is how I ended up tasting the Porter Gourmande from My Beer Company last Friday night at Supercoin. The dark, lightly effervescent beer poured dark with a rich tan head*, making me nostalgic for that long-ago first Guinness. (Not the boyfriend, though, since he was with me. Yep, I married that guy.) This beer had a strong coffee nose, and fruity, almost grassy chocolate malt flavors rounded out with a hint of vanilla from real beans added during the ferment. It was actually an excellent dessert on its own, but I thought it would be fun to work it into a chocolate dessert for Beer Month. Since I’m focusing on chocolate mousse this month in the Paris Pastry Crawl, why not make a beer chocolate mousse?

I couldn’t decide whether the beer would be better served by a dark chocolate or a milk chocolate, and since I happen to have lots of both in my kitchen (yes, that is a 3 kilo bag of Valrhona. What?), I figured I’d try it both ways.

The dark mousse is deeply chocolate-y, the beer and the chocolate enhancing each other’s bitter, roasted notes, with just a touch of malty tang hinting at the beer’s presence.

The milk mousse, on the other hand, really lets the porter’s flavor through, supporting it with a sweet, creamy background. I realized after the mousses had set up that it would have been awesome to layer them together. Beer mousse parfait, anyone?

I’m also now considering the possibilities for other beer-chocolate mousses. What about white chocolate with a tangy, fruity lambic? Or a spicy, citrusy hefeweizen? Or dark chocolate and smoky rauchbier? And you know I’m trying my best to think of a way to work in a hop-bomb IPA.

The rest of the Beer Month Bloggers have been busy, too:

• Sophia of NY Foodgasm made Bluepoint Blueberry Muffins
• Lauren of Hall Nesting made Beer Cheese Soup
• Jenni of Pastry Chef Online made Double Chocolate Stout Cake with Vanilla Porter Toffee
• Jessica of Jessiker Bakes made Root Beer Float Cupcakes
• Alex of Alex Tries it Out made Torpedo IPA Mini Cupcakes

And here’s my recipe, which is one of the easiest chocolate mousse recipes I’ve ever made. And I’ve made a LOT of chocolate mousse in my career.

Porter Chocolate Mousse

I adapted this recipe from an eggless chocolate mousse I found in Frédéric Bau’s Encyclopédie du Chocolat. The fatty richness of egg yolks tends to interfere a bit with flavor, so I thought it would be a great base for a beery mousse. With only three main ingredients, it’s important to use the best ones you can – the flavors of good chocolate and craft beer really shine through. Since the techniques are the same, I’ve included both milk and dark chocolate variations, which showcase different aspects of the porter. I think they’d be really nice layered together for a simple composed dessert.

Leaf gelatin is less common in American kitchens, I think, but it’s worth seeking out. I prefer it to powdered gelatin in part because it’s what I’m used to working with, and in part because it’s really easy and convenient. Unlike powdered gelatin, you don’t have to measure the water you soak it in, you simply squeeze it out and get on with the recipe.

5½ oz. / 160 g dark chocolate (around 65%)
1 sheet / 2 g leaf gelatin
½ cup / 125 ml porter beer (vanilla or chocolate ones highly recommended)
1 cup / 250 ml heavy cream

1. Whip the cream to very soft peaks and set aside. Doing this first allows the cream to start warming up a bit, and it will be much easier to incorporate smoothly into the mousse if it’s not ice cold.
2. Melt the chocolate in a bain marie (a heatproof bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water). Place the gelatin in very cold water to soften. Bring the porter to a boil, wring out the gelatin and stir it into the porter until dissolved.
3. Remove the chocolate from the heat and pour a third of the hot porter over the chocolate. Stir until smooth. (As in all ganache-making, a heatproof rubber spatula will give you the smoothest result, but sometimes a whisk is easier. Try first with the spatula, and if it isn’t cooperating, switch to the whisk.) Repeat two more times with the remaining porter.
4. Check the temperature of the chocolate-porter ganache. It should be around 115F / 45C, which means it is warm, but not hot, to the touch. When it’s ready, stir in a third of the whipped cream. Gently fold in the remaining cream in two additions. Again, a rubber spatula is the best tool here, but if you need to, it’s ok to use a whisk for this folding step too. The mousse at this point should be very soft and fluid in texture. Don’t worry, it will set up.
5. Spoon or pour the mousse into serving dishes or containers. Dessert coupes are pretty, glass jars are cute and practical. Chill until set, about 2-4 hours depending on the size of your vessel and the temperature of your fridge. Take the mousse out of the fridge 20-30 minutes before serving, to take the chill off and to let the flavors open up a bit.

Variation: For milk chocolate-porter mousse, substitute 6 oz. / 170 g milk chocolate (around 40%) for the dark chocolate and use 2 sheets / 4 g of leaf gelatin.

Serves 4-6.

*Interestingly enough, the French word for “head” in the beer-pouring sense is “mousse”.

* * * * *

In other beer-related news, I wrote an article for Paris by Mouth all about the craft beer scene in Paris which went live last week along with guide sections (which I also wrote) on where to buy and where to drink beer in the City of Light.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

I knew I couldn’t do chocolate mousse month without a visit to Patrice Chapon‘s shop on the rue du Bac, because the single-origin mousse bar is pretty much the best thing to happen to chocolate mousse since, well, ever.

