Category: Pâtisserie

  • Charlotte au fromage blanc et aux framboises

    Charlotte au fromage blanc et aux framboises

    [Fromage blanc and raspberry charlotte]

    I haven’t spent much time in a home kitchen – let alone made pastries in a home kitchen – for the past eleven months. That’s what a pastry apprenticeship does to you! And really I must admit I feel a bit lost when all I have on hands are a couple of Pyrex bowls, a hand-held mixer, and an oven.

    But all it took was a holiday in Fouras, at my grand-parents’. I could navigate through this kitchen with my eyes closed. And I did; by the end of the week, we had a nice collection of homemade pastries: a fondant au chocolat, strawberry meringues, a tiramisu, fruit focaccias, and a raspberry charlotte.

    Charlotte is one of those desserts I will never get tired of. Dare I call it my favourite?

    In the summer, I love to make it with whichever berries we have lying around. And when the neighbour, Annie, offered us to come and pick raspberries in her garden, my sister and I probably said the word charlotte in unison.
    It was still early in the evening. Bumblebees doing a last round before the sunset. A warm wind that only summer nights offer; golden light bouncing on every flower. We picked and picked. And ate some too. And as soon as a plump berry touched my lips, it wiped every memory I ever had of tasting a raspberry before.

    When we came home, we whipped cream and folded it into fromage blanc. And a raspberry charlotte was in the fridge before dinner got on the table.

    It’s not perfect by any means, but some things don’t need to be.

    Charlotte au fromage blanc et aux framboises

    This is a slightly more elaborate version of the charlotte that my mother made often as we were growing up. It is not a delicate entremet, but one to be sliced for lunch or dinner, when the nights get longer and warmer. As I’ve mentioned it above, I love to make this while berries are in season, but it also make a wonderful winter dessert. Think poached pears and perhaps a touch of chocolate mousse. Or poached rhubarb and orange in the late winter.

    If fromage blanc isn’t available where you live, just use plain natural yoghurt mixed with a little cream cheese instead, a thick Turkish yoghurt would work wonders too.

    EDIT 06/03/2019

    As you may know, I’ve been trying to write an article about gelatin for – literally – years. And every now and then, I become obsessed with it again.
    I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, as it’s an ingredient that is so tremendously different from one country to another that it makes my job as a chef and a food writer quite difficult.
    I won’t get into details about it now, but let me just tell you that in between France, the UK, and Sweden, I’ve had to adjust my recipes a lot to fit the gelatin available in each place.

    Yes, gelatin is a difficult subject when it comes to recipe writing as many factors com ein play: brand, bloom strength, weight of each sheet… Sure, you can find information about how gold leaves weigh around 2g, platinum, 1.7g, and so on. And because of this, it should be the same to substitute one leaf of gold for one leaf of platinum. But then again, it depends on the country too. In Sweden, the gelatin used in professional kitchens comes at 4g per sheet, extra gold! And the same brand gelatin, when bought in supermarkets is only half the size, roughly 2g per sheet. So I’ve learnt the hard way that grams are some how more reliable that sheet counts.

    The original recipe called for 6 leaves of gelatin, and the gelatin used was the French Vahiné, which comes at around 1.89g per sheet.
    I’ve now edited the recipe to include weight too, although note that I mostly use silver and gold strength gelatin leaves, so your gelatin has a strength comprised between 160-190 bloom, you might need to increase the quantity slightly!

    Charlotte au fromage blanc et aux framboises

    serves 8

    For the biscuits cuillère
    two dozens of biscuits cuillère, either homemade or bought
    300g water
    210g caster sugar

    For the fromage blanc filling
    6 gelatin leaves, approximately 12g
    500g fromage blanc
    120g caster sugar
    330g whipping cream 35%, whipped to soft peaks

    a couple handfuls of raspberries

    Make a simple soaking syrup by combining the water and caster sugar in a saucepan. Bring to the boil, then pour into a wide container, and allow to cool down while you get on with the rest.

    Soak the gelatin leaves into cold water for at least ten minutes. Divide the fromage blanc into two heatproof bowls.

    In one of the bowls, mix in the sugar until dissolved. Heat the other bowl containing half of the fromage blanc in the microwave until it reaches around 40°C. Then quickly drain the gelatin leaves, and incorporate to the warm fromage blanc. Mix until fully melted. Then, fold this into the sweetened fromage blanc. And finally, gently fold in the whipped cream in a couple of batches.

