Tag: Pierre Hermé

  • On pâte sucrée (and my favourite lemon meringue tart)

    On pâte sucrée (and my favourite lemon meringue tart)

    I intended for today’s post to be short – almost-wordless short. Really, it was just meant to be a recipe that I developed for a nut-free pâte sucrée.
    And that what it is, in essence. With a few notes around it.

    In France – or at least at the pâtisseries where I worked, and in books and magazines – pâte sucrée will always call for ground almonds (or some other kind of ground nuts, depending on the finished tart). This gives the dough a short, crumbly texture, and a wonderful roasted aroma. No questions asked.
    But here in Sweden, I’ve found that many people have food allergies, so I’ve had to improvise. And after many trials, I’ve finally worked out a nut-free recipe that I’m happy with, and that stands against the pâte sucrée I grew up making.

    Now, I could tell you a few stories about chefs that I worked with in London and their relationships with customers who have allergies or dietary requirements. But I think it would be 1) too mind-your-French kinda stories and 2) too long to tell them all.
    I must, however, share my favourite of all. Picture a couple of vegetarians asking about options in a very meaty menu. All I heard in response went along the lines of: “Do I go in a *insert swear-word of your choice* vegetarian restaurant and ask for a *insert swear-word of your choice* rib-eye?”.
    Of course, a beautiful vegetarian tasting menu was promptly made, but this sentence somehow stuck with me, and I love to remember it fondly every now and then, and of course, to tell it to anyone who cares enough (or not) to listen.

    The recipes

    Pierre Hermé

    This is the recipe that I started with. It’s absolutely beautiful – a given when it comes to Pierre Hermé, really.
    However, over the years, I’ve come to adapt it into an easier-to-work with dough; which to this day remains my standard and usual recipe.

    Pierre Hermé’s pâte sucrée

    300 g unsalted butter
    190 g icing sugar
    60 g ground almonds
    1 tsp sea salt
    seeds from 1 vanilla bean
    100 g eggs
    500 g plain flour


    My favourite

    This recipe, which I think stems from a combination of Pierre Hermé’s, Valrhona and a few tweaks here and there, is as its name reveals without a hint of suspense, my favourite.
    It’s one I can make with my eyes and my recipe notebook closed.

    Of course, I always make a much bigger batch, somewhere along x5.5, which gives me enough to dough to roll fourteen 28.5x45cm sheets (a format, rather than being practical, obeys the rule of the baking paper that we have in kitchens: 45x57cm, which religiously gets cut in half in the morning, forming large piles that fit into gastros and baking trays, and lasts us through the day).
    For those of you wondering about regularity of thickness between sheets, read further down to Notes, where you’ll find the answer.

    Fanny’s favourite pâte sucrée

    255 g unsalted butter
    190 g icing sugar
    70 g ground almonds
    1 tsp sea salt
    seeds from 1 vanilla bean
    100 g eggs
    510 g plain flour


    A nut free alternative

    When I realised many people here had food allergies, it made me question everything I had learn, heard or done in the past.
    In France, at least, back when I was living there, very few pâtisseries catered to dietary requirements; yes, [to be said with a French accent] eat the tart or don’t. It was not something I’ve ever seen anyone – chefs or customers – think about, let alone be concerned.

    In Sweden, it’s on the literal opposite of the spectrum, so much, that I always make sure to have at least three or four gluten-free options, two dairy-free alternatives, a couple of nut-free pastries, and a lactose-free crème brûlée (flavoured with tonka bean at the moment, because I think tonka and winter were always meant).
    And this is why I had to give up my favourite pâte sucrée. I started working on a recipe, with mixed results – from my perspective only judging by how quick the lemon tarts sell out every time I put them in the display.

    But after a few batches, I found the one that I’ve now been using for the past few months. A crisp, golden-brown crust that stays so.

    Fanny’s nut-free pâte sucrée

    280 g unsalted butter
    180 g icing sugar
    1 tsp sea salt
    seeds from 1 vanilla bean
    100 g eggs
    40 g egg yolks
    545 g plain flour

    The process

    If you’ve never made pâte sucrée before, I can only recommend you to head over to my old blog foodbeam, where you’ll find a detailed step-by-step.

    Or simply follow this process:
    1. In the bowl of a stand-mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the cold butter (see note n°1 below), icing sugar, ground almonds (if using), salt, and vanilla, until just smooth.
    2. Add the eggs (and yolk for the nut-free recipe) one at a time, mixing well after each addition, a minute or so. If making a larger batch, the eggs can be added a couple at a time.
    3. Mix in the flour (read note n°2 below if making a larger batch) and work on low speed until just combined.
    4. Divide the dough into three pâtons, roughly 350-360g each. Flatten each onto a feuille guitare (cf note n°3) using the palm of your hand and top with another feuille. Roll, always from the centre upwards, giving the dough a quarter turn every time, into a large disk, around 3-4mm thick. Place the dough onto a baking tray and set aside. Repeat with the other two pâtons; and either freeze for up to two months, or chill in the fridge for at least two hours or for up to a week.
    If making a bigger batch, please refer to note n°4.
    5. Line your tart ring and chill or freeze for an hour or two. Blind bake (see ressources below for a link to one of my posts “A few notes on blind-baking”).

    Notes

    N°1. The butter does not need to be at room temperature as many recipes might suggest. Yes, it makes for an easier mixing (especially by hand, which I suspect this rather obsolete step comes from) but it also makes the water contained in the butter more available to bind with the flour proteins, hence developing gluten more than cold butter would.
    The quick mixing of the cold butter with the sugar acts as a mechanical (as opposed to physical) softener. And before you know it, you’ll have a smooth paste, ready to receive the eggs.

