Category: Pâtisserie

  • Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    [Swedish saffron and almond buns]

    Sunrise: 9:33 AM
    Sunset: 1:28 PM
    Temperature: -11.8°C

    The Swedish saffron and almond buns you see here were made on the twenty-fourth of November. Perhaps, it was a Tuesday. Or a Monday. But I remember how we made the dough the night before. And topped it with marzipan butter in the morning, just as a trumpet in the distance started playing Christmas melodies. I might have let them overproof as I went for a walk in the snow.

    Yes, I might have.

    Since then, I’ve made them countless times at the café and twice more at home. For a Christmas fika.

    Today, I have a different kind of saffron buns proofing on my kitchen counter: lussekatter. A simple saffron dough, rolled and twirled into shape.
    And I’m pretty certain that every house in Sweden also smells like warm saffron. And perhaps, if they’re as lucky as we are, of forest and cinnamon too.
    Because it’s St Lucia today. And the third Sunday of advent.

    But I’ll have to wait to show you the lussekatter, as the sun set hours ago and it’s now too dark to take pictures.
    However, I’m sure that these bullar will make a perfect in-the-meantime treat. And possibly make you wish for a forever in-the-meantime moment.

    Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    For these buns, I adapted my usual kanelbullar recipe by adding saffron to the dough. Here in Sweden, saffron is easy to come across and fairly inexpensive – compared to France or the UK. One of the things I find particularly pleasant, is that the saffron comes already ground so you don’t have to infuse it in warm liquid like I’ve been used to with the threads.

    Edit 13/12/2018: Nowadays, I always tend to dissolve the saffron in a tablespoon or so of rum. I find it brings out the flavour even more!

    If you don’t have any ground saffron, simply bring the milk to the boil and soak/infuse the saffron threads in it for at least 30 minutes. You will have to wait for the milk to be completely cooled down before using in the recipe.

    The filling recipe comes from my friend Suss, my one and only reference when it comes to all things related to Swedish baking. She’s an amazing baker and these buns alone prove it!
    It’s really straight-forward: butter, marzipan, and the zest of an orange; and yet, it makes for the best saffron buns you’ll ever find.

    Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    makes around 14-16

    For the saffron dough

    530 g strong flour
    70 g caster sugar
    16 g fresh yeast
    10 g sea salt
    0.5 g ground saffron     (see note above)
    3 eggs (150 g)
    190 g whole milk
    150 g unsalted butter    , at room temperature

    For the almond butter

    160 g salted butter, at room temperature
    160 g marzipan
    zest from 2 oranges

    For the topping

    1 egg, beaten, to glaze
    a handful of pearl sugar

    For the syrup

    75 g caster sugar
    75 g water

    In a large bowl, combine the flour, caster sugar, yeast, salt and saffron. Add the eggs and milk, and mix with a wooden spoon until a dough forms. Transfer to a clean work surface and knead by hand for around 20 minutes – if you’re making the dough in a stand-mixer, fit it with the hook attachment and knead on medium speed for around 10 minutes, until the dough detaches from the sides of the bowl and feels: – smooth, elastic and barely tacky. If you take a small piece of dough, you should be able to stretch it into a very thin membrane.

    Add the butter in three or four times – if making by hand; if you’re using a stand mixer, add the butter, one small piece at a time continuously until all the butter is in – and knead it in for around 10 minutes. The dough will “split” as you do so and butter will smear over your work surface, but keep on adding butter until it’s all used. Then knead the dough until smooth again. Place in a large bowl, and clingfilm to the touch.

    You could proof the dough for 1 hour at room temperature and then place it in the fridge for at least another hour before using it, or refrigerate straight away for at least 8 hours and up to 24 hours.

    The next day, get two baking trays ready by lining then with baking paper. Make the almond butter by mixing all the ingredients until smooth and spreadable.

    Slightly flour your work bench and tip the dough over. Roll into a 30 x 60 cm rectangle, around 5-6mm thick, with the short end facing you. Spread the almond butter evenly over the lower 2/3 of the dough. Then fold the dough into three, first the top part over the centre, then the bottom (and closest to you) over the rest. You should be left with a 30 x 20 cm-ish rectangle.

    Cut 2cm wide strips and roll each into a knot, and place it on the prepared baking tray. Keep on going until all the strips are rolled.

    Cover loosely with clingfilm and allow to proof for a couple of hours or until doubled in size.

    Preheat the oven to 185°C.
    Brush the top of the buns with the egg wash and sprinkle with pearl sugar.

    Bake for 12-16 minutes or until golden brown.
    Transfer to a wire-rack using a palette knife and allow to cool down slightly.

    For extra shiny buns, brush the top of your just-baked bullar with a simple syrup made of equal quantity of sugar and water brought to the boil.

    Let me know if you try to make them 🙂 Lots of love, and a wonderful week!

    pS. If you want to follow my Swedish Christmas adventures, use #fannysjul on instagram. X

  • My ultimate kanelbullar

    My ultimate kanelbullar

    Tomorrow is the 4th of October. A date that doesn’t go unnoticed in Sweden. Yes, tomorrow is kanelbullens dag [cinnamon roll day].
    I must have felt that this post – which I promised to share with you long before I even knew kanelbullar had their own day – was waiting in my drafts for a reason.

    This is a recipe I first made in Åsen, the summer before last. I kneaded the dough in the evening, as we came back from a day by the lake. And by the time breakfast was ready the next morning, the buns had proofed and were ready to go in the oven for a mid-morning fika.

    Later that day, I realised we’d forgotten my camera charger in Kusmark so I ended up taking some pictures using the film camera Kalle gave me.

    We rushed on the road to Mora – through the forests and the bridge that goes over the lake, through the little stress I’ve come to cherish and the rails by which we always get to see a train pass by – to bring the roll to the only lab we knew of.

    And because it was not fully exposed, I quickly took a few pictures of what was around me. In fact, the one below – of Kalle – is, to this day, one of my favourites.
    Yes, it’s not without a certain sense of both love and reserve that I’m proud to tell you that my 79th roll of film has pictures of bullar, one of K., one of the sky, and one of flowers. The dream roll?

    But let go back to that morning. When I rolled the dough and topped it with a thick layer of cinnamon butter. I don’t always say this, but salted butter really does wonder here.
    Yes, that morning, is to be forever remembered. The table covered in a thick layer of white paint. And the blue chairs around it. The spitting sound of the fire in the wood stove. This is where I learnt how to roll kanelbullar.

    A year has passed since then – days made of snow and walk through leafless trees, a spring that only lasted a second and a summer that is now starting to turn into autumn. Many more bullar have been rolled. At home. At the café.

    And while my rolling techniques have definitely improved, the recipe has received only a few tweaks. That’s how much I’m in love with it. And I hope you will be too.

    Kanelbullar, un peu comme des brioches

    I love my bullar to be soft and fluffy, so instead of using a traditional recipe (which I always find slightly dry), I go for a cross between a doughnut and a brioche dough.

    Although I’ve shared a recipe for kanelbullar in the past, these ones are different. They are my favourites. The ones I make at home and freeze into small plastic containers, ready to be thrown into a lunchbox or popped in the microwave for an almost-instant fika. The ones I make everyday at the café too (when I’m not off – and for the first time in a long time, I shall say: YES to the weekends).