    When the syrup is cool enough, soak the biscuits into it for a few seconds and arrange in a shallow charlotte mould.

    Pipe half of the mousse into the biscuit-lined tin, then cover with a handful of raspberries and more soaked biscuits. Top with the remaining mousse.

    Chill for a couple of hours, preferably overnight. Unmould and serve.

  • S’more cupcakes

    S’more cupcakes

    I came across S’mores quite late in life. A Michael Recchiuti book. A tiny note at the bottom of a page.
    S’mores.
    A piece of chocolate and a marshmallow, sandwiched together in crisp graham crackers. After a quick moment in the oven, the chocolate and marshmallow melt into each others, making for the most delicious sandwich ever.

    Yet, I’ve never had the chance to taste S’mores – let alone graham crackers. And that’s perhaps why they kept haunting me.

    I thought of making a S’more tart. Picture a crust of crushed homemade graham crackers, topped with a thin layer of dark ganache, and covered with a pile of fluffy Italian meringue. And then Deb did it. And it looked wonderful.

    But well, I eventually forgot about it. The tart, that is. S’mores still had their place in my dreams.And when I started thinking about all the cupcakes I could put together for this month’s SHF, you can guess what came first.

    S’more cupcake. A graham cracker inspired cake – or at least one that taste like I imagine graham crackers do. A thick dome of meringue. A dark chocolate ganache coating.

    S’more cupcakes

    With a healthy dose of chocolate and fluffy meringue, these cupcakes will please almost everyone.

    The cake is fragrant with brown sugar, cinnamon and vanilla; and has that slight saltiness I suspect graham crackers have.
    The marshmallow cream is sweet but not overly so. Also, the seeds from one vanilla pod would work wonders here.
    And well, the ganache… Deep, dark and smooth. You definitely don’t want the chocolate flavour to be overwhelming here, so aim for a thin coating.
    You’ll have more ganache than needed but it is necessary to be able to dip the cupcakes. The leftover ganache can be frozen in an ice-cube tray and is amazing in a cup of milk for an almost instant hot chocolate.

    Just a quick note on the flour: although I havent tried, I’d be tempted to substitute the plain flour for 100 g plain flour and 60 g wholewheat or graham flour. Let me know if you do 🙂

    s’more cupcakes

    Makes 9 small cupcakes.

    For the cupcakes
    160 g plain flour (read note above)
    3/4 tsp flaky sea salt
    1 1/4 tsp baking powder
    1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
    60 g unsalted butter, at room temperature
    85 g light brown sugar
    1 egg
    1 tsp vanilla extract
    160 g whole milk

    For the meringue
    75g caster sugar
    2 tbsp water
    1 egg white
    a pinch of salt

    For the ganache
    150 g whipping cream 35%
    150 g dark chocolate, chopped

    Preheat over to 190°C/fan 170°C.

    Mix the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon in a bowl.
    Cream together the butter and sugar. Beat in the egg, until fully incorporated; and the vanilla extract. Add the flour mixture in three batches, alternating with the milk.
    Divide the batter evenly among paper cups lined on a baking tray, and bake for 20 minutes or until cake tester inserted into centre of the cupcakes comes out clean.
    Allow to cool on wire rack before frosting.

    Make the meringue. Place the sugar and water in a small pan and cook over medium heat to 115°C.
    When the syrup reaches 110°C, start whisking the egg white and salt on low speed 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.
    Pipe the meringue onto the cupcakes and smooth it with a spatula to form a neat dome. Chill while you get on with the ganache.

    Make the ganache. Bring the cream to a rolling boil. Pour onto the chocolate in three times, emulsifying well to create a glossy core.
    Transfer to a small bowl and dip the cupcake tops.

    And don’t forget. Sugar High Friday is running until the 26th of September. So put your aprons on. Get your wooden spoon and whisk. And make cupcakes!
  • My second week as a stagiaire at Pierre Hermé, into the macaron universe

    My second week as a stagiaire at Pierre Hermé, into the macaron universe

    How does one prepare to work in the macaron team? That was exactly what I asked myself on the RER ride home after my first day with the afternoon team – the macaron makers.

    I was exhausted, but also in awe. How could the team be so fast, precise, and professional, while still managing to be funny and kind?

