Tag: techniques

  • Cake week-end au citron, confit de clémentines à la vanille

    Cake week-end au citron, confit de clémentines à la vanille

    [Lemon weekend cake, clementine confit]

    Originally published on January 29, 2010

    This is a cake I’ve made so many times over the years that I could make it with my eyes closed.

    I remember the first time I posted about it. It was early 2010, and a thin mantle of snow had fallen overnight, just enough to cover the ground.

    I had just started working as a commis pastry chef at the Capital, a small boutique hotel that would become the road map of my seven years in London. Yes, many of the chefs I consider my mentors and friends have – at one point or another – worked in the kitchen where I did my very first service.

    This reminds me that I’ll have to tell you, one day, about the time where I traveled across town – from Islington to Mayfair – on a vegetable delivery van to meet Chavot for an interview, leaving loaves of sourdough proofing in the kitchen above John Salt, and came back just in time to bake them before dinner service.

    But… this cake. A gâteau de voyage [a travel cake]. It doesn’t translate well, but the name alone suffices to evoke the soft lull of a holiday; the carefully wrapped slice, eaten on the night train; the afternoons at the beach; perhaps even, the long drive through the Massif Central.
    All gâteaux de voyage have the particularity to keep well at room temperature over a week or so. And this weekend cake is no exception, with both butter and crème fraiche to keep it moist, I find that it tastes even better the next day.

    It starts by whisking the eggs and sugar, with just a pinch of salt. The flours gets folded in. Then a third of the batter is mixed with the fats, then delicately folded back into the remaining batter.
    Although, I now often make it by adding the fats to the eggs, then folding in the flour.

    For the sake of staying true to my original recipe, I will leave the former method – as written in 2010, but know that both work fine, the latter leading to a slightly denser crumb, which I like when having cakes with tea or more accurately – and dare I say it – I love when dipping a slice in piping hot tea.
    Please, tell me you also give in to this ritual or am I the only one?

    And although, I can never resist it unadorned, I am rather fond of serving it with a generous spoonful of clementine confit and a dollop of crème fraiche.
    There is something about the suave softness of the compote against the gentle bite of the cake.
    Sometimes I even make it with tea – finely milled to a powder – folded into the batter. Other times, I leave it plain, perhaps with a touch of vanilla or orange blossom water, and we eat it with softly whipped cream and warmed raspberries.

    Yes, more than a recipe this really is blueprint and should be used as such.

    Just a quick note on baking temperatures: while I often bake this loaf cake at 175°C for approximately 45 minutes, I can only remind you of my favourite method for baking loaf cakes.
    5 minutes at 200°C/fan 180°C, 10 minutes at 180°C/fan 170°C, and around 25 minutes at 170°C/fan 160°C.

    Cake weekend au citron, confit de clémentines à la vanille

    Makes one loaf cake.

    For the clementines confit

    350 g clementines, around 3 to 4
    200 g caster sugar
    half a vanilla pod
    100 g water
    20 g cornflour diluted in 40 g cold water

    For the lemon weekend cake

    4 eggs
    250 g caster sugar
    zest from 2 organic lemons
    200 g plain flour
    one tsp baking powder
    150 g creme fraiche
    50 g butter, melted

    softened butter, extra for piping

    To serve

    a generous dollop of crème fraiche for each serving

    Make the clementine confit: bring a large pan of water to the boil. Plunge the clementines in it and simmer for 3 minutes. Sieve, placing the fruits in an ice-cold water bath as you do so. Repeat one more time. Then chill the clementines until cold enough to handle.
    Slice finely, and place in a pan along with the sugar, vanilla pod and seeds, and water.
    Simmer for 30 minutes or until reduced and almost candied. Then vigorously fold in the cornflour mixture. Allow to boil for a couple of minutes, and transfer to a bowl.
    The confit will keep in the fridge for up to 5 days or in the freezer for up to 3 months.