Four (or more!) different single-origin chocolates, whipped up into delicious mousses and scooped out into cones for on-the-go mousse consumption or in larger pots to take home and share. I just love this idea.

On my visit there yesterday, I wanted to bring home a little pot of the Equateur (described on the sign as having notes of jasmine, dried fig, and candied citrus), but sadly it was a bit too soupy to transport without fear of leaks. If nothing else, I suppose this indicates that the mousses are handmade, and as such subject to the variance of human error. So I got the Equagha (a blend of Equateur and Ghana, methinks) and was very happy with its thick, satisfying texture and rich chocolate flavor. So if you are a chocolate lover who tends to be disappointed by chocolate desserts *cough* Hannah *cough*, I do recommend giving one of these mousses a try on your next trip to Paris.

But the fun most certainly does not stop there.

The shop itself is beautiful and whimsical, the walls covered in old-fashioned metal chocolate molds accented by a colorful scarf bearing Chapon’s logo.

A display case filled with chocolate confections fills one half of the room. I have yet to try them, because I always get distracted by the mousse bar and the wall of chocolate bars.

I love the brightly colored wrappers depicting the exotic locales where the chocolate was harvested, and the map above which shows where in the world the chocolates come from and gives a few tasting notes as well. I still find it novel to see chocolate from Cuba (it’s amazing how the US embargo on Cuba that has been in effect my entire life has basically blinded me to the idea that this Caribbean nation actually produces anything besides cigars when in fact they produce all kinds of things that make perfect geographic sense: rum, chocolate, sugar, pig roasters…) but I’d be lying if I said I preferred any of these fancy single-origin bars to the one stuffed with pistachio and smoked salt praliné.

And last, but certainly not least…

REAL macarons! I’m definitely picking up a few of these on my next visit.

On this day in 2008: Gérard Mulot

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

Curious about the flavor that a beer might impart to bread – whether the hops would be discernible, what the yeast would think of the alcohol, how gluten development would be affected, etc., yes, I’m kind of science-nerdy sometimes – I went about adapting a brioche recipe because I had a hankering for fresh hamburger buns and also because I like the way it sounds: beer brioche. It’s just as nice in French: brioche à la bière.

My first attempt was not a success. I waited and waited, but the dough simply refused to rise. I worried that I may have killed the yeast with the alcohol in the beer, but then I told myself that beer doesn’t usually reach the alcohol concentrations required to kill yeast. So it probably wasn’t that. But it was definitely something. The yeast were there, they were moving, but so slowly that even after four hours in a warm, humid space created just for their liking in my oven, my rolls had barely puffed at all. I went ahead and baked them, and ate them, but they were heavy and dense and nearly cakelike. I considered that too much butter may have been the culprit – brioche is notorious for making life difficult for yeast with all that added fat requiring heavy lifting – and made a mental note to adjust the amount.

I also switched the beer, from Leffe to Jade, self-described as France’s first organic beer. It’s decent, with a little more flavor than your average macrobrew. I thought the distinct malt character and mild flavor would be good in a brioche, and the alcohol content was lower, too. As you can see, there was some left for me, too, which is nice.

And I changed the yeast, from active dry to instant. just to see what happened. (This is the part where I’m not a good scientist, because I changed way too many variables at once.)

I made sure to get a good dough going before adding the butter – I’ve found this really helps in getting a rise out of a rich dough. You need to get the gluten development going so as to have a strong network in place when you add the butter, which just tries to get in the way of those gluten chains forming. My little hand-held mixer (I bought it recently during a buttercream fiasco) fared admirably, and gave me a nice, smooth, more-cohesive-than-adhesive dough.

Round 2 was an unqualified success.

It rose in about 3 hours, which is in line with my brioche experience, and puffed gorgeously in the oven. The crumb is fluffy yet chewy, the crust is thin and pliable, and the bread toasts marvelously. I wouldn’t say you can taste the beer as such, but there’s a whisper of malt and something almost savory about it that I don’t usually associate with brioche. In addition to the buns (which are the ideal texture for supporting a hamburger and lots of gooey toppings) I made a loaf, which is fantastic toasted and smeared with butter and jam. I bet it will make terrific French toast.

The impetus for developing this recipe was Beer Month, and this is the first of two beer recipe link-ups. Here’s what the others have posted:

• Our hostess, Sophia of NY FoodGasm, made Dos Equis Rice and Beans with Grilled Chipotle Chicken and Lime “Sour Cream”
• Lauren of Hall Nesting made Herbed Cheddar Stout Bread
• Jessica of Jessiker Bakes made Black Velvet Baby Cakes
• Minerva of Much Ado About Fooding made Miniature Guinness Cupcakes

And finally, here’s my recipe, which encouraged me to add a bread section to my recipe index:

Beer Brioche

Wanting to explore the common roots of brewing and baking, I thought using beer in place of the milk in a classic brioche recipe could yield something interesting. While I was scaling out the ingredients, it occurred to me that beer and bread share two key components: yeast and grain. I didn’t have any barley flour, which would have made the most sense, but I did sneak in a little rye and whole wheat flour, both of which are also grains used in brewing. The result? A brioche more savory than most, still fluffy-textured and rich, but with a hint of malty complexity that make it an excellent hamburger bun. Because beer and burgers go hand in hand.