    The old ones were of the spur-of-the-moment kind. Made late, during our last night in Sweden the first time we visited. Eaten by Byske river, just a few hours before our flight back to London. They had whole wheat flour and I remember how long it took to develop the gluten by hand.
    I also remember how wonderful it was to unwrap the not-so-neatly folded foil and dip them into a forever-hot cup of kokkaffe.

    Making a sticky dough by hand is always a challenge; it takes time, a good scraper and hands being cleaned every so often. But trust me, I’ve done it many times and it doesn’t only produce beautiful results, it’s also wonderfully relaxing.

    EDIT 5 October

    After a few of you reported butter leakage, I’ve noticed I had missed a modification, which I made a few months ago: I now use a reduced amount of butter in the dough – 130g instead of 200g; a leaner dough absorbs the butter better, but I couldn’t remember why I had reduced it as I love the texture of the buns made with 200g of butter so much!
    Thank you for your feedback! Also, make sure the bullar are proofed until doubled in size before baking them. It takes around 2 hours at 24°C but can take 3-4 hours if the room temperature is colder. Lots of love and sorry for the caramelised cinnamon butter 🙁

    EDIT 6 October

    I’ve tried both batches today, with 130g and 200g butter. While I love the texture of the buns with 200g of butter, they do leak during baking; a quick fix, if you’re after melt-in-your-mouth bullar, is to bake them in muffin paper-cases so you won’t end up with a puddle.
    As for the batch with 130g of butter, they’re a bit lighter and almost no butter leak 🙂 Sending you all my cinnamon-love X

    EDIT 8 December 2016

    After having made this recipe daily for well over a year, I think an update is in order.
    I have modified it slightly, mostly because I make it using 3.2 kg of flour, and that the flour here has a slightly higher absorption power.

    Here is my updated recipe:

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    Kanelbullar 2.0

    Kanelbullar, un peu comme des brioches
    Every year, on the 4th of October, Sweden celebrates Kanelbullens dag: Cinnamon Bun Day. It feels like the perfect excuse to revisit one of my favourite recipes. These buns have been with me for over a decade now. The first version I baked in the summer of 2014 was a little more rustic.
    Since then, I’ve spent countless hours calculating baker’s percentages, testing variations and tweaking until I found what felt just right.
    What follows is my current go-to recipe (let’s call it version 2.0), followed by the 1.0 recipe for those who want to see where it all began.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time1 hour 30 minutes
    Cook Time15 minutes
    Total Time1 day 1 hour 45 minutes
    Makes 14 buns

    Ingredients

    For the dough

    • 600 g flour
    • 75 g caster sugar
    • 18 g fresh yeast
    • 7.5 g sea salt
    • 4 g hand-ground cardamom
    • 225 g whole milk
    • 150 g eggs
    • 190 g unsalted butter

    For the filling

    • 190 g salted butter at room temperature
    • 150 g caster sugar
    • 3 tbsp ground cinnamon

    To top

    • 2 eggs beaten
    • pearl sugar

    For the syrup

    • 75 g caster sugar
    • 75 g water

    Instructions

    • In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, yeast, salt, and cardamom. Add the eggs and milk. Mix until a dough forms.
    • Knead by hand for around 20 minutes, or in a stand mixer fitted with a dough-hook for about 10 minutes, until smooth, elastic, and just tacky. The dough should stretch into a thin membrane without tearing.
    • Add the butter gradually. By hand, work it in 3–4 additions, smearing and kneading until fully incorporated. In a mixer, add small pieces one by one. The dough will look split at first – keep going until smooth again.
    • Place in a large bowl, cover, and chill. Either proof 1 hour at room temperature, then refrigerate for 2 hours, or refrigerate straight away for at least 8 hours (and up to 24 hours).
    • The next day, line two trays with baking paper. Mix the filling ingredients until smooth.
    • On a lightly floured bench, roll the dough to a 30 × 60 cm rectangle, about 5–6 mm thick. Spread with cinnamon butter. Fold the dough into thirds (like a letter), giving you a rectangle about 30 × 20 cm.
    • Cut into 2 cm strips. Twist and tie each into a knot. Place on trays. Cover loosely and proof until doubled – around 2 hours.
    • Preheat oven to 200°C / fan 180°C. Brush the buns with egg wash, sprinkle with pearl sugar, and bake 12–16 minutes, until golden.
    • For extra shine, brush with hot syrup as soon as they come out of the oven. Cool slightly on a wire rack.

    Glad kanelbullens dag!

    The 1.0 recipe from my 2014 summer:
    For the dough
    530 g strong flour
    70 g caster sugar
    16 g fresh yeast
    10 g sea salt
    1 tsp ground cinnamon
    3 eggs     (150 g)
    190 g whole milk
    130 g to 200 g (read note/edit above) unsalted butter    , at room temperature

    For the cinnamon butter
    250 g salted butter, at room temperature
    170 g caster sugar
    3 tbsp ground cinnamon
    1 tsp ground cardamom

    For the topping
    1 egg, beaten, to glaze
    a handful of pearl sugar

    For the syrup
    75 g caster sugar
    75 g water

  • Sugar, acid and pectin content of fruits

    Sugar, acid and pectin content of fruits

    It seems like we’re having a bit of a jam week around here.

    I guess it’s only natural when the world around us blooms in an exponential kind of way. Here we’ve had a rather unusual month of May. Lots of sun. Lots of rain too. And because the temperatures rarely get above 20°C, once they will – perhaps after mid-summer – fruits will suddenly surround us.

    I thought it would be nice to have a table to compare sugar, acid and pectin content of some of these fruits. Of course, those three factors will change depending on the degree of maturity of the fruits or their variety, but it’s a good starting point to adapt your favourite jam recipe for different fruits.

    Should you add more sugar? Less pectin? More acid?
    Hopefully this table here will help in answering your questions.

    How to use the table?

    Let’s take melon for example.

    I currently don’t have a melon jam recipe. I do however have a killer strawberry jam one.
    According to the table, I could make melon jam using my strawberry jam recipe, only I would need to add more citric acid at the end of the cooking process, as melon have an average pH of approximately 6, while strawberries’ pH is closer to 3.4.

    Fruits with high pectin levels and low pH.

    In the case of fruits with high pectin levels and low pH – like lemons, limes, cranberries, blackcurrants, oranges, gooseberries, grapefruits, mandarines or red currants – you probably don’t need to add much acid at all, and certainly don’t need to add extra pectin; as the fruits themselves offer the perfect conditions to form a gel (which for pectin are: sugar, acid, heat).

    A quick note on citrus.

    The flesh of citrus fruits isn’t high in pectin, while the zest and pips are.

    What is pH anyway?

    pH is a unit of acidity/alkalinity. A pH of 7 is considered neutral; above that it’s called alkaline or basic, and below that it’s called acidic.
    It’s a bit of a shortcut, but what we fundamentally care about, here, is that the lower the pH the more acidic a fruit is. As you’ll notice in the table most fruits have an acidic pH, but only those with a pH ranging from 2-3.5 are empirically sharp.