    Make the cake batter: preheat the oven to 175°C/fan 155°C; butter and flour a loaf tin.
    Place the eggs, sugar, lemon zest, and salt in a bowl, and whisk until thick and doubled in size.
    In an another bowl, mix the flour and baking powder, and fold into the egg mixture.
    Pour a third of the batter onto the cream and melted butter, mix well, and transfer back to the main batter mix, gently folding in as you do so.
    Pour into the prepared tin. If you want an even crack in the center of your loaf cake, pipe a thin line of softened butter across the batter; and bake for 45 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the cake comes out clean.
    Allow to cool down 20-30 minutes before unmoulding.
    If not eating right away, place into an airtight container and keep at room temperature.

    Place a slice of cake cut in half lengthwise in a plate. Top with both a spoonful of confit and a dollop of crème fraiche.

  • Pastry chef tips – Tour double

    Pastry chef tips – Tour double

    Single fold? Double fold?

    When it comes to laminated doughs, you find two types of tours (literally turns, although I tend to refer to them as folds in English): the tour simple – or single fold – and the tour double – otherwise known as double fold.

    I’m planning on making a post describing both types, along with some notes; but today’s pastry chef tip is all about double folds.
    On the diagram below – representing both single and double folds – you’ll find the classic double fold most books and online resources will use: the dough gets “sectioned” in quarters, both ends gets folded over the centre “spine”, and finally, to complete the double fold, the dough gets folded in half.

    The tip

    Today’s tip is the proof that something simple can have a tremendous impact; the beauty of pâtisserie really.

    I might be wrong, but I like to think that this tip was given to me by Graham Hornigold – a sensational pastry chef and even better human being who is very dear to my heart, yes, he’s the best – in our basement prep-kitchen at the Mandarin Oriental too many years ago. Thank you Graham!

    When doing a double fold, slightly offset the centre “spine” to your right as shown on the diagram below:

    Then proceed as normal:
    1. Fold the right end toward the offset centre “spine”.
    2. Fold the left end to meet the first fold.
    3. Fold the dough in half to complete the tour double.

    The reason behind it

    The “spine”, as I like to call it, where both ends meet is traditionally at the centre of the rolled-out pâton. But when you fold the dough in half to complete the tour, the two ends separate slightly due to the physical action of folding, leaving a thin gap with only one layer of dough instead of two.

    By offsetting the “spine”, you ensure that all parts of the dough get laminated, creating a dough with consistent and continuous lamination.

    One of our readers, Martin, has a very interesting insight in the comments
    Offset folding also helps by moving two of the less well laminated edges into the centre mass of the sheet. If you fold in the regular style, the poorer lamination is never adjusted and remains on the outer rim of the dough.

    Notes and resources

    -I like to trim the ends, again, to ensure a consistent lamination; but more on that later in another pastry chef tip!

    – Always gently brush off excess flour before completing the folds.

    – As I’ve mentioned it above, I’m also working on a more general article about lamination, but in the meantime, this post about cinnamon croissants contains many of my tips (and the most wonderful breakfast one could ever have).

    – My absolute favourite printed ressource: Advanced Bread and Pastry, by Michael Suas.

    – More laminated dough posts and recipes.

  • 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.

  • A brioche study, recipe: the “generic” brioche (control)

    A brioche study, recipe: the “generic” brioche (control)

    Analysing the impact of the egg-to-milk ratio in brioche formulas

    The formula

    The recipe shown below will make two 500g loaves. I chose, however, to make half a batch, yielding to a single loaf, which is something I’ll carry on doing over the next experiments, as the kneading time of a half-recipe takes longer when done in a stand-mixer; more on that to come in part two: the method (ingredient list, pastry chef tips and techniques on brioche).

    Brioche #1: Control formula

    quantityingredientBAKERS %
    500gflour100%
    70gcaster sugar14%
    15gyeast3%
    8gsalt2%
    180gmilk36%
    180gegg36%
    150gbutter30%
    1103gtotal weight

    Notes

    I haven’t finished writing about the method and techniques associated with rich doughs, so in the meantime, please refer to this article for detailed instructions on how to make brioche.