350 g all-purpose flour
55 g whole grain flour (wheat, rye, barley, oat, or a combination)
8 g instant yeast (1½ tsp. or one packet)
40 g granulated sugar
10 g fine sea salt
120 ml beer (something reasonably light, 4-5% alcohol, with a nice malty character)
3 eggs
150 g butter, cool room temperature

1 egg, beaten
sesame seeds or poppy seeds (optional)

1. Combine the flours, yeast, sugar, salt, beer and 3 eggs in a large bowl and mix well. Knead to form a smooth dough, about 5 minutes with a hand-held mixer, probably less in a stand mixer. (Hand kneading is possible, but will likely be very sticky and frustrating and I don’t recommend it.) With the mixer running, add the butter in small bits and continue mixing until it is incorporated. Knead another 5-10 minutes, until the dough begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl. It will still be pretty soft and sticky, but should be cohesive.
2. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough rise about 2 hours, or until doubled, whichever comes first. Punch it down re-cover the bowl, and place in the fridge overnight – at least 6 hours, but not more than 24.
3. Turn the chilled dough out onto a floured surface. Divide into 8 equal portions and shape into balls. Space the balls out on a floured baking sheet for buns, or place in a well-greased and floured loaf pan for a loaf. Cover loosely with plastic wrap or a clean lightweight cloth (or better, make a proof box in your oven by turning on the light and pouring boiling water into a jelly roll pan placed on the bottom – in this case, covering the dough is unnecessary) and let rise in a warm place until doubled. I test this by dipping my finger in flour and gently pressing the side of a roll. If it springs back into shape, it’s not ready yet. If the impression stays, and the dough slowly comes back to the original shape, it’s ready.
4. Preheat the oven to 350 F / 180 C. (If you’ve been proofing in the oven, make sure to take the dough out while the oven is preheating.) Brush the rolls with the beaten egg (use a light hand doing this, you don’t want to deflate the dough) and sprinkle with sesame seeds or poppy seeds, if desired. Bake 16-18 minutes for rolls, 30-35 minutes for a loaf, until the crust is a deep golden brown and the internal temperature (if you want to measure it) reads between 180-200 F / 82-93 C. Cool and serve. Brioche will keep, well-wrapped, up to 2 days at room temperature, up to a month in the freezer.

Makes 8 buns, or 2 loaves, or a combination.

On this day in 2011: Moving Week, or Eating Down the Pantry (this is only the third of six Aprils in Paris where we aren’t moving!)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

I had wanted to talk about chocolate mousse for February, because of Valentine’s Day, but I think I was a little pastried out, and then that holiday came and went, and a few others, and here I am, two months later, finally ready to write about this incredibly versatile dessert.

You see, chocolate mousse is rarely seen as a stand-alone dessert in Parisian pastry shops. (It’s a different story in restaurants.) But it plays an important role in many of the elaborate tarts and cakes for which French pâtisseries are known. The one where I used to work, for example, had at least five different chocolate mousse recipes – not counting the milk and white variations – all with specific destinies as parts of various entremets. But we’ll talk about recipes another day. Today we’re playing catch up with the handful of chocolate mousse-based treats I’ve eaten over the last few months.

I wasn’t too impressed with Laurent Duchêne’s éclairs, but this chocolate-caramel tart went some way towards redeeming his work. The artful swoop of mild, smooth milk chocolate mousse concealed a filling of gooey caramel, cooked nice and dark, just like I like it. The crust was firm and crisp, but didn’t bring much chocolate flavor to the party. At 4.50, it’s one of the more expensive pastries in Duchêne’s shop, but still very reasonably priced.

I’ve tasted Sadaharu Aoki‘s pastries on a few occasions before, but this was my first visit to his shop on rue Pérignon in the 15th. I was pleased to note that there are a few tables there, the better to stop in for an afternoon pastry break. Aoki is probably best known for the way he incorporates Japanese flavors into French pastries – I loved his matcha green tea croissant – but I was looking for mousse, so I picked up a milk chocolate-caramel tart. (Another one.)

Sadly, I found this tart a little disappointing. Sure, it’s gorgeous, with that meticulously piped swirl of mousse on top, admirably thin (and beautifully formed) tart shell, and tiny flecks of vanilla bean visible in the pleasantly chewy caramel. The overall impression it left me with, though, was SWEEEEEEET. The milk chocolate mousse didn’t do much to contrast the caramel, which was definitely on the lighter (i.e. sweeter) end of the spectrum. Like a Milky Way bar in tart form, I think this would have appealed immensely to me as a child. Not so much now.

I know you’ll excuse the crappiness of this photo when I tell you that Nick bought me this cube of chocolate mousse and cake for my birthday. It was my birthday. And there was a cube of chocolate mousse and cake from Pierre Hermé in front of me. I think my impatience is understandable. The Carrément Chocolat, as it’s called, is composed of several layers of soft chocolate cake interspersed with rich ganache and creamy dark chocolate mouse, punctuated with crunchy bits throughout and a square of tempered chocolate on top. My tasting notes read as follows: yum rich

It was my birthday and I inhaled the thing. The end.

On this day in 2010: Saying Goodbye to my Kitchen (Looking back at it, I’m still not over that apartment. The light!)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

For the last couple of months I’ve been working on a project for Paris By Mouth, which has had me buying lots of beer in shops and bars (great work if you can get it!). But despite all the tasting, I was so focused on the places themselves that I never took any notes on specific beers. So last weekend Nick and I decided to go on an adventure in our own city, and rode bikes all the way across town to the Butte aux Cailles neighborhood in the 13th, a place we’d heard about but had never been. We wandered the cute, village-y streets and happened across a charming little organic shop with some beers in the window.