    Sugar, acid and pectin content of selected fruits

    %sugaraverage pHpectin level
    Apple133.5medium
    Apricot94low
    Blackberry84.2medium
    Blackcurrant102.8high
    Blueberry113.2low
    Cherry144low
    Cranberry42.5high
    Fig154.8low
    Gooseberry112.9high
    Grape164medium
    Grapefruit63high
    Guava73.6very low
    Kiwi143.5very low
    Lemon22high
    Lime12high
    Litchi174.8very low
    Mandarin133high
    Mango114very low
    Melon76low
    Orange112.8high
    Passion fruit113low
    Peach93.8very low
    Pear103.8low
    Persimmon145.4high
    Pineapple133.5low
    Plum113.4low
    Raspberry73.4low
    Red currant63.2high
    Rhubarb13.1low
    Strawberry73.4low

    Explore my jam recipes:

  • Small-batch rhubarb jam

    Small-batch rhubarb jam

    I made this jam a week ago today. Of course, I had planned on telling you about it straight away, but exciting projects, a redesign, and kick-ass grades in my Swedish classes (insert thumb-up emoji here) got in the way.

    With Lisa’s comment in mind, I stirred the fruits into the hot syrup. She wanted a simple jar recipe. And here it is. No endless canning, since we’re only making three 250mL jars. No fruits soaking in sugar for 24 hours. No fancy teas or flowers added.

    Simply sugar and water boiled down to a syrup. A generous handful of chopped fruits. A pinch of pectin (optional, although I do love the thicker texture it produces). And a drop of citric acid (or lemon juice).

    Yes, of the many things I look for in a jam, a sharp fruit flavour is possibly my favourite. And yes, I’m not going to pretend otherwise, I do like my confiture [jam] on the sweet side; you know, the French way.

    Many times, I see people wrongfully call jams what are, in fact, fruits and sugar – most likely anywhere between 10% and 20% by weight. These are a whole other subject, and something that should be classified as compotes, not jams, s’il-vous-plaît!

    Terminology aside, this recipe here is perfect for anyone with a backyardful of rhubarb stems. Here in Sweden, rhubarb just started getting out of control, the same way it usually does in France, only a few months later.

    You could make three jars, like I did here with some of the rhubarb that I picked from Svante’s beautiful garden in Kusmark, or multiply the recipe according to how much fruit you have around.

    For the record, if making big batches, I tend to go for 4-5kg of fruits at a time as I’ve found that if using more, the jam, which will take longer to cook, won’t have such a vibrant colour and flavours due to some of the sugar caramelising.

    Small-batch rhubarb jam
    This recipe is adapted from my basic jam recipe, which was itself adapted from Andrew Gravett’s beautiful raspberry confiture. Merci Chef!

    The sugar – which should be of the thicker granulated kind, as it contains less impurities, and thus creates less foam to skim – and fresh rhubarb juice get cooked to 120°C before the fruits are added.
    This step which I see as fundamental has one major impact on the jam cooking time. Which makes it not only convenient, but also reduces the time during which the fruits are cooked, maintaining a fresh flavour.

    A note on the citric acid: I like to use citric acid powder and not lemon juice, as I’ve found that it keep the fruits’ flavour more intact. No matter which one you go for, always add it at the end of the cooking process – off the heat.

    A note on the pectin: I use a HM (which stands for High Methyl) pectin which has the property to set rather quickly and enables a clean flavour release.
    Differences between the many types of pectin (which I could tell you about, let me know in the comments if you’re interested) can affect the finished product, however, I’ve found that this recipe could bear various pectins; from LM to HM to pure fruit pectin powder.
    It will set slightly looser or firmer – nothing drastic – but if you’re about to make a 5kg batch, then I can only recommend to try with a smaller quantity of fruits to adjust the pectin levels as needed.

    You could also go without pectin, and I did a very small pectin-less batch just a few days ago, to try; and although the texture is definitely less thick, I was pretty happy with the jam generously spread on toast for breakfast the next day.

    Small-batch rhubarb jam

    1/2 tsp (2.5 g) citric acid powder
    1/2 tsp (2.5 g) water
    550 g trimmed and washed rhubarb, chopped into 5mm slices
    500 g granulated sugar
    120 g freshly-made rhubarb juice (or water)
    30 g caster sugar
    1/2 tsp (3 g) pectin powder    , optional (see note above)

    Sterilise 3 x 0.25L glass jars and their lid.

    In a small bowl, mix the citric acid and water, and set aside until needed.

    Place the sugar and water in a pan larger than you think you’d need. Cook over medium heat to 120°C. Add the rhubarb slices and cook to 105°C, mixing every two or three minutes – I like to use a whisk for this. For this quantity it should take around 15-20 minutes; every now and then, skim off the foam that forms using a small ladle.
    While the jam is cooking, combine – very very well – the caster sugar and pectin in a small bowl (make sure it is very dry).

    Once the jam has reached 105°C, sprinkle the pectin mix (if using, otherwise, jump to the next set of instructions) off the heat, whisking as you do so. Return over medium heat and simmer for 3-5 minutes.

    Off the heat, add the citric acid mixture and whisk well. Immediately transfer to sterilised glass jars, to around 1-2cm up to the rim. Screw the lids on and turn the jars upside down. Allow to cool down completely and store.

  • A quick note on anthocyanins and pH

    A quick note on anthocyanins and pH

    I absolutely love to make jam; whether it’s ten kilograms of fruits or five hundred grams. Somehow, I’ve always found the process very calming, not unlike some sort of kitchen meditation.

    One thing I find especially wonderful is how much brighter the colour of the jam becomes after the addition of acid – and for the record, I use citric acid in most cases.
    This is due to a structural shape change in one of the most widely-found pigment: anthocyanins. As the pH lowers the pigments go from purple to pink to electric red.

    Yes, acid intensifies the colour of anthocyanins.
    And while it’s most definitely noticeable for any kind of berry or citrus jams, I love how dramatic the change is when making fig jam, as pictured above (not that I made some recently, even though spring takes forever to come around here, late summer is definitely far behind us now – maybe even more so than it is ahead).

    I thought you might wonder/have wondered/will wonder about that one day. Love and jam xx

  • Brutaly honest banana cake

    Brutaly honest banana cake

    If you ever thought I’d leave bananas alone for another year or so, please pretend these words never existed while we take care of the cake you see above. No evidence will remain and we won’t even have to tell the universe about it all.

    Case closed.

    But if you’re anything like us, then I guess it’s a whole other story.
    Yes, in our house, banana cake happens (a lot) and – more likely than not – for a reason (black bananas).

    This one – unlike the loaf I told you about* a month or so ago – is my usual straight-to-the-point banana cake.

    With approximately eight minutes from the cupboard to the oven, it’s my favourite for weeknights when dinner has been eaten and the dishes are done; the oven is still hot from the mushroom lasagne we’ve just made; and we have for only music, the sound of the wind through our windows.