    I ended up making the control brioche twice: after I baked brioche 2, I was amazed by the differences in between the two batches. So much in fact, that I thought something had gone wrong with the control brioche (I mostly suspected slow yeast or underproofing). So I went ahead and made the control brioche again, only to find out the differences were the result of the formula substitutions; and in no way related to the other ingredients or the method.

    The difference in crumb colour on the pictures above is due to lighting (natural versus halogen) as I’ve just gotten an industrial halogen lamp so I would be able to take pictures at night – also known as 2pm here, hehe – and I’m still trying to figure it out.

    Results

    The oven-spring isn’t tremendous.

    The crust is very thin and soft. As the loaf cools down, it wrinkles.

    The crumb is light and soft, with a slight moistness to it. It’s has a beautiful texture and a lovely chew, almost reminiscent of a doughnut.

    This “generic” brioche turned out amazing. I fell in love with its crumb and soft crust. The loaf stayed beautifully soft on the second day too; as we topped it with a thick layer of hjortronsylt [cloudberry jam].
    I’ll definitely be making it again and again.

    READ MORE ABOUT THE BRIOCHE STUDY

    – Part I: the approach

    – Part II: the ingredients

    – Part III: the process – method, techniques and tips

    – Recipe: brioche #1, the control – this is where you are.

    – Recipe: brioche #2, the almost Chavot-brioche

    – Recipe: brioche #3, the pain au lait

    – Recipe: brioches #4 and #5

    – Part IV: impact of the egg-to-milk ratio in rich doughs

    – Ressources: Brioche in literature

    Explore the feature: A brioche study and follow our discoveries on instagram: #BRIOCHESTUDY.

    FROM THE 2016 ARCHIVES

  • A brioche study, part I: the approach

    A brioche study, part I: the approach

    Analysing the impact of the egg-to-milk ratio in brioche formulas

    In the first part of my forever-unfinished feature How to be a pastry chef? – the checklist, I asked you some questions about brioche with the aim to develop your curiosity and drive you to research important techniques. It went along the following lines:

    Do you know brioche dough is an emulsion? Do you treat it as such? Can you knead it by hand or in a mixer without over-heating it? And which temperature should the butter be?

    But although these points are fundamental in a technical approach, I’ve since had been absorbed by some other questions that belong to the food science realm.

    How do the milk and eggs respectively affect the texture of a brioche? Which kind of flour yield to the softest crumb? And how much butter is too much?

    As with any mixture experiment, we have to study each of these variables – liquids ratio, flour properties, butter quantity – separately in order to develop an understanding on how they each have an impact on the finished product.
    And for no other reason than it has obsessed me for years, I’ve chosen to start by examining the effect of the egg-to-milk ratio in rich doughs.

    Eggs or milk?

    If you ask Eric Chavot, a true brioche – or as he would say, une vraie brioche – is made using eggs as the only source of hydration.
    And while I’m certain many would agree, the subject of brioche – from its etymology to its formula – has always been a controversial one.

    In my kitchen, I tend to use a combination of both eggs and milk; with more or less of each depending on the texture I want to achieve. A knowledge that’s really more empirical than anything; and perhaps, relies a bit too much on wishful thinking.
    So today, we will stop counting shooting stars and start analysing percentages. It will take five different loaves. Over two kilograms of flour and perhaps a litre or two of milk. A box of eggs. Most likely two. And hopefully, a few worthy notes that will improve my understanding of rich doughs.