    N°2. If making a large batch – larger than 5 kilograms in total weight – I’d recommend adding around 10% of the flour to the butter/sugar/egg mixture and working on low speed until incorporated; and then adding the remaining flour and mixing until just combined. Never overwork the dough as it would make the tart shell tough instead of crisp and crumbly.

    N°3. Feuille guitare, litterally guitar-leaf, is a transparent polyethylene/acetate film that is somewhat rigid. Although it can be replaced by baking paper, I would – if given the choice – always use it to roll dough. It prevents the formation of creases in the dough (which could later results in cracks during baking) and yes, it looks neat.
    They are also amazing for chocolate décors, which i could show you if you’re interested (let me know!).

    N°4. When I make a x5.5 batch, I divide the dough into 14 pieces, around 450g each. And then roll them into 28.5x45cm sheets, making sure to trim the edges into a neat rectangle. This way, I can store my dough in the freezer in an airtight plastic gastro, and take out sheets when I’m making a tart shell mise-en-place.
    By weighing each pâtons and rolling to the exact same size every time, I ensure an even thickness throughout the batch. This produces a dough that bakes uniformly, making sure all the tartelettes on one baking tray will be ready at the same time.

    N°5. My absolute favourite rings when it comes to tarts are not the traditional tart rings that have rolled edges. I like simple entremet rings from Matfer. They’re 35mm-high and are completely smooth, with no welding mark.
    I find that with 35mm-high rings, I get more use out of them. If I want to make a 2cm-high tart, then I simply cut a 2cm strip of dough that will become the edges of the tart. However, if I’d like to make a deeper tart, perhaps chocolate or pecan, then I simply line the ring up to its rim.
    I know DeBuyer has recently come up with perforated rings in collaboration with Valrhona; and although I’ve tried them a couple of times, with great results in term on crumb texture and even baking, I don’t really like the marks they leave on the outer edge of the tart case.

    N°6. I always bake my tarts onto Silpain – a variation oriented for bread bakers of the now-famous Silpat. I find that it gives the quickest and most even baking.

    La cerise Le citron sur le gâteau [The cherry lemon on top]

    Just like I did in Paris Pastry Club (almost its two-year birthday!!), I can’t resist to share the lemon tart recipe that has followed me for years – despite the MANY other lemon curds that I’ve tried to like. Of course, it’s from Pierre Hermé. And really, trust me, it’s the best you could, and will, ever make.

    The recipe will leave you with some extra lemon curd – that always tend to disappear on top of ice-cream if my mum and sister are around. Or you could also, divide what’s left in piping bags, tie them tighly and freeze for up to 2 months.

    Tarte au citron meringuée

    Makes one 24cm tart, serving 12-16.

    one 24cm blind-baked tart shell, using the pâte sucrée of your choice (or as I do in my book a lemon shortbread topped with a lemon sponge).

    For the lemon curd
    240 g caster sugar
    zest from 3 lemons
    200 g eggs
    140 g lemon juice
    (around 3 large lemons)
    300 g butter, cubed, at room temperature

    Place the sugar and lemon zest in a large bowl, and rub the zest in the sugar for a minute or two. This step, although optional, diffuses the fragrant lemon oils into the sugar, resulting in a deeply flavoured and more complex lemon curd.
    Whisk in the eggs (I like to handblend the eggs before adding them to the sugar as I find it gives the smoothest texture) and the lemon juice.
    Set the bowl over a pan of simmering water and cook the lemon curd until it reaches 81°C, stirring every minute or so.
    remove the bowl from the bain-marie and allow to cool down to 55-60°C. Then whisk in the butter, one cube at a time. Handblend the curd for 6 minutes then pass through a fine-mesh sieve into a plastic container.
    Clingfilm to the touch and chill in the fridge for at least 4 hours or better yet, overnight.

    When ready to assemble the tart, make the Italian meringue.

    For the Italian meringue
    100 g egg whites
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    200 g caster sugar
    60 g water

    Place the egg whites and salt in the bowl of a stand-mixer fitted with the whisk attachment.
    Place the sugar and water in a small pan, and bring to the boil over medium heat.
    When the syrup reaches the boil, start whisking the egg whites on medium speed.
    Cook the syrup to 118°C and pour over the soft peaks egg whites, making sure to run the syrup along the sides of the bowl to avoid it from splashing around the bowl.
    Increase the speed slightly and keep on whisking until the meringue feels barely warm.

    In the meantime, pipe a generous layer of lemon curd into your blind-baked tart shell using a piping bag fitted with a 12mm nozzle.
    Pipe the meringue on top into a pattern, or simply pile it on and swirl. Burn using a blowtorch, making sure to rotate the tart to get every nook and cranny.

    Ressources

    – The way I roll pâte sucrée.
    – Where to buy feuilles guitare? They deliver in the north-north of Sweden, so I assume the rest of the world is ok!
    – A few notes on blind-baking tart shells.
    – My absolute favourite not-for-tarts-tart-rings: Matfer entremet rings (24cm for 14-16 portions or 8cm for indivdual tartelettes). For comparison: traditional tart rings. The DeBuyer/Valrhona perforated rings.

  • 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 itselfgenerous, 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 firsttwo, 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 dessertslayered, 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 hadsoft 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.)