    (For the record: yes, the pastry chef in me cringes at the thought – and the act – of baking a cake right after lasagne – or anything savoury, for that matter. But you see, such things are easily overlooked when you have to read/understand/translate fifty book pages for the next day.
    Yes, this whole learning-Swedish side-project sort of turned into a full-time thing. And really, jag kan knappt vänta [I can hardly wait]).

    Brutally honest banana cake

    Over the years, I’ve gotten a lot bowls dirty with this recipe – not that it takes more than one to mix the batter. A lot of mileage too. From the slice eaten for breakfast to the one – microwaved just so and – served with a fat scoop of yoghurt sorbet for dessert.
    In my notebook, I’ve called it brutally honest banana loaf cake. And it is – true to its name – a moist yet with a fine crumb, flavourful loaf cake.

    The batter can take from 3 to 6 bananas (300 to 600 grams, peeled), depending on the state of your fruit bowl. The one you see here was made with only 3 and although I do prefer the custardy flavour of the banana-loaded version, I do love this one too.
    Depending on how many bananas you use, you’ll have enough batter to make one large loaf cake (using a 1L tin) and a few muffins – which are always a happy addition to Kalle’s lunchbox. Just saying…

    For the first time – ever – I made this recipe using filmjölk but you could use buttermilk, natural yoghurt (which I prefer over Greek yoghurt here for its sharper flavour), or even milk.

    The compulsory note on piping a line of butter on top of the cake and my baking method:
    As you must ALL know by now – since I spend around three-quarters of my days telling everyone and their neighbour – I like to pipe a thin line of soft butter on top of my unbaked loaf cake to get a neat crack in its centre.

    When it comes to loaf cakes, I always bake them at high temperature and then reduce to finish the baking. I usually do 5 minutes at 180°C, 10 minutes at 170°C, and 25-30 minutes at 160°C.
    However, for banana cakes, I’ve found I get better results with 20 minutes at 180°C and then around 30 minutes at 160°C.

    *PS. It doesn’t mean I don’t worship the recipe I previously shared with you. I do, but they’re very different. And I love having many solid basic recipes. I hope you won’t mind!

    Brutally honest banana cake

    makes one large loaf

    275 g plain flour
    1 1/2 tsp (7 g) baking powder
    1 tsp (5 g) sea salt
    250 g caster sugar
    50 g vanilla sugar
    150 g butter    , at room temperature
    3 (150 g) eggs
    3 to 6 peeled bananas     (300 to 600 g, see note above), mashed with a fork
    100 g natural yoghurt, buttermilk, filmjölk or milk

    Preheat the oven to 180°C and line a loaf tin with baking paper.

    Mix the flour, baking powder and salt in a small bowl, and set aside until needed.

    In a large bowl, cream the sugars and butter for around 5 minutes, or until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. If your batter splits a little, simply heat it (either over a pan of simmering water – make sure you’re using a heatproof bowl – or by flashing it in the microwave for 10-20 seconds). Mix in the mashed bananas and yoghurt. Then add the flour mixture at once, folding it in until just combined.
    Scrape the batter into the prepared loaf tin filling it 3/4 to the rim – and if needed in a few muffin cases too (which I then bake on the same tray as my loaf, but only for around 20 minutes, see note above).

    Bake for 20 minutes at 180°C and then reduce the oven temperature to 160°C and bake for a further 30 minutes, or until golden-brown and the tip of a knife inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean.

  • Brioches feuilletées au sucre

    Brioches feuilletées au sucre

    [Flaky sugar brioches]

    Today, it hailed three times. Rained once. And snowed twice. With the sun being at its brightest in between. Yes, I think April showers take a whole new meaning here.

    Some other things do too.
    In fact, I started this post in my head – perhaps yesterday, or even the day before – by telling you how busy this week has been. But as I’m writing this now – dressed with wool from head to toes, and sitting at the little wooden table that stands by the stacked firewood; hot chocolate in one hand, computer in the other, pink sunset and all – I’m forced to re-evaluate my Swedish version of busy.

    Especially when, just a few months ago, busy meant an eighteen-hour day on a three-hour night. A few hundreds of covers and the mise-en-place to match.

    These days, busy has been more like taking walks and pictures. An occasional visit to the city we’ll call home from this Monday. Perhaps, a batch of croissants; twelve of them. Or some choux, with a vanilla cream just so. A few hours spent unpacking the boxes we brought from London. And packing the essentials again. A loaf of bread; a large one mind you, but still: one. Uploading all my recipes (well, as of now, I’m about one percent into the process) to – what I think is going to be – the best/easiest/cleanest recipe database ever.

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    Brioches feuilletées au sucre

    Adapted from Philippe Contincini's Sensations.
    One day last week, after yet another croissant batch, I thought I give myself a break and make Philippe Conticini's brioches feuilletées. They'd been on my must-make list for ages, and I think they'll stay on my weekend-breakfast list for ever.
    Not only the dough – slightly drier than my go-to brioche – is a wonder to work with while laminating, but the brioches still taste amazing the day after; which makes them perfect for lazy Sundays.
    You could make the dough on Friday night, laminate and shape on Saturday. And either bake them in the afternoon or proof them overnight in your fridge (although the pearl sugar might melt from the humidity). The next morning, leave them well covered at room temperature for an hour or so, while you preheat your oven.
    While I won't cover lamination today, as you can see a step-by-step over here; there is a few important points for these brioches.

    Notes

    On adding the butter from the beginning
    Since the quantity of butter in the dough is so small, I add it along with the rest of the ingredients at the beginning of the mixing stage. It’s not something I’d ever do for my usual brioche as it has 10 times more butter which would slow down gluten development, even making it impossible to form in some parts of the dough, which would result in a patchy non-emulsified mess.
    On my process for brioche dough
    As with every brioche dough I make at home, I like to place my dough in a container and clingfilm it to the touch with several layers of clingfilm; and chilling it in the freezer for 30-45 minutes, before I leave it in the fridge overnight. This cools down the dough quickly – a necessity to avoid over-fermentation, which might happen since the dough gets fairly warm with the kneading friction (especially if like me, you’re kneading by hand).
    On pearl sugar
    The best pearl sugar for this recipe is Beghin Say Sucre Grain, which I always stock up whenever I’m in France! You can order some online here. 
    Make sure that once you’ve sprinkled the dough with pearl sugar, you run your rolling pin over it to make the sugar stick to the dough; and don’t forget to brush the edge of the dough with syrup; this makes sure your rolls stay tight as they bake.
    On using a muffin tin
    In fact, I think those would be amazing proofed and baked in a muffin tin – although I haven’t tried since I don’t have one here. I did try to bake the brioches in rings though, but I didn’t get the lovely domed shape as my rings were too small and compressed the dough slightly.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time1 hour
    Cook Time30 minutes
    Total Time13 hours 30 minutes

    Ingredients

    • 510 g strong flour
    • 40 g caster sugar
    • 20 g fresh yeast
    • 7 g sea salt
    • 150 g whole milk
    • 150 g eggs
    • 50 g soft butter
    • 300 g butter for tourage