Naturally, we bought a bottle of each and brought them home for tasting.

Now, perhaps I should mention that Nick expressed some doubt about organic beers in general, which I dismissed as remnant of a bias we may have developed years ago, when the only non-industrial French beers we could find were usually organic, and tended to lack a certain finesse. At any rate, I figured they were worth a try.

The Brasserie Artisanale du Luberon make only organic-certified beers, which they neither filter nor pasteurize.  The beers are fermented at high temperature (15-24 C, or 60-70 F), which places them in the ale category, which includes the French bière de garde, as these are classified. The beers all undergo secondary fermentation in the bottle, which leaves quite a bit of yeast sediment in the finished beer.

We started with the blanche, which poured out hazy yellow with a foamy, fine-textured head. It smelled fresh and citrusy, and much drier than your typical blanche (or “white” beer), which tend to be on the sweeter end of the spectrum. On the palate, the citrus flavor was extremely light, with a slightly yeasty finish. It was ultimately pretty tame, and not terribly memorable.

Moving on to the blonde, I found that it had very little head to speak of over the cloudy, light straw-colored liquid. On the nose, hints of hop and sweet malt, with a nice round malt flavor once I took a sip. It finished with lightly bitter hop for balance, marred by a touch of astringency in the back of the throat. Overall, a crisp, refreshing beer, just a touch too strong (in both taste and alcohol content) to be a session beer.

The ambrée, again, showed almost no head on the pour. Cloudy (that’s non-filtration for you) and a dark gold-amber color, with a faintly yeasty smell which I identified as medicinal and Nick called farmhouse-y, this one tasted of toasty, sweet malts and had a clean finish.

Finally, the brune, an amberish golden brown beer with, still, no head. The aroma hinted at chocolate, malt, and maybe floral hops. The flavors leaned toward dark malt, a suggestion of licorice, and finished with a balanced bitterness.

In a nutshell, these beers were fine, well-made but without much distinctive character. But I probably wouldn’t seek them out again, and they sure didn’t do much for my argument in favor of organic beers.

So, we kick off beer month without much of a bang, I’m afraid. But I’ll be here all month long, blogging along with these fabulous women:

• Alex of Alex Tries It Out
• Cathi of The Brooklyn Ragazza
• Minerva of Much Ado About Fooding
• Lauren of Hall Nesting
• Jessica of Jessiker Bakes
• Sophia of NY Foodgasm
• Jennifer of Pastry Chef Online

There will be recipes featuring beer (check in on April 12th and 26th, and at the NY FoodGasm Facebook page on April 20th), brewery visits, beer reviews, beer dinners, and who knows what else!

On this day in 2009: Spring is Here! (a celebratory risotto)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

I glanced at Robuchon’s recipe for topinambour soup, and he suggested caramelizing a bit of honey with them before adding the liquid.  I thought a touch of sweetness sounded right, but I only have really strong, unique-flavored honeys at the moment, and I didn’t want to muddle the flavor too much.  A flash of inspiration hit me, surely by way of my dear friend Hannah: maple syrup!  I think it hit just the right note.

It is probably one of the healthiest things I’ve made all winter – with so much flavor from the topinambours and the shiitakes, and a velvety texture from the potatoes (yeah, I snuck some potatoes in there, too… and some leeks) it didn’t even need a drop of cream to finish it off, just a sprinkling of wonderful meaty mushrooms.

In slightly related news, I am pleased as punch to announce my participation in Ann Mah’s fun and helpful Tuesday Dinner series on her blog.  I shared one of my favorite clean-out-the-vegetable-drawer recipes, a mouthwatering spicy Indian dal.

Now here’s to warmer days and spring vegetables!

Sunchoke Soup with Miso and Shiitake

Earthy, hearty, and oh-so-healthy, this soup warms chilly nights. If you wanted to serve it with poached eggs or grilled tofu to up the protein content, well, I think that would be a lovely idea. Jerusalem artichokes are also known as sunchokes or, in France, topinambours.

2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 medium leeks, cleaned and sliced
1½ lbs. / 700 g Jerusalem artichokes, scrubbed clean and cut into chunks
3 small potatoes, scrubbed and roughly diced
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 Tbsp. miso
2 tsp. maple syrup
1½ quarts / 1½ liters water

1 Tbsp. grapeseed oil or other neutral oil
9 oz. / 250 g shiitake mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
splash of sherry
splash of soy sauce

1. Melt the butter in a large soup pot over medium heat. Add the leeks and a pinch of salt and pepper and cook until softened. Add the Jerusalem artichokes and potatoes, season again, and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables start to brown. Add the miso and maple syrup and stir to coat the vegetables evenly. Pour in the water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the Jerusalem artichokes and potatoes are soft, about 30 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the oil, then the mushrooms. Cook until the mushrooms release their water, the water evaporates, and the mushrooms begin to brown. Deglaze the pan with a splash each of sherry and soy sauce, and continue cooking until the liquid has once more evaporated. Scrape half the mushrooms into the soup pot and save the rest for garnish. For the most mushroom flavor, pour about ½ cup / 120 ml water into the skillet and scrape up all the brown fond from the bottom of the pan. Tip this into the soup pot as well.
3. When the vegetables are soft, purée the soup, either in batches in a traditional blender or directly in the pot with an immersion blender. (You know which way I go.) If it’s thicker than you want, thin it out with a little water. Taste and adjust the seasoning, and serve piping hot with a few of the reserved mushrooms spooned on top.