    I arrived at the Vaugirard shop well in advance, around 1:30pm, wanting to make a good first impression. The routine was now familiar: uniform on, aprons tied, hands washed, greetings exchanged. And then, I stepped into the macaron universe.

    The rhythm of macaron-making

    First, the ganaches. I started with jasmine, a delicate and fragrant batch, but by the time I had finished, the others had already made two, sometimes three.

    Then, sorting the coques – the delicate macaron shells. Any broken ones were set aside, baking papers flipped onto racks, and the coques lined up: 12 across, 8 down. It might sound simple, but after a few hours, I felt like a macaron-sorting machine. My tired brain blurred the sizes together, and I realised how quickly repetitive tasks can play tricks on perception.

    Next came filling and closing. One or two chefs piped the luscious ganache onto the waiting coques, and I followed, closing them as quickly as possible. The ganache sets fast, and if not closed in time, it doesn’t form the perfect little belly. This was my favourite part – until we got to the Ispahan macarons.

    Not only did these need to be closed, but before that, each one had to be topped with a tiny square of homemade raspberry gellant. The sticky fruit jelly, made with agar agar instead of gelatine, added an extra step that required precision and patience. The result, though, was worth it. Biting into a perfectly round, glossy macaron, only to discover a hidden raspberry surprise, was nothing short of magic.

    Pierre Hermé’s signature touch

    This hidden centre is what sets Pierre Hermé’s macarons apart. Each one holds a little unexpected treasure:

    – Olive oil and vanilla – two tiny pieces of green olive.
    – Ispahan – a raspberry gellant square.
    – Mosaic – two griotte halves (this one is my favourite).
    – White truffle and hazelnut – three crushed hazelnuts.

    It’s a brilliant idea, elevating each macaron beyond just a shell and a filling, making every bite a layered experience. And then there’s the ganache itself – generous, rich, the true focus of the macaron.

    Closing time (or so I thought)

    By the time we finished the last of the 6000 to 8000 macarons, it was already 11pm, and I assumed it was time to go home. I was wrong. Totally wrong.

    Cleaning time.

    Surprisingly, I didn’t mind. Cleaning the fridge felt almost refreshing after hours of standing in the heat. I hadn’t realised just how warm the room had become until I stepped inside. Who said macaron-making isn’t a sport?

    The days after

    Despite the tiredness, the heat, the repetitive motions, something shifted after that first day.

    I got faster, more precise. I learned the rhythm of the team, the flow of the work. I made ganache after ganache, filled and closed hundreds of macarons, and worked alongside some of the kindest people I’ve ever met.

    By the time my week with the macaron team ended, I almost didn’t want to leave (almost). The whole experience felt like a blur – a week that somehow lasted a minute.

    The reward

    Of course, I had to celebrate all the hard work. And what better way than with a selection of macarons from the current collection?

    The tasting

    01. Arabesque
    Macaron sprinkled with pistachio, filled with apricot ganache and pistachio praline. The ganache, thickened with dried apricots, contains no cream. The pistachio praline? Absolutely out of this world.

    02. Café fort [strong coffee]
    A clean, well-balanced coffee ganache, wrapped in beautiful shades of brown.

    03. Thé au jasmin [jasmine tea]
    A floral, fragrant ganache with a distinct jasmine taste.

    04. Caramel au beurre salé [salted caramel]
    A rich caramel buttercream filling. Decadent. Impossible to resist.

    05. Chocolat amer [bitter chocolate]
    Dark chocolate macaron with a 70% dark chocolate ganache. The first macaron we make each day, as the high cocoa butter content means the ganache sets quickly. Rich, deep, slightly bitter – a classic.

    06. Mogador
    Milk chocolate and passion fruit ganache. At first, I wasn’t sure. Now, it’s one of my favourites. The sharp tang of passion fruit against the smoothness of milk chocolate is irresistible.

    07. Ispahan
    Rose and lychee ganache with raspberry gellant. I’m not the biggest fan of rose and lychee together, but the sharpness of the raspberry gellant makes this macaron sing.

    08. Mosaic
    Pistachio and cinnamon ganache with two griotte halves. Looks beautiful, tastes even better. The cinnamon warms the pistachio, while the griottes add a sharp contrast.

