Canelés au beurre noisette et au bourbon

[Brown butter and bourbon canelés] There are stories that never get old, no matter how many times you tell them. Here is a collections of the ones I never-ever want to forget. Every evening, we go to the pond by the house on the other side of the path. Just before the sun sets. From there, we overlook the far-away lake. But really, all I ...

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Macarons au chocolat blanc caramélisé et aux noisettes

[Caramelised white chocolate and hazelnut macarons] I’d like to tell you I’ve made macarons today. I had planned to. Really. Last week, we bought mandelmjöl [ground almonds] and florsocker [icing sugar]; mjölkchoklad [milk chocolate] and vispgrädde [whipping cream]. But you see, we’ve been for walks everyday. At times, in the forest. Or by the river. And, always, in the snow. Christmas trees everywhere around us ...

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Cake à la banane rôtie

[Roasted banana cake] I once read that the universe didn’t need another banana cake. In that case, the universe and I might have to disagree. We don’t disagree often though. In fact, most of the time, we’re in a symbiotic agreement that all is in its place. Let me tell you about a few nights ago. It might have been Monday or Tuesday, I don’t ...

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La tarte tropézienne

There is the sound of the icebergs bumping into each other with every wave, not unlike a distant thunderstorm. There is the forest that I’ve walked through so many times before, now covered in a thick blanket of snow. There are lakrits [liquorice] cookies in the oven. And lights by every window we see. Yes, this is it. Sweden. And really, it’s just as wonderful ...

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A few notes on blind-baking tarts

Butter the rings I like to butter my rings before lining with dough. It will slide down the ring more easily and won’t ever ever stick to it once baked. How to roll and cut the dough These days I always roll my dough in betwen two sheets of feuille guitare, a thin acetate. If you can get your hands on it, it’s much better ...

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Kanelbullar croissants

There was that weekend, many-many months ago. I had told you about the days when blogs were not so editorially perfect and how I miss them; about the two crumpets with raspberry jam that I had had for an early afternoon breakfast; and about how we’d moved the kitchen table by the window and took way too many pictures. Because, you see, my book was ...

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Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

[Crisp cinnamon biscuits] I don’t want fig leaf or oak bark infusion. I don’t want gimmicks and royal icing where it’s not needed. I want to explore flour, sugar, butter and eggs. Give me cinnamon. And whole wheat flour. Oats. And dark brown sugar. I want to look underneath a biscuit. And see a golden colour. And little ridges. And above all, I want to ...

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Gluten-free chocolate fondant cake

I wish you were here with me. Sat on the patio. There is a wooden table which I’ve slowly taken over: notes, drawings of mushrooms, a mug holding watercolour brushes, a mismatch of cameras, and a cup of coffee hotter than what I would normally fancy. From where I sit, I can see the logs Karl brought from the little shelter down in the garden ...

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I’ll be left with cinnamon croissants

I guess like all good things, Sundays have to come to an end too. Today was a good Sunday. We went to bed late enough to wake up mid-morning. Crumpets happened. I might have eaten two with homemade raspberry jam from last summer. And we braved the rain – the mostest perfect excuse for a lazy day in – for a trip to the corner ...

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La rhubarbe

I remember the rhubarb my grand-père used to grow in the garden. It was thick and green; and would be turned into jar-after-jar of compote which my grand-mère always kept in that little cupboard in the garage. On top of my grand-père’s tools, always neatly organised. One day, I’ll show you that garage. We would eat the compote on top of yoghurt for breakfast. Or ...

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PS. We picked apples and made cider. Oh and an apple cake too!

One morning, we woke up to lights through the wooden blinds barely covering never-ending windows. Coffee got made. And we sat on the steps overlooking the garden. Early signs of autumn, drawn to the earth in the shape of dew that made our feet wet as we walked to the apple tree. Apples as white as snow. His dad said they were called Transparentes blanches. ...

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