Serves 4-6.

On this day in 2008: Baking Extravaganza, Act III (in which I make molten chocolate cakes in a toaster oven)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

Olive oil cake is one of those things I’ve always wanted to try, and this recipe sounded pretty great.  Until I started looking at the ingredients, and making mental substitutions: “Let’s see, I don’t have blood oranges, but I do have a jar of sour cherries I should use, maybe I could substitute those. Oh, wait, you need the juice, too, and I think the syrup the cherries are in will be too sweet. It would be easy to go get some oranges, but wait, it’s Monday and the fruit stand on the corner is closed. Besides, it’s sleeting…”

So I started casting around for another olive oil cake recipe. My cookbook collection was surprisingly silent on the subject.  I found a couple more recipes online, but they wanted me to separate the eggs and whip the whites and fold them in and it all sounded like kind of a hassle. But it occurred to me at some point that the olive oil is simply playing the role of the fat in a regular cake recipe. And I started to wonder if I could make an olive oil pound cake (quatre quarts in French) with a straight up 1:1:1:1 ratio of eggs, sugar, oil, and flour.  So I preheated my oven to 180C, weighed my eggs and got to it.**

My three eggs weighed in at 200 grams, so I scaled out 200 grams each of granulated sugar, cake flour, and extra virgin olive oil (pretty good stuff, but not the very best) in separate containers, and I drained that jar of sour cherries, which gave me about 2 cups of fruit, weighing about 350 grams.  I wanted some insurance that the cake would rise, so I added a teaspoon of baking powder to the flour, along with 1/2 teaspoon of salt.  Eyeballing the ingredients on the counter, I guessed that this cake was going to fit best in my 10″ tube pan, so I oiled it and dusted it with flour.

Mise en place done, I started whipping the eggs in my second biggest bowl with my new hand mixer (I didn’t want to buy it, but now that I have it, I’m really glad I did), adding the sugar as I whipped.  I kept whipping the eggs and sugar until they lightened in color and  got thick and creamy looking.  (In some circles, we call this the “ribbon stage”, where drizzling the whipped eggs over themselves results in a thick ribbon that remains distinct for at least three seconds before melting back into the whole.) Whipping the whole time, I slowly drizzled in the olive oil and a teaspoon of vanilla extract.  I thought it looked like airy mayonnaise, which it basically was, and all of a sudden those cakes made with mayonnaise made more sense and sounded less disgusting.  Finally, I sifted the cake flour, baking powder, and salt together over the batter and folded them in with a rubber spatula until the batter was smooth.

I spread about half of this in the tube pan, sprinkled about two-thirds of the cherries over it, and topped with the remaining half of the batter and the rest of the cherries.  At this point, I thought it might be nice to put some pistachios on top for crunch and because they’re so good with cherries.  So I grabbed a handful of shelled pistachios and scattered them over the cake.  And a sprinkling of cassonade for added sparkle.  After 45 minutes in the oven, the cake was a lovely golden brown, springy to the touch, and a toothpick stuck in the center came out clean.  I let it cool a bit and dug in.

The cherries had sunk to the bottom, as I feared they might, but the cake is still marvelous.  The crumb is velvety-fine and tender, with just a hint of crunch on top from the pistachios and cassonade.  The olive oil lends a subtle, earthy fruitiness, and the sour cherries offer bright bursts of juicy flavor.  It was as great for dessert as it was for breakfast, and makes a fine snack as well.  Interestingly, the flavors seemed to solidify overnight, so the olive oil notes are more pronounced the next day.

I’m kind of in love with this cake.  Only problem is, now I’m out of olive oil and sour cherries.  I suppose a trip to the store will be in order soon…

*In Paris, this can be a serious time commitment.  It’s rarely the case that you can just pop out really quick and grab that one ingredient you’re missing, because even though the shop downstairs always has the kind of flour you’re looking for, the one time you really need it fast, they’re out. So you walk to the next store, probably a few blocks away.  They don’t even carry what you need.  And it goes on like that, until you finally find the flour, but in the meantime you’ve thought of a bunch of other things you need, and then you call home to make sure you’re not forgetting anything, load up your shopping bag and lug it home.  By then any energy you had for cooking is sapped, so you scrap the whole idea and decide to try again tomorrow.

**I weighed the eggs first because they are the least flexible of the ingredients – I can weigh out any amount of flour, sugar, or olive oil I wish, but if I arbitrarily decide I want to use, say 150 grams of each, and then my eggs weigh 60 grams each, well, it’s not going to work so well.  Weighing the eggs first means I can just scale everything else to match their weight.

On this day in 2010: Wadja (A cool little bistro.)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

Olive salad tuna melts!  I ran to the shop downstairs for supplies, picking up cans of tuna, two kinds of cheese (emmenthal and mozzarella) and Poilâne bread.  The beauty of using olive salad in your tuna is that you don’t even need to chop an onion, and you can use a lot less mayonnaise than usual.  I made these twice last week, and I expect to see them on the regular weeknight rotation for a while.  But truly, I would eat this no matter the dietary restriction, because a hot, crunchy, melty sandwich with tangy, savory bits of olive inside appeals year-round.