    09. Olive oil et vanille
    An olive oil and vanilla ganache, with two tiny green olives hidden inside. If you think olive oil in dessert is strange, this will change your mind. The slight bitterness of the oil against the sweetness of the vanilla is unexpectedly perfect.

    10. Rose
    Macaron with rose crème au beurre.
    Tasting notes: Yummy in pink. This macaron is really fragrant and delicate.

    Next week: back to the morning team.

    (First written in July 2007, edited February 2025.)

  • My first week as a stagiaire at Pierre Hermé, rue de Vaugirard

    My first week as a stagiaire at Pierre Hermé, rue de Vaugirard

    Paris, one week in.

    Barely settled from New Zealand, and already I’m on a train to Paris – off to start my long-awaited internship at Pierre Hermé.

    The alarm goes off at 4:30. In the dark, I make my way to the shop in the 15th arrondissement, stepping inside as quietly as I can. It’s empty. Where is everyone? A moment later, I find Sébastien, the head of the morning team, who hands me a set of locker keys. Now, at least, I can head downstairs and change.

    The pâtissier outfit – something I once imagined with so much anticipation – turns out to be more practical than elegant. A loose jacket, high-waisted pied-de-poule trousers, a Pierre Hermé baseball cap. The only redeeming piece: my shoes, white sabots, built for long hours on my feet. Some people manage to make it look good. I am not one of them. If I had any doubt, it vanished when one of the guys saw me in my regular clothes and exclaimed, “Oh mais Fanny, vous êtes beaucoup plus belle comme ça, vraiment.”

    With that settled, I stop looking in the mirror and go upstairs to meet the chefs. Apron first – two, actually: one cotton, one plastic. Things will get messy.

    I step into the laboratoire, wash my hands, shake hands with everyone. So many new faces, so many names. I pride myself on being good with names, but this is another level. I smile, nod, listen. The use of vous is enough to remind me that no matter how quickly I learn, I am still the new one here.

    Pastry kitchen survival 101

    Rule one: vous, always.
    Rule two: say chaud – not necessarily because what you’re carrying is hot, but because it’s heavy, in motion, and you don’t want to hear dégage instead. After a while, shouting chaud every few minutes becomes second nature. And useful – I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be doused in 118°C sugar syrup.

    By now, it’s just after six, and I am wide awake. Not just awake – sharp. Watching hands move, pastry bags squeeze, trays slide in and out of ovens, buttercream smoothed into perfect ripples. This is the morning team. They’re here to produce cakes, entremets, yeasted pastries – every motion precise, every detail considered.

    First week, first lessons

    My role? To move from one station to another, stepping in where needed, absorbing everything I can. In my first week, I’ve done everything from sorting almonds to making candied lemon peel. I start with something simple – measuring ingredients for crème onctueuse au chocolat. Straightforward, a good way to ease in. Then, the unexpected: the manager tells me to help Simon decorate the Ispahan entremets.

    Ispahan. One of the it-pastries at Pierre Hermé. My excitement rises as I stand before the delicate pink creations, ready to arrange raspberries over rose-scented buttercream, tuck fragrant lychees between them, pipe a tiny drop of glucose onto a rose petal before pressing it gently onto the macaron shell.

    Then, the Emotions. Pierre Hermé’s signature glass desserts – layered, spoonable. I make both Mosaic (griotte jelly, pistachio jelly, mascarpone cream) and Celeste (rhubarb compote, strawberries, passion fruit mousse, passion fruit marshmallows). The passion fruit marshmallows – light as air, with just enough chew. Separating hundreds of them, rolling them in icing sugar, takes patience, but the result is worth it.

    At some point, they let me make an entire batch of Sensation Céleste. A glass layered with jellies, topped with a macaron. First, rhubarb compote – gelatine, purée, lemon, sugar. A measured pour into each glass. Time to set, then another layer, another. I pipe tiny rounds of banana and strawberry jelly for Désiré, a dessert that’s just as delicious as it sounds.

    But I can’t just stay at my station – I find myself watching Anna, who handles everything that goes into the oven. Brioche, croissants, canelés, millefeuilles. The canelés are the best I’ve ever had – soft inside, deeply caramelised outside. The Mosaic millefeuille is a dream, pistachio cream playing against the tart griottes.

    Next week: c’est la folie des macarons.

    (First written in July 2007, edited February 2025.)