    For the simple syrup

    • 100 g caster sugar
    • 100 g water

    To fill

    • 150 g pearl sugar

    Instructions

    • Place all the ingredients aside from the tourage butter in a large bowl, and mix until it forms a dough. Transfer to a clean work surface and knead until smooth and elastic; around 15 minutes by hand (if you're using a stand-mixer fitted with the hook attachment, check the dough after 10 minutes as gluten will develop considerably faster). Wrap in clingfilm and chill in the freezer for 30 to 45 minutes, until hard but not frozen; then transfer to the fridge overnight.
    • Make the syrup: bring the sugar and water to the boil, and allow to cool down at room temperature.
    • The next morning, cut the butter into 5mm thick slices and arrange on a large piece of baking paper. Roll to a 20x30cm rectangle.
    • Lightly flour your work surface and roll the dough into a 20x60cm rectangle. Place butter on lower half, then give the dough three tours simples, with at least 30 minutes of rest in between each.
    • Chill the dough for an hour, then roll into a 35cm wide rectangle, around 5mm thick and 60cm long.
    • Sprinkle the dough with the pearl sugar leaving a 5cm margin on one edge. Roll lightly using your rolling pin for the sugar to stick to the dough; then brush the “naked” edge with syrup.
    • Roll tightly, then wrap in clingfilm and chill in the freezer for 30 minutes, seam-side down.
    • Trim and slice into 4.5cm logs; or divide the dough in 12.
    • Place into two muffin tins, 6 rolls in each so they have plenty of space.
    • Cover loosely with clingfilm and proof for around 2 hours (at 24°C for me).
    • Bake at 190°C / fan 170°C for 30-35 minutes, or until golden-brown. Brush with the remaining syrup when still warm.

    PS. The pictures above were taken when I made half a batch of brioche. So, in case you wondered, that’s why my finished log of dough is only around 30cm long and not 60 as yours would be if you decide to make a full batch.

  • Pastry chef tips – Flatten the dough with the palm of your hand

    Pastry chef tips – Flatten the dough with the palm of your hand


    More often than not, I always share tips and techniques in my posts. Why clingfilm to the touch, how to fold cream when making a mousse, how to get a neat crack on top of a loaf, how to blindbake tarts, and so on.

    But since so many of you requested, I thought I’d start a new feature* where I give you not-so-secret tips from a pastry chef. I’ve found over the years, that it – almost always – gets down to these little things. Yes, they usually make all the difference.

    Today, as I was rolling some craquelin (a thick dough made of butter, demerara sugar and flour; and used to top choux before baking – but more on that soon!) I realised there is one thing I always do when rolling dough; and yet, I haven’t told you about it before. Read more…

  • Canelés au beurre noisette et au bourbon

    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 care for are the frog’s eggs floating on the surface not unlike tapioca or soaked basil seeds. For some reason I find them absolutely captivating, and I’m crossing my fingers for us to stay here long enough to see them turn into tadpoles.

    One morning, Svante asked me if I had woken up early. I had, but I very well knew that he meant 4am early. Yes, he’d heard some noise coming from the forest.
    After we’d had coffee, and a tartine of sourdough bread smeared with butter and topped with hard-boiled eggs and pickled herring, we put our gumboots on and walked through the moss and woods and snow.
    As we followed the tracks, dipper and dipper into the woods, the three of us knew one thing for sure. It was a lynx.

    Yesterday, as I was sitting on the front steps of the little house – my favourite morning spot to catch the sun and drink up that mug of too-hot coffee – Svante called me from the path. A few metres from us: two rådjur [deers, don’t ask me for the plural form of their Swedish names as I’m still very confused about it all] were eating the grass that the snow-melt made alive again.

    The shooting stars we see at night. When it’s so dark we can almost make out the Milky Way.

    Every morning, I wake up early. The oven gets turned on and the loaf of bread – of dough, really – that has been slowly fermenting in the fridge overnight, is taken out and left on the counter. Some days, I’ll make coffee. Others, I go back to bed with a book, and – more often than not – I fall back asleep for an hour or so.
    The bread goes in the oven and I patiently wait. One morning, we carried firewood from the shelter where it dries up to the main house. On a wheelbarrow. Another time, we went on the rock at the top of the road, where you can watch the sun rise, almost like no other place I’ve ever been.

    Bonus campagne tale: I’ve found out that it’s actually way easier to drive on snow and ice rather than mud. The rest should probably remain untold.

    Canelés au beurre noisette et au bourbon
    Adapted from Pierre Hermé.

    I didn’t grow up eating canelés. In fact, I can’t even remember the first time I ever had one. But if I was to guess, I’d say it came frozen, from a box of miniature ones found at Picard (and if you’re not French, I should add that Picard is a frozen-product shop found everywhere across the country).

    But somehow, they’ve always seemed fascinating. A crisp almost-burnt-but-not-quite crust and custard-like crumb.

    I can’t say I’ve tried a lot of recipes, as when I first tried the ones at Pierre Hermé – back in the summer 2007 during the three-month stage that would change my life – I never even wanted to look back.
    Yes, Pierre Hermé’s recipe is my favourite.
    I’ve made them traditional, with Tahiti vanilla and aged rum. Or at times, with chocolate in the batter too. Even some pumpkin and cinnamon ones, replacing the milk with roasted pumpkin flesh and a large tablespoon of milk powder, and adding bourbon and brown butter.
    I loved this combination so much that I’ve decided to make some simpler ones today.

    I’m not going to lie, it’s not quite easy to get them right. But here are a few notes that will help you get those beauties perfect every single time.

    1. The batter must be made in advance. In a pinch, I’ve made it rest for only an hour with great results, but they are considerably better if the batter is left to rest at room temperature for at least 12 hours or in the fridge for up to 3 days.

    2. As you make the batter, the milk should be around 55°C when you pour it onto your egg mixture. This will start to cook the eggs and the starch, and will prevent the canelés to form too much moisture when they bake, hence reducing the risk of them “growing” out from their moulds as they bake.

    3. No matter what I do, I’ll always have at least one canelé trying to escape from its mould during baking. If you let it be, you’ll end up with a white-topped canelé as the batter won’t be in contact with the mould; you do not want this, trust me. My sauve-qui-peut solution is very simple. As soon as the canelés are set enough – around 20 minutes usually – I’ll carefully take out the faulty ones out from the oven, then turn them upside-down – unmoulding them really – then place them back into their moulds. This seems to do the trick every time and they won’t try to escape again.

    4. Many people stress about using a mixture of oil and beeswax to grease the moulds. Yes it does give them a special matte finish, but more than that, I think the kind and quality of the moulds matter. I know they’re expensive but Matfer copper moulds make the difference for me.
    You see here, I didn’t use any beeswax, just melted butter, brushed inside the moulds, and they came out beautifully. You could also use some cooking spray, I’ve only ever tried OneSpray which worked great.

    5. The most fundamental part is – in my opinion – the baking. In professional fan-assisted ovens, I usually preheat to 210°C, then bake for 10 minutes at this temperature, before reducing it to 190°C to finish the baking for an hour or so. At home, in my traditional oven, I’ve found that they are considerably better if I preheat the oven to 270°C and bake them for 10 minutes then reduce the temperature to 200°C for another 45 to 55 minutes depending on the size of my moulds.
    I haven’t tried baking them in a home oven with fan, but I’m assuming that preheating to 250°C and baking at 190°C would work fine. Let me know if you try 🙂

    But mostly – please please please – have fun while baking. This makes all the difference.