    The approach

    1. Develop a control formula that will act as a reference point during the experiment.
    2. Define the range into which the variables will fluctuate.
    3. Establish the method: ingredients (on both quantitative and qualitative – brand, temperature – points of view), process (order of incorporation, kneading time/speed, proofing time/temperature, shaping, baking time/temperature)
    4. Make successive batches of brioches, each with a different ratio of egg to milk. All other variables (see method above) remain unchanged.
    5. Record the organoleptic properties of each batch:
    – texture (our main focus point): thickness/hardness of the crust, crumb appearance and mouthfeel.
    – colour: darkness of the crust, tint of the crumb.
    – flavour and smell.
    I haven’t decided yet on whether or not to include objective qualities – such as: crust thickness in mm, loaf size, or even weight of the baked brioche – to measure the response. Yes, even though this is a matter of mixture design, I mostly want to document the results in a comprehensive yet accessible and home-practicable way.
    6. Analyse the results.

    Developing the control formula

    I could have used my favourite stand-alone brioche recipe, the one pictured above and which I told you about in Paris Pastry Club and the one I made tropéziennes with.
    But out of all my rich dough recipes, it stands out by its high hydration and high fat quantity.

    I thus wanted to create a generic rich dough recipe. To do this, I analysed my favourite recipes, ranging from brioche to burger buns, from challah to kanelbullar.
    On the table below, you can see the ones that I consider the more relevant, with BRIOCHE 2 being my usual, the one I just mentioned.

    Brioches: bakers percentage

    bullarbrioche 1brioche 2brioche 3burger bunsbrioche 4
    flour100%100%100%100%100%100%
    hydration64%58%65%60%64%60%
    eggs38%19%55%
    		60%13%20%
    milk26%38%11%0%51%40%
    fat28%15%58%40%19%16%
    sugar13%19%11%12%6%20%

    Note: the hydration values, although inaccurate since milk and eggs don’t hydrate the dough fully (respectively at 88% and 76.15%), could have also been labelled “liquids”. I did however choose to go with “hydration” for ease of understanding and recipe development.

    I then went ahead and calculated an average formula as seen on the table below. And by multiplying the bakers percentages, I got the recipe for two brioche loaves.
    As you can notice, some of the measurements would be quite difficult to put into practice, so I used this “average recipe” as a guideline.

    Brioches: average

    BAKERS %for two 500g loaves
    flour100%500 g
    hydration62%
    fat29%147g
    sugar14%68g
    eggs34%171g
    milk28%138g

    Brioche #1: Control formula

    quantityingredientBAKERS %
    500gflour100%
    70gcaster sugar14%
    15gyeast3%
    8gsalt2%
    180gmilk36%
    180gegg36%
    150gbutter30%
    1103gtotal weight

    The percentages I chose to keep are as such:
    – flour 100%
    – caster sugar 14%
    – milk 36%
    – egg 36%
    – butter 30%

    As you can see, I’ve increased the total liquids (milk+eggs) as when I first baked the control brioche, I realised that with only 62% liquids the dough was way too dry so I had to add 60g of liquids (30g egg and 30g milk), bringing the total hydration to 72% instead.
    This can be due to 2 factors:
    – I calculated the average formula using recipes from my French/English recipe notebooks, and thus missed to take into account the Swedish flour’s high absorption capacity
    – when making such a small batch of dough (I halved the recipe) the kneading can take twice as long as when making a larger batch, and the dough has more surface to loose moisture from

    I then added 3% of yeast and 2% of salt, and our control formula was done.

    This control formula is a perfect starting point as its egg-to-milk ratio is 50%-50%, which will allow us to really analyse its impact on the dough and on the finished brioche.

    The mixture design

    I have in mind to make 5 different “brioche” recipes. Yes, “brioche” in quotes, as our experiment will range from actual brioche to pain au lait [literally, milk bread].

    1: controlbrioche 2brioche 3brioche 4brioche 5
    milk50%0%100%33%67%
    egg50%100%0%67%33%

    Here are the different formulas, each associated with a number, which is used as both a name and a rank. We will start with the control brioche 1, move onto brioche 2, and so on.
    As you can see above, we’re starting with the most extreme formulas as we might be able to stop our experiment after brioche 3, in the eventuality that the results will have given us enough information about the impact of the egg-to-milk ratio in the dough.
    I will, however, most likely still decide to conduct brioche 4 and 5, with my personal recipe collection in mind.