On this day in 2008: Fauchon, or, I May Have a Problem

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

February 2011: There was plenty of exploring, both in town and in the country, and I also started my gig at Girls’ Guide to Paris, where I wrote the recipe of the month for a little over a year.

March 2011: The trip to Budapest was great, and the opening of Candelaria changed the face of Mexican food in Paris, but most of my time was spent looking for yet another new apartment.

April 2011: We did eventually find that apartment (the one we’re in now, and so happy we didn’t have to move last year) and moved in.  I also managed to draw up a post outlining what I think makes a successful fruit salad.  I need to make that kiwi salad again – I have a lot of kiwis right now.

May 2011: I bid farewell to my old neighborhood, still a lively and bustling street that seems to be sprouting new trendy restaurants every week these days.  I also got to spend the day with Katia and Kyliemac, chatting and eating pastries for their podcast.

June 2011: I puzzled over potential career moves (and despite how it all turned out, I don’t think I made the wrong decision) and took a break in St. Malo, eating cheese and kouign amann.

July 2011: Indian cooking, a newfound obsession with vegetable and grain salads, a glorious trip to the Languedoc, and chocolate and candies from Fouquet.

August 2011: The month started with a tour of my new/current kitchen and ended with a delightful meal at Au Passage. (Incidentally, we ate at chef James Henry’s new restaurant, Bones, for my birthday, and loved it.) In between there was Chinese, Mexican, Indian, and Italian eating, and the Four Pounds of Cheese project, where I tried to reduce food waste, and mostly succeeded.

September 2011: In which I try to pretend summer isn’t over yet with a delicious watermelon-basil sorbet.

October 2011: I gave notice at work and announced my new (now former) job as executive pastry chef at Blend.  Speaking of blends, I wrote what I like to think is a helpful post about making your own spice blends.

November 2011: Won a book, made ice cream, ate cheese, started the new (now former) job, and still squeezed in a quick getaway to eat sausage and drink beer in Köln.

December 2011: Opened a restaurant.  Thought I’d share some of my hard-earned knowledge about working with yeast and natural starter.

January-April 2012: Worked pretty much every day.

May 2012: I optimistically thought I would be able to start blogging regularly again.  I made it to one post, a quick, easy recipe for jerk chicken (and some quinoa to go with it) (this was before quinoa was evil).

June-October 2012: Increasingly miserable at work, much-needed vacation, arrange to leave work.

November 2012: Catching up with the blog, defining my life via baking - muffins, wedding cakes, Twinkies.

December 2012: I put the smack down on the “macaron”, and develop some recipes for the McCormick Flavor Forecast.  My friends are still talking about these caramel sage bars.

January 2013: And I started the Paris Pastry Crawl (which I realize I haven’t touched yet for February, but there’s still time). I didn’t mean to rag on Laurent Duchêne quite so much, but I thought it was a valuable lesson, and helpful to show you, my dear readers, what can go wrong when making an éclair.

A huge thank you to all of my readers, past and present, who have kept me going for five (!!!) years.  I might babble into the ether regardless, but it’s so much more rewarding when I know people are out there, reading and commenting and sharing and just generally being interesting people who I love to interact with, whether in cyberspace or real life.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

I am admittedly out of practice piping éclairs, my muscle memory being confused between the lusty behemoths we used to make in the States and the skinnier, more uptight ones I became accustomed to making in Paris.  You can see examples of both in the above photo, insert fat American joke here.

Let it be noted that the fatter an éclair is, the greater the cream-to-pastry ratio.  Do with that what you will.

You will note that instead of a sterile little stripe of glaze, I opt to coat the whole éclair.  Glazing is obviously the most fun part. After eating, I mean.

This recipe kind of looks like a monster, but much of it is doable in advance, so don’t let that put you off.  About halfway through making these – specifically the part where I was piping the filling into the éclairs – I was cursing and swearing and thinking “now I remember why I hate making éclairs.”  But the love of eating them always overcomes the momentary frustration of having yet another blowout, because really, all that means is you have to lick your finger off and keep going. (Note: I am semi-maniacal about hygiene in the kitchen, and would NEVER do this at work.  At home I do, but still run to the sink to wash my hands before proceeding.)

Butterscotch Éclairs

What is an éclair but a template, really? Choux pastry, filling, glaze. Though I’ve never seen such a thing in a French bakery, I wanted a butterscotch-filled éclair. Glazed in honey-scented chocolate. I encourage you to make these, because they’re scrumptious, but if butterscotch isn’t your thing, just use granulated sugar in place of the dark brown sugar in the pastry cream. It occurs to me that these would be great topped with crushed salted peanuts, almonds, or hazelnuts. Just sprinkle them on top before the glaze hardens.