    Canelés au beurre noisette et au bourbon

    Makes 20 small canelés (4.5cm wide) or 12 large ones (5.5cm wide).

    500 g whole milk
    50 g brown butter
    2 vanilla pods, sliced lengthways
    2 eggs
    2 egg yolks
    250 g icing sugar
    40 g bourbon
    100 g plain flour
    a pinch of salt

    q.s. melted butter, to grease the moulds

    In a medium pan, bring the milk, brown butter, vanilla seeds and pods to the boil. Off the heat, cover with a lid and allow to infuse for at least 15-20 minutes while you get on with the rest.
    In a bowl, mix the eggs and yolks with the icing sugar until smooth, slowly pour in the bourbon. Add the flour and salt.
    Then, pour the warm milk, a little at a time over the egg mixture, mixing as you do so – but trying not to incorporate too much air into the batter. You could pass the batter through a fine-mesh sieve, I don’t.

    Cover the bowl with clingfilm and leave at room temperature overnight.

    Preheat the oven to 270°C/fan 250°C (read note above).
    Prepare the moulds. No matter which kind of fat you’re using (read note above), brush a thin layer into the moulds (or in the case of the spray, spray it). Turn the moulds upside-down onto kitchen paper to allow the excess fat to drip, then place in the freezer. If using butter, I like to repeat this one more time.

    Mix the batter for a couple of minute to homogenise. Then fill your prepared moulds almost to the rim, leaving 2 or 3 mm on top.
    Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 200°C/fan 190°C and bake for a further 45 minutes for small canelés or 55 minutes for large ones.

  • Macarons au chocolat blanc caramélisé et aux noisettes

    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.

    And the chocolate bars we wrapped in foil – along with kokkaffe and the old kaffekanna [coffee pot], perhaps a square or two of Tatin tart salted caramels too, and a few baconost [bacon cheese] sandwiches that K. loves to make with lingonbröd [lingonberry bread, which I’ve seen an amazing recipe for here, and I can’t wait to go pick lingonberries to make it] – well, they’re gone.


    Yes, I wanted to make moka macarons, but we’ve eaten all the chocolate before it even got the chance to be turned into a whipped ganache, just so.

    Instead, we made the most of last night snowfall. For K. and Kaiser, the not-so-puppy-anymore you’ve perhaps seen on my pictures, it most likely involved effortless runs over the ice. For me, it means that the one patch of slippery mud will land me somewhere I didn’t decide to. Repeatedly 🙂

    Macarons au chocolat blanc caramélisé et aux noisettes

    When I realised I had never posted a recipe for macarons, I couldn’t believe it. It’s not like I haven’t spent the last seven years of my life making some almost daily. Pistachio and vanilla were ranking high amongst all. But I’ve also made some with elderflower and champagne, fermented mango, coconut and lime, salted caramel, avocado and chilli, pumpkin and cinnamon, rhubarb and cream. Even beetroot and orange ones. The list could go on for – almost – ever, really.
    And that’s what I love about macarons, how versatile they are.

    These ones are made with caramelised white chocolate – a love of mine, and roasted hazelnuts.
    At times, I like to fill my macarons with a crémeux instead of a ganache to lower the sweetness slightly. However, macarons made with crémeux will only keep for a couple of days in the fridge before getting a bit too moist. They will keep beautifully frozen though, and judging by how many times I’ve seen our container in the freezer getting emptier and emptier, I’m sure some chefs – whose names will remain undisclosed – can vouch for it.

    The recipe for the shells is adapted from Andrew Gravett’s beautiful macarons. He’s an amazing pastry chef and person, and I couldn’t be anymore grateful to have followed him in one way or another during my six years in London.
    It’s super-foolproof. And trust me, this is something you want your macarons to be.

    The stages are quite simple really: start by making a smooth tant-pour-tant, for this I like to use extra fine ground almonds as they give a more flawless finish.
    Then make an Italian meringue, which you fold into the almond mixture and the extra egg whites.
    After all is incorporated, you’ll deflate the batter slightly. This step, called macaronage, can be done with either a maryse or a plastic scraper. I like to use a plastic scraper and push the batter against the sides of the bowl until I have the correct texture. Now, it’s quite hard to describe the texture of the finished macaron batter: it should almost form a ruban and when the batter drops, it should smooth out into the rest, leaving only the tiniest bump.

    If you’d like I could write a little post about macaron troubles and what they mean. Perhaps we’d call it the macaron doctor?
    In the meantime, here are a few notes on macarons:
    – flat and odd shaped macarons with bubbles mean your batter was over-mixed.
    – gritty macarons with a pointy top means your batter was under-mixed.
    – cracked shells can mean two things: too much humidity in your kitchen/oven or your oven temperature is too high.
    – shells that stick to the silicon mat: try to bake them a minute or two longer.

    Macarons au chocolat blanc caramélisé et aux noisettes

    makes around 40 macarons

    for the caramelised white chocolate
    100 g white chocolate

    Preheat the oven to 180°C/fan 160°C. Place the chopped chocolate onto a baking tray lined with a silpat. Bake for 8 minutes, or until the chocolate is golden-brown. Take out from the oven, and using an off-set palette knife, work the chocolate to even out the colour and smooth it out. Allow to cool down while you get on with the rest.

    for the hazelnut paste
    300 g blanched hazelnuts

    Preheat the oven to 165°C/fan 145°C and roast the halzelnuts for 20-25 minutes, or until golden-brown. Save 100g to chop for decorating shells. And blitz the remaining 200g in a mixer until you have a smooth paste, around 8 minutes.
    This will make more than you need, but you can keep it in a container in the fridge for later use.

    For the caramelised white chocolate and hazelnut crémeux
    1 g gelatine 200 bloom
    50 g hazelnut paste
    60 g caramelised white chocolate
    50 g milk
    50 g 35% cream
    a fat pinch of salt
    1 egg yolk

    Soak the gelatine in ice-cold water. Place the caramelised white chocolate and hazelnut paste in a bowl.
    Bring the milk and cream to the boil. Pour onto the egg yolk, whisking as you do so. And return to the pan. Cook over low heat to 80°C, stirring at all times with a silicon spatula. Off the heat, add the squeezed gelatine. Then pour onto the white chocolate in three times, emulsifying well to create a glossy core. Handblend for 3 minutes to emulsify further.
    Transfer to a container and clingfilm to the touch. Chill for at least 4 hours or up to 3 days.

    For the macarons
    150 g icing sugar
    150 g ground almonds
    55 g egg whites
    150 g caster sugar
    50 g water
    55 g egg whites
    15 g caster sugar
    100 g roasted hazelnuts, chopped and cooled down

    In a small blender, blitz the icing sugar and ground almonds for a couple of minutes, pulsing so it doesn’t overheat the nuts. Tip into a large bowl and add the egg whites. Mix to a smooth paste and cover with a damp cloth.