    Ressources

    – A clear explanation of mixture design.
    – A few notes on brioche.
    – A five-minute brioche?

    TO COME

    – Part I: the approach – this is where you are.

    – Part II: the ingredients

    – Part III: the process – method, techniques and tips

    – Recipe: brioche #1, the control

    – Recipe: brioche #2, the almost Chavot-brioche

    – Recipe: brioche #3, the pain au lait

    – Recipe: brioches #4 and #5

    – Part IV: impact of the egg-to-milk ratio in rich doughs

    – Ressources: Brioche in literature

    I hope you’ll like this experiment as much as I do, even the most boring parts. Follow #briochestudy on Instagram for real-time science 🙂

    And, of course, I wish you all the happiest new year! To 2016 and brioches. 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:

    PRINT

    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

  • 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…

  • Les élastiques

    Les élastiques

    [Rubber bands]

    I’ve been having a bit of a rubber band moment. You see I’ve always used them in the kitchen, in one way or another, but these past few weeks, I’ve found myself reaching for the bundle we keep in – what used to be – an ice-cream tub more and more often.

    So I thought I’d share how I use rubber bands in my kitchen. And as always, please do add your own little tips in the comments!

    – to keep flour bags closed; I simply roll the top of the bag, then tie the band around.

    – to avoid using clingfilm; I’ve been cutting the edges of a freezer bag to form a large square which I place on top of the bowl I want to cover and secure it with a rubber band. Voilà, reusable clingfilm! This is perfect when proofing bread dough as it provides an airtight environment.
    I also love this to secure a kitchen towel or a piece of mousseline to “close” my starter jar or my kombucha.

    – to drain off the excess chocolate when making dipped bonbons; I place a rubber band across the bowl into which I have my tempered chocolate, and after dipping my intérieur (be it a ganache or some candied fruit or marzipan), I first drain them by doing up and down movements to create some suction which will get rid of most the excess, and then I scrape my bonbon on the elastic which removes the last bit of chocolate; finally, I place my coated bonbon onto a sheet of feuille guitare or acetate, and leave it to crystallise.

    – to assess of how much my starter proofs. After its feed, I simply place the rubber band around my jar – at the same level my starter lies at. A few hours later, it’s super easy to notice how much it’s proofed.

    – to keep my silpats and baking paper scraps neatly rolled. You know, most pastry shops reuse their baking paper; something I wish we did more often at home!

    – to have my notebook open at all time during baking; no more butter finger-prints (no matter how romantic we make it seem). I just slide two elastics on my notebook, one of each side of the page I want to keep open. This way, I can easily jot down notes as I work on recipes.

  • 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.

  • A few notes on blind-baking tarts

    A few notes on blind-baking tarts

    Butter the rings

    I like to butter my rings before lining with dough. It will slide down the ring more easily and won’t ever ever stick to it once baked.

    How to roll and cut the dough

    These days I always roll my dough in betwen two sheets of feuille guitare, a thin acetate. If you can get your hands on it, it’s much better than baking paper, as the dough won’t crease.

    If I’m using pâte sucrée or as I show you here my favourite biscuit dough (any kind of soft dough that patches well, really; I can’t think of any aside from pâte brisée or feuilletée), I like to cut strips to the height I want my tart to be and a disk for the bottom.
    This is way easier to handle and creates a flawless tart case with perfect corners.

    To calculate how long the strips that goes around the ring should be, it’s very simple.

    circumference = diametre x 3.14

    And then, for the bottom-disk: just cut it one cm smaller than your ring.

    To line the ring, simply place the strip of dough on the inside, sealing with your fingers where the two ends meet. And then place the disk of dough in the centre, pushing it slightly so that it reaches the sides. Run your finger to smooth out and seal.