For the pastry cream:
17 fl. oz. / 500 ml milk
½ vanilla bean
3.5 oz. / 100 g dark brown sugar
½ tsp. fine sea salt
1.5 oz. / 45 g cornstarch
1 egg
3 egg yolks
1.75 oz. / 50 g unsalted butter
½ tsp. vanilla extract
8.5 fl. oz. / 250 ml cream
2 tsp. granulated sugar

1. Pour the milk into a medium saucepan. Split the vanilla bean and scrape the seeds into the milk. Throw in the vanilla pod and heat over medium heat until simmering.
2. Meanwhile, combine the sugar, salt, and cornstarch in a medium heatproof bowl. Whisk to get rid of any lumps. Whisk in the eggs and yolks.
3. When the milk simmers, temper in the eggs and sugar by pouring a little of the hot milk into the bowl. Whisk to combine, then pour this mixture back into the saucepan. Continue cooking – you may want to lower the heat a bit – whisking constantly, until the pastry cream boils for 3-5 minutes, or about the length of a song on the radio. This is to ensure that the raw flavor is entirely cooked out of the cornstarch.
4. Scrape the hot pastry cream into a clean bowl and beat in the butter and vanilla extract. (You can also do this on a stand mixer with the paddle attachment if your arm is tired.) Stir until it has cooled a bit, press plastic wrap to the surface to cover, and refrigerate until fully chilled. This can be done up to three days ahead of time.
5. When the pastry cream is cold, beat it again to smooth it out. Whip the cream to soft peaks with the sugar and another dash of vanilla if you see fit and fold into the pastry cream. This is your crème diplomate, which you will use to fill the éclairs.

For the choux pastry:
4.25 fl. oz. / 125 ml milk
4.25 fl. oz. / 125 ml water
3.75 oz. / 110 g unsalted butter
5 oz. / 140 g pastry flour (or half cake flour, half all-purpose flour)
1½ tsp. granulated sugar
1 tsp. fine sea salt
5 large eggs

1. Preheat the oven to 375F / 190C.
2. Heat the milk, water, and butter in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. When it boils, add the flour, sugar, and salt all at once and stir with a wooden spoon, still on the heat, until the dough forms a ball and leaves a film on the bottom and sides of the pan. Set aside to cool briefly.
3. When the dough is no longer hot enough to cook the eggs, begin adding them in one at a time, beating well between each addition. When all are incorporated the dough should be a smooth, pipable consistency. (See this post for step-by-step pictures.)
4. Using a piping bag fitted with a large round tip, pipe out log shapes onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. You can simply pipe them straight, or for more volume, make an S-shape on top of itself, starting and ending in the middle of the éclair.
5. Bake until the pastries are puffed, golden brown, and the beads of moisture have evaporated from the sides.
6. Once cool, the éclair shells can keep for up to 2 days in a plastic bag or airtight container. Alternatively, baked pâte à choux freezes brilliantly, so you can keep these in the freezer for up to two months if they’re well wrapped.

For the ganache glaze:
5 oz. / 140 g dark chocolate, 65-70%, chopped
1.75 oz. / 50 g unsalted butter
8.5 fl. oz. / 250 ml cream
2.5 oz. / 70 g honey
pinch sea salt

1. Place the chocolate and butter in a heatproof bowl.
2. Bring the cream, honey, and salt to a boil.
3. Pour half the cream into the chocolate and stir until as smooth as possible. Add the rest of the hot cream and stir until all the chocolate is melted and the ganache is smooth.

To assemble the éclairs:

1. If you haven’t already, prepare the crème diplomate. Poke holes in the choux pastry, either one on each end or three evenly spaced on the bottom. Use a skewer or something similar to hollow out the éclair.
2. Using a piping bag with a small round tip, fill the éclairs. When you feel them start to bulge in your hand, or see filling coming out the other holes, you know they’re full. It’s really not as hilarious as it sounds.
3. Place the filled éclairs on a wire rack over a clean rimmed baking sheet. Ladle the warm ganache over the éclairs to coat them. Allow the ganache to set for a minute before removing the éclairs to a plate or tray. You can scrape up the ganache and use it to glaze more éclairs as long as it’s still fluid. Alternatively, you could dip the tops of the éclairs into the ganache to just coat the top. It’s less messy, but not as decadent and fun.
4. Chill the éclairs until the ganache is set. They’re best within the first few hours of being made, but will keep up to two days in the fridge. After the first day the ganache will start to crack, but they’re still safe (and tasty) to eat.

Makes about 15 medium-sized éclairs.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

I went to the library to do my pastry research, but it turns out that the best information I found was right on my own bookshelf, in Dorie Greenspan’s lovely Around My French Table.  She explains that they were invented and named by Carême.  One of the first celebrity chefs, Carême gained fame in the late 18th and early 19th centuries because of his elaborate pastry creations called pièces montées.  The tradition lives on today, mainly in the form of the croquembouche, still popular for French weddings and other celebrations.  So it’s safe to say the guy liked his pâte à choux.  Dorie writes that Carême was the fist to pipe it into “long, fingerlike shapes.”

Once the pastry was baked, he sliced the strips in half, filled them with pastry cream, and glazed their tops, creating an enduring classic, which he christened éclairs (éclair means lightning).  No one’s certain why he called the slender pastries lightning…I hold with the camp convinced that the name described the way and éclair is eaten – lightning fast.

Dorie Greenspan, Around My French Table

Like most French words, éclair can be translated more than one way.  I’ve always thought of it as a flash, which makes the name of éclair guru Christophe Adam’s shop a cute play on words: L’Éclair de Génie becomes “the flash of genius”.  Adam, probably best known as the pastry chef who made Fauchon a destination for éclairs with his collection of imaginative takes on the classic pastry, now has his own shop which sells éclairs and truffles.  I found out about it on Dorie’s delightful blog (where would I be without her?) and knew that I would have to include it in my éclair tasting.  I am not disappointed.

Despite the price tag – 4.50 to 5 euros for a relatively small pastry – I couldn’t leave with fewer than three éclairs.  I chose the pistachio orange for its mesmerizing green glaze, the vanilla pecan for its topping of crunchy caramelized nuts, and the grand cru chocolate because, well, if you’re going to have a barometer éclair, it should probably be chocolate.