    Place the sugar and water in a small pan and cook over medium het to 118°C.
    When the syrup reaches 110°C, start whisking the egg whites on low speed. When soft peaks form, add the caster sugar, a little at a time, keep on whisking until stiff peaks form.
    Wait for the syrup to stop bubbling – around 30 seconds or so – and pour over your meringue, whisking as you do so, along the sides of the bowl to avoid splashes. Once all the syrup as been incorporated, increase the speed to medium and keep on whisking until the meringue is around 50°C.

    Add the meringue to the almond mixture and fold in using a maryse. Then deflate slightly until you get a ribbon.

    Pipe the macarons using a 9mm nozzle onto a baking tray lined with a silpat. Around 3cm wide. Immediately sprinkle with chopped hazelnuts.
    Leave the trays at room temperature for around 30 minutes, or until a skin forms and the macarons no longer feel tacky.

    Bake at 160°C/fan 140°C for 12 minutes.

    Allow to cool down completely, then turn the macaron and fill them with the crémeux using a 11mm nozzle.
    Freeze on a baking tray, then put away in an air-tight container.

  • Cake à la banane rôtie

    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 know for sure, although I’d think it was Tuesday.

    K. and I took a walk at dusk. With very diffuse clouds above our heads. And right after K. told me they might – perhaps – be northern lights not clouds, the sky turned into a beautiful firework of magnetic fields. Greens and purples. Right above. Reflecting in the snow around us.

    And just like last week, when I saw norrsken for the very first time, I stayed there. Looking up until they melted back into the sky, leaving place to constellations and satellites.

    On our way back, we could still see them in the distance. And as a truck drove past – carrying wood that would become something else – it smelled of walks in the forest. Those of the kind I cherish so much now that the snow is slowly melting, uncovering – everyday a bit more – grass and bushes. Yes, I never want to forget the snow.

    I don’t want to forget this morning either. When I sat in the sun, with a cup of coffee and a slice of banana cake. I was wearing leggings and a thick sweater, oh, and the scarf my mum gave me right before we left France.
    Because, you see, I had bananas on the kitchen counter – the one made of the somewhat retro plywood – ripe and spotted. And we all know it can only mean one thing: banana cake.

    Yes, perhaps the universe doesn’t need another banana cake. But I did.

    Cake à la banane rôtie
    This cake will keep for days, well wrapped in clingfilm. In fact, I think it’s even better a day or two after. In fact, it keeps so well, that I almost always make a double batch to have cake all week long.

    Some of you might want to skip the roasted banana purée if you’re in a hurry, and although I love the combination of roasted and fresh bananas, it will work almost as well if you choose to use only mashed fresh bananas. In this case, simply use three large ones, around 300-320g.
    You could also make a rum glaze or a mascarpone frosting, but I think banana cake is one of the many things that are better eaten naked.

    A few notes on method, the honey, piped butter, and baking temperature:
    I do not let the butter come at room temperature whenever I cream it, as it will soften as you work it. And especially, in this recipe, because we add the warm banana purée which makes the whole softening process much faster.

    The honey in this recipe, because it is an invert sugar, is used to bind with the water contained in the bananas, and make sure the cake will keep moist but not soggy for almost ever.
    The flavour of honey is fairly subtle and complements the banana well.

    As you now know, I’m very fond of this technique to get a neat crack on top of loaf cakes. I always pipe a thin line of soft butter on top of my unbaked loaf, using either a piping bag or even easier a paper cornet (remind me to show you how to fold one).
    When the batter starts to rise, the butter will sink in, creating a neat crack.

    When it comes to loaf cakes, I always like to bake them at high temperature and then reduce to finish the baking. I usually do 5 minutes at 180°C, 10 minutes at 170°C, and 25-30 minutes at 160°C.
    For this banana cake, given how much moisture there is, I’ve found I get better results with 20 minutes at 180°C and then around 30 minutes at 160°C.

    Cake à la banane rôtie

    makes one large loaf cake

    For the roasted banana purée
    2 large bananas, with skin on
    50 g caster sugar

    For the caramelised roasted bananas
    160 g plain flour
    1 1/2 tsp baking powder
    1 tsp sea salt
    180 g butter
    130 g light brown sugar
    50 g creamy honey
    200 g roasted banana purée
    1 banana    , (approximately 100 g) mashed with a fork
    3 eggs, at room temperature

    10 g butter, at room temperature, to pipe on top of the cake

    Start by making the roasted banana purée.
    Preheat the oven to 180°C and place the bananas – skin-on – on a baking tray lined with baking paper. Prick a few holes into the fruits using a small paring knife and roast for 15 minutes, or until black with juices coming out. Allow to cold down until cold enough to handle.
    In a small pan, cook the sugar over low heat to make a light caramel. While the sugar is cooking, peel the bananas, being careful not to burn your fingers.
    When the caramel is just light brown. Take off the heat and add the bananas. Return to the stove, and cook slowly – stirring frequently to dissolve any bits of caramel that might have seized – until you can see the bottom of the pan as you stir, not unlike jam. Transfer to a bowl and allow to cool down for 15-20 minutes.

    In the meantime, butter and line a 1L loaf tin.
    In a bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and salt. Set aside.
    Place the cubed butter, sugar and honey in a large bowl, and cream for around 3 minutes. Add the banana purée and the mashed banana, and mix for a further minute.
    Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing for a minute after each addition.
    Add the flour and mix until just smooth. Scrape the batter into the prepared loaf tin, pipe a line of soft butter on top of the cake.
    Bake in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 160°C and bake for another 30 minutes or until a knife inserted in the centre of the cake comes out clean.
    Unmould immediately, placing the cake on its side. Cool down completely.

  • La tarte tropézienne

    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 in the vinter [winter] as it’s ever been in the sommar [summer].

    What’s up with the Swedish words? Well, I need to learn. And if I was ever able to speak English by writing about food back-back-back in the days. I’m hoping the same will – almost magically – happen with Swedish.
    But I’ve found some amazing companions. Just yesterday, I saw Donal on television. Perfect accent and all. And today, I went to buy Linda’s beautiful baking books, which I’m utterly in love with.

    In fact, I’ve been keeping an eye on every blueberry bush – how wonderful it is to walk surrounded by blåbär och lingon [blueberries and lingonberries] – waiting, very impatiently, for summer to make blåbärssylt [blueberry jam], blueberry crumble tartlets and Linda’s blåbärsrutor [literally, blueberry squares/boxes].

    The tartes tropéziennes here have barely anything to do with it all. Perhaps that’s why it took me so long to tell you about them.
    But when Karl ate one, he said they reminded him of semla. So there is that. And I might have to make some semla inspired tarte tropézienne very soon.

    La tarte tropézienne
    Adapted from Paris Pastry Club.

    Back when I was a child, you could only buy a tarte tropézienne in St Tropez. We would drive through les Maures, a natural reserve not unlike the savanna. The road meandered between cork oaks and arbousiers [strawberry trees].

    It was the late 80s and St Tropez still had a fishing village vibe to it. Nothing compared to what it once was, yet nothing compared to what it’s now become.

    We would walk along the port, and through the market. Sometimes, we’d go up to the fort, the best view over the gulf.
    And, before we’d leave, we’d always stop at the boulangerie to get a tropézienne. A brioche filled with crème madame – pastry cream with butter and whipped cream; delicately flavoured with orange blossom.