    Blind-baking with clingfilm

    I usually go for clingfilm whenever I’m blind-baking a large tart (bigger than 10cm-wide), as it’s the most convenient.
    Simply layer two large pieces of clingfilm, smoothing out with a tea towel, then place over your unbaked tart case and add rice or pulses up to the rim. Press with your hands to compress your baking weights, making sure they go well into the corners of your tart. Loosely close your clingfilm. If you wrap it too tight, the clingfilm as it shrinks a little with the heat, won’t be in contact with the sides of your tart anymore.

    This technique is amazing as it bakes the dough much more evenly than any other. But it can be a bit of a pain at times, with the clingfilm breaking and spilling rice everywhere. Yes, it’s happened before 😉

    Blind-baking with cupcake papers

    This is my go-to method, one that I learnt at Pierre Hermé, back in 2007. Using your fingers you “break” cupcake paper so that they are the size of your ring. Fill with rice or pulses. And you’re pretty much set. It’s incredibly easy, reusable for almost-ever and the fastest.

    This method has only one downside: it will leave imprints on the baked tart case.

    The baking temperature

    At the restaurant I always go for 155°C, but at home, in my not so amazing oven, I’ve found that 165°C works perfectly.
    Of course it also depends on the kind of dough you’re using. The best is to experiment, until you’re happy with the results.

    As a general rule though, 150-160°C for fan-assisted ovens, and 165-170°C for traditional ovens.

    Peel your tart

    This is my absolute favourite trick to make tart cases neater than neat. Simply trim any bits of dough that might have popped out a little out from the rings, either at the base or the top with a peeler.

    Do this when your tart case is completely cold. And ever so gently.

    Ceramic baking weights?

    No thank you. They’re too big: don’t get in the corners. Too heavy: break the delicate structure of your dough, leave imprints. Too expensive.

    If you have any other question, please leave me a comment and I’ll try to answer. Also, if there is any technique or ingredient you would like to see broken down, tell me. x

  • Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

    Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

    [Crisp cinnamon biscuits]

    I don’t want fig leaf or oak bark infusion. I don’t want gimmicks and royal icing where it’s not needed. I want to explore flour, sugar, butter and eggs.

    Give me cinnamon. And whole wheat flour. Oats. And dark brown sugar.

    I want to look underneath a biscuit. And see a golden colour. And little ridges. And above all, I want to build a collection of solid recipes for the years to come. For traditions that don’t exist yet, but will. And for those that are already there.

    Yes, at times, I love to experience with crazy flavours. The next big thing. Or more. But as I’ve told you yesterday, for me, Christmas is all about rituals and beautiful habits. I hope you feel the same way.

    Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle
    Adapted from Trine Hahnemann.

    When it comes to a biscuit texture you can get: crisp, crunchy, sandy/short, caky or chewy. These ones are full-on crisp. A beautiful texture which makes them – perhaps – the best biscuits I’ve ever eaten.
    So much, in fact, that this year, I’ve decided to forgo my usual vanilla shortbreads and use this recipe as a base instead. Maybe try different shapes, perhaps even thumbprint cookies and see how that goes.

    I think their insane texture comes from the initial sanding technique, when the butter gets rubbed into the flour and sugar, which created beautiful layers within the biscuit. So I might experiment with this instead of the usual creaming that most of my biscuit recipes use.
    They also make me want to try more of Trine’s recipes. Have you ever? If not, then please, make a batch of these.

    As I usually do, I rolled the dough between two sheets of baking paper (but as I mentioned yesterday, it makes me miss the feuilles guitare I use at the restaurant, SO. MUCH. BETTER.) as soon as it gets made, and then go on with the chilling. I’ve found that resting the dough before rolling doesn’t improve the texture, and really, makes it so hard to roll that you have to 1) bash it with a rolling pin to make it somewhat workable or 2) let it outside to warm up a bit (hence, erasing all the benefits of keeping the dough cold at all times: making the water content of the butter less available for gluten to bind).