What I liked about it: good chocolate flavor, the chunks of brownie on top, the generous portion (and excellent consistency) of the filling, and the very nice choux surrounding it all.  What I didn’t: the gloopy industrial glaze.  Sure it’s shiny, but it adds nothing to the flavor.  Use ganache, people!

This one had great flavor, too.  Real pistachio, real orange, in perfect balance.  I’m not too sure about that shiny green glaze, but am somehow more tolerant of it than the fake chocolate stuff.  I guess because you could make the chocolate one with a ganache glaze, and it would still be shiny and pretty, but also taste better.  With this green stuff, I’m not sure what else could be used to create the same effect.  So I’ll give it a pass.

This was probably my favorite of the bunch – the intense vanilla cream inside, the almost smoky crunch of the pecans on top – I would happily pay 5 euros apiece for more of these.

All told, Christophe Adam’s éclairs are worth the elevated price.  They’re masterfully executed and the flavors are spot-on: clean distinct, and balanced.  But then if you’re going to stake your reputation on a pastry, you’d better be doing them right.  Fortunately for the team at L’Éclair de Génie, they are.

On this day in 2011: Worthwhile French Beers: La Véliocasse (In which I drink a good beer and forget the name of the bar, which I now know is called Bijou Bar, and I’ve been back several times.)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

The shop is lovely, and I regret that I could only buy four desserts (two éclairs, two others to be revealed at a later date), because the galettes des rois looked wonderful, as did the croissants.  But it was evening, and I knew it wouldn’t do the croissants justice to eat them the next morning, so I’m just going to have to get myself out of the house in the a.m. hours one of these days (I can hardly imagine how I used to get up at 5!) and grab one fresh.

I have another hope for the project as well: that by trying the same pastry at different shops, I can get an idea of each chef’s style, and an interesting cross-section of the many ways to interpret a classic.  That I can continue to hone my palate, identify what makes a particular dessert great or less so, how the elements of a given pastry contribute to its ultimate success or failure, and how they can be manipulated to achieve the desired effect.  So, you know, I’m not just stuffing my face.  It’s for science.

All this is to say that not every pastry is going to be a winner.  It’s statistically impossible.  There are loads of really bad bakeries out there, even in Paris (maybe especially in Paris, given that there are so many of them here, which is why a good guidebook or app is so important) and I can usually spot them with a simple glance at the case.  If the éclairs are topped with dull, ugly fondant, that’s strike one.  If the tarts look old, with the filling cracking or pulling away from the crust, that’s strike two.  If they’re selling Chupa Chups or Kinder Buenos – there’s a TV ad that infuriates me, where Tony Parker and some lady walk into a bakery, and then they start fighting over the last Kinder Bueno despite the fact that there is a case full of supposedly fresh, handmade sweets and they want the stupid packaged thing… What was I talking about again?  Oh, yes, huge pastries are also generally a bad sign.  But I think I’m getting off track here.

So as I was saying, I picked up two éclairs at Laurent Dubois’ shop, chocolate and vanilla.  I was disappointed to note that the chocolate and coffee éclairs were glazed in fondant, but pleased to see that the vanilla one was not.

You don’t actually see vanilla éclairs that often, which is one reason I chose it.  And I always approve of an éclair that isn’t covered in fondant.  The sugar cookie baked into the top of this one gave it a pleasant slight crunch – a nice textural contrast to the smooth pastry cream inside.

I was a bit discouraged to note the lack of vanilla bean in the custard, but overall, this éclair was fine.  Nothing more, nothing less.

The chocolate éclair turned out to be a near-perfect example of the typically shoddy work done by apprentices.  (Éclairs, being classic and relatively simple to prepare, often fall to the apprentices.  It is supposed to teach them some basic skills used in the pâtisserie, such as using a piping bag, how to tell when the fondant is the right temperature, and tasting to see if the cream has enough chocolate/coffee/etc. flavor.)  The kid who filled this one didn’t do it carefully enough, and I got a bite with no filling in it!

Also, the fondant.  (Maybe I should take a short aside here and explain that here I am talking about poured fondant, which is used to glaze éclairs, millefeuilles, petits fours, and things like that.  Not to be confused with rolled fondant, which is what they use to give wedding cakes that smooth finish.  I’m not really a fan of that stuff either, but that’s another post.)  I know from experience that this stuff is not easy to work with.  Glazing éclairs with fondant is one of my very least favorite things to do, because if the fondant is too cold or thick it won’t coat properly, but if you get it too hot it will be dull when it cools and in the meantime it will run everywhere and in either case your fingers get really sticky and after the first few nice, pretty, clean éclairs you either have to stop and wash your hands or keep going, knowing that the edges are getting increasingly sloppy and smeared. Like this:

And it doesn’t taste good, either, unless you like gritty, vaguely chemical-processed flavored sugar.

Those faults aside, the choux pastry was reasonably good, and I liked the chocolate pastry cream.  Although the prices were relatively low – around 3 euros apiece, or a little over half the price of an éclair from Fauchon or La Pâtisserie des Rêves – I probably won’t be back to Laurent Duchêne for the éclairs.  I still want to try that croissant, though.

On this day in 2010: Mora and La Bovida (still two of my favorite places to shop)

Originally published on Croque-Camille.