    When I wrote Paris Pastry Club, more than gimmicky or trendy recipes, I wanted to share my absolute favourite basics. Ones you can tweak endlessly, creating an amazing répertoire of recipes to call your own.
    And when I see all your beautiful creations on instagram or on your blogs, I’m blown away. And so so so proud to inspire you – at least a little, with my words.


    These tartes tropéziennes are just this.
    A tweak on two recipes from my book. The brioche, also known as the last brioche recipe you’ll ever need, and the crème mousseline, turned crème madame for the occasion, from the fraisier (and please, as soon as the strawberries will actually taste like they should, please, make one on a Saturday, and have it for Sunday lunch, trust me on that).


    A few notes on the brioche:
    – I made half a batch in my stand mixer without problems, but it did take a little longer than the usual double batch. If I were you, I’d make a double batch, use half for tropézienne buns and shape the other half into a loaf, which you can then bake, slice and freeze for instant morning happiness.
    – Here I’ve used T55 flour, but you could also use plain flour, although make sure the protein content of your flour is around 10-12g per 100g of flour.
    The higher the protein content, the stronger the flour is, which means it has more gluten. I’ve found that for brioche, I like to use flours with eleven percents of proteins.
    – When you knead the dough, I recommend doing the windowpane test after around ten minutes. It’s kneaded enough wuen you can stretch a walnut-sized piece into a very thin membrane without it tearing apart. This stage is called full gluten development, and for my brioche recipe, it’s usually reached after 10-12 minutes of kneading in the stand mixer on medium speed. If the dough tears when you try to stretch it, simply knead for a couple more minutes before testing it again.


    – Balling the dough isn’t only done to shape it. It’s an essential step to even the distribution of gluten strands, creating a tension layer, and making sure that no large air bubbles are formed.
    To ball the dough correctly, start by portioning your brioche in even piece (I like to weigh them out so that they will proof/bake evenly). Once you have divided your dough, dip the top side in flour and dust off any excess. Place the unfloured side down on a clean work surface and roll gently with the palm of your hand in a circular motion so that the outer layer of the dough stretches into a smooth ball.

    A few notes on the crème madame:
    – Crème madame is a crème pâtissière to which butter and whipped cream have been added. It should be firm and glossy, and will set into a rich cream.
    Really, crème madame = crème mousseline + whipped cream = (crème pâtissière + butter) + whipped cream.
    – I’ve been writing a post about basic pâtisserie creams which should be published very soon.
    – For a detailed step-by-step how to make crème pâtissière, please check this article.
    – When making crème mousseline, start by creaming the butter using the paddle attachment of your stand-mixer until light and fluffy. Then add the cold crème pâtissière in batches, beating well after each addition. If the butter has seized a little, simply place the bowl on top of a pan of simmering water for a few seconds before beating for a minute or two; or use a blowtorch to heat the sides of your bowl. Repeat until all the butter has disappeared and you’re left with a gorgeously thick crème mousseline.
    If you overheat the mousseline, it will become somewhat runny. Place in the fridge for a couple of hours, then beat for five minutes using the whisk attachment of your stand-mixer.

    La tarte tropézienne

    makes 8 individual tropéziennes
    For the brioche
    275 g T55 flour
    30 g vanilla sugar
    one tsp sea salt
    1/2 tsp instant yeast
    3 eggs
    30 g whole milk
    one tbsp orange blossom water
    160 g butter    , thinly sliced

    one egg, beaten, for egg wash
    200 g pearl sugar, to sprinkle

    For the crème pâtissière
    500 g whole milk
    3 vanilla pods
    4 egg yolks
    150 g caster sugar
    50 g cornflour
    1 tsp orange blossom water

    For the crème madame
    600 g crème pâtissière (above)
    150 g butter, at room temperature
    100 g 35% cream, whipped to stiff peaks

    For the syrup
    100 g water
    70 g caster sugar
    one tbsp orange blossom water

    If you have a stand-mixer, fit the dough hook and mix the flour, salt and vanilla sugar together on slow speed. Add the instant yeast. Then pour in the milk, the eggs and the orange blossom water.
    Switch to medium speed and knead for 10 minutes, or until the dough can be stretched without breaking. Scrape the sides of the bowl every now and then to ensure everything is amalgamated.
    Alternatively, mix the ingredients by hand then turn out onto a floured work surface and knead until the dough can be stretched without breaking.
    Now, add the butter, one piece at a time, and when almost all of it is in, increase the speed and knead until smooth (or knead by hand). The dough should stop sticking to the side of the bowl (or work surface) and should be silky and very smooth, although somewhat tacky.

    Transfer the dough into a plastic container, clingfilm to the touch, and chill in the fridge overnight.

    Make the crème pâtissière.
    Bring the milk and vanilla pods and seeds to a rolling boil in a medium pan set over moderate heat.
    In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks and sugar to prevent the egg yolks from clumping. Add the cornflour and mix well until combined. When the milk has boiled, remove from the heat and pour a third of it over the egg mixture, whisking as you do so. This step is key when making crème pâtissière as it loosens the egg yolks but also tempers them, avoiding any lumps .
    Pour all of the egg mixture back into the pan, return to the heat and cook slowly, whisking at all times until it starts to thicken and boil.
    Once it has bubbled for a few minutes, transfer to a plastic container and clingfilm to the touch to avoid the formation of a skin. Chill in the fridge for overnight.

    Make the orange blossom syrup. Bring the sugar and water to the boil. Allow to cool down slightly, then add the orange blossom water. Reserve at room temperature overnight.

    The next day, scrape the dough from the container onto a clean and lightly floured work surface, gently press to degaz, and divide in eight 75g squares.
    Ball each square, then roll into a 1cm-high disk, roughly 8cmm wide.

    Arrange the disks of brioche onto a baking tray lined with baking paper. Cover loosely with a lightly oiled double layer of clingfilm; and proof until doubled in size.

    Preheat the oven to 200°C.
    Brush the brioche with the beaten egg, then generously sprinkle with the pearl sugar. Bake for 15-17 minutes, or until golden brown.
    Allow to cool down completely.

    In the meantime, make the crème madame.
    Cream the butter until light and fluffy. Add the crème pâtissière, one third at a time, beating well after each addition. Once all of the crème pâtissière has been added, beat for 5 minutes. The mousseline should be firm and glossy.
    If the butter has seized a little, simply place the bowl on top of a pan of simmering water for a few seconds before beating for a minute or two; or use a blowtorch to heat the sides of your bowl. Repeat until all the butter has disappeared and you’re left with a gorgeously thick crème mousseline.
    Finally, gently fold in the whipped cream.
    Place this crème madame in the fridge to firm up slightly for an hour or so.

    Once the brioches have cooled down, slice them in half with a large bread knife and generously brush the cut-side with syrup.

    Transfer the crème madame into a piping bag fitted with a 10mm nozzle and pipe the cream around the rim of the bottom brioches, then pipe a large ball in the centre.
    Top each brioches with their matching “hats”.

    Keep in the fridge, loosely covered with clingfilm for at least 4 hours or overnight.