    Two or three important things though when it comes to rolling the dough.
    – always roll in different directions.
    – every now and then, lift the baking paper and smooth any wrinkles out. They tend to make the dough fragile and the biscuits less pretty.
    – before you cut out your biscuits, remove the top layer of baking paper, then place it back (it won’t stick as much), before filliping around and removing the second layer of baking paper. This way, as you cut out, the shapes will stay in your cutter, instead of sticking to the paper (hope that makes a semblance of sense at all?!).

    Also, re-rolling the trimming? I would usually say it’s a big no. But f*ck it, it’s home baking after all.

    Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

    makes around 30-40 biscuits

    For the dough
    375g plain flour
    125g light soft brown sugar
    1 tsp baking powder
    1 tsp ground cinnamon
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    250g cold butter    , cubed
    one egg

    For the sugar topping
    one egg, beaten
    100 g demerara sugar
    4 tsp ground cinnamon
    gold shimmer powder    , optional

    Mix the sugar, cinnamon, and gold shimmer (if using) to combine.

    Place the flour, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon and salt in a large bowl, and mix to combine. Add the butter, and rub it in the flour mix until it resembles coarse oats. Add the egg and work the dough until just smooth.
    Roll the dough between two sheets of baking paper until it’s around 4-5mm thick.
    Place on a baking tray that fits in your fridge, if the dough is too large, you can cut through the paper to make two or more rectangles. Chill the dough overnight.

    The next day, cut out your biscuits using either a round 5cm cutter or different shapes, and place on a large sheet of baking paper. Brush with the beaten egg and sprinkle generously with the cinnamon sugar. Shake off the excess and place on a baking tray lined with paper. At this point you can either freeze the biscuits for a month or so, or bake them straight away.

    Preheat the oven to 170°C. Bake the biscuits for 14-18 minutes, depending on their size. They’re ready when evenly brown. Allow to cool down completely and keep in an airtight container. Trine says they’ll keep for a month. If so, my dreams of the perfect biscuit have come true.

  • How to become a pastry chef? – The checklist

    How to become a pastry chef? – The checklist

    Being a pastry chef is most possibly the best decision I’ve ever taken. Everyday, I have no words to describe the bliss I feel when I’m busy making things. Yes, making. With my hands dirty, and more often than never, with my apron too.

    So yes, many say you can judge how good a pastry chef is by the look of his/her apron. In the books, it should be clean at all times.

    Well, let me tell you one thing. I strongly think that if you can tell every bits and pieces of mise-en-place that’s been made with just a look at a chef’s apron, then it’s a good thing. Perhaps, it’ll become a joke. But I will know deep-inside that this chef gets things done.
    And to me, that’s a very good start. The clean apron will come later, as every move will become smoother, faster and more precise. And if it never comes, you can always change it ten times a day (and I speak from experience on this point).

    So today, I’d like to focus on skills and techniques that are the very essence of what makes a good pastry chef, in a kitchen or at home.
    Because at the end of the day, I strongly believe it’s not about your position, or whether you trained in the most expensive schools, or simply love to spend your days off making pastries.

    It really gets down to passion. A passion with no boundaries.
    In fact, I know many passionate people who know more than the head pastry chef next door.

    And that’s really the matter. To know, to be curious, to strive to learn always and forever more. To experiment, to fail, to success.

    This is the very first step to becoming a pastry chef.

    The list is not exhaustive, but should be considered as a checklist. You want to become a pastry chef? Then do some research and learn about:

    doughs

    – pâte brisée
    – pâte sucrée
    – pâte à foncer
    – pâte feuilletée (perhaps, even inversée)
    – pâte feuilletée levée
    – pâte à choux
    – brioche
    – savarin

    Is you pâte brisée crisp and flaky? Is your pâte sucrée melt-in-your mouth?
    Do you know the difference between pâte brisée and pâte à foncer?

    And what about your puff pastry? Is it light and break into million pieces in your hands? Do you know how to caramelise its top?

    Are your croissants and pains au chocolat light with even layers and thin membranes? Do you see a honeycomb pattern when you slice into them? As for the technique, do you know a great tip that ensures even laminating?

    Are you choux puffs consistent and hollow? Not wet and yet not dry? Can you glaze an éclair, shiny even after a few hours in the fridge, neat around the edges? Do you know that technique for fondant, the one that involves freezing it into small disks then letting it defrost over a choux?

    Do you know brioche dough is an emulsion? Do you treat it as such? Can you knead it by hand or in a mixer without over-heating it? And which temperature should the butter be?

    Are your savarins and babas light as a feather, with holes just so?

    biscuit

    – génoise
    – pain de Gènes
    – dacquois
    – joconde
    – biscuit cuillère
    – macarons
    – crème d’amandes

    Do you know the difference between a génoise and a pain de Gènes? Is your génoise light and fluffy? Can you tell when it’s just baked, not overly so?

    Can your dacquois holds its shape? What’s the purpose of the many different ratios of caster sugar versus icing sugar?

    And the biscuit joconde. Why do you have to beat the mixture for so long? Can you spread it thinly enough in an even layer?

    Are your biscuits cuillère soft and spongy rather than dry? Is your batter firm enough to keep its shape when piped? Do you always dust it with icing sugar at a 10-minute interval?

    Can you tell when a macaron appareil has been macaronné enough? French or Italian meringue? Or even, as I now see it more and more, Swiss meringue? Which syrup temperature is best for the Italian meringue? Can you pipe macarons consistently? Are they shiny with a crisp crust and melt-in-your-mouth inners? Do they have beautiful feet? Do they crack in the oven, and why?

    Is your crème d’amandes light and fluffy? Does it split and feel too buttery once baked? Is it too spongey?

    chocolaterie

    – temper chocolate
    – ganache

    Can you temper chocolate so that it snaps into shiny shards? Can you do it without a probe? Without a marble? Can you spread it to make décors with just a palette knife?

    Do you know how to make a simple ganache? And how each ingredient works towards a smooth supple ganache?

    creams

    – crème pâtissière
    – crème mousseline
    – crème diplomate
    – crème Chiboust
    – crème anglaise
    – bavarois
    – sabayon
    – crémeux
    – crème au beurre

    Is your crème pâtissière super-smooth, not grainy? How do you do, just bring it to the boil or let it bubble for a few minutes to relax? Do you just pour the hot liquid over the egg mixture and let the magic happen?

    Does your crème mousseline feel light? Does it split? And do you know what to do in case it does? Do you add the butter to the crème pâtissière, or the crème pâtissière to the butter? What about that story that says half of the butter should be incorporated into the hot pastry cream?

    Do you know the right temperature to fold your whipped cream into the crème pâtissière to make a crème diplomate? How much gelatine is just enough to set it?

    When making a Chiboust, hould you use a whisk or a maryse when folding the Italian meringue into the hot crème pâtissière? In fact, how hot should the pastry cream be when you do so?

    Is you crème anglaise eggy? Is it smooth and just thick enough?

    As for the bavarois, two things: how whipped your cream should be? How hot your anglaise or fruit purée?

    Is your sabayon thick and glossy?

    What is a crémeux: lemon, chocolate or other fruits? Does it hold its shape and yet melts in your mouth? Is it set just enough or could you kill someone with it?

    Is your crème au beurre made with Swiss or Italian meringue? Which temperature do you need the meringue to be at before incorporating the butter? And how cold the butter should be? Why does it split? What to do if it splits?

    quenelles

    Can you make the perfect quenelle with one spoon? Always the same size, with a pointy tip and a round back?

    other techniques

    How to whisk, mix, combine, fold? Spread with a palette knife or an off-set palette knife? How to tell when a sponge is baked? How to whisk egg whites, fast or slow? And cream? Until which point for a mousse, a Chantilly?

    How to glaze an entremet, with no air bubbles and a shiny glaze?

    How, how, how… This is what should go through your mind every single second of every single day.

    I’ll try and make step-by-steps for each and every of the above items, but in the meantime, get your aprons out, find recipes and compare them to each other, and get dirty.
    Yes, definitely get dirty!