Tag: yeast

Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

[Swedish saffron and almond buns]

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

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

Yes, I might have.

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

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

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

Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

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

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

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

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

Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

makes around 14-16

For the saffron dough

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

For the almond butter

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

For the topping

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

For the syrup

75 g caster sugar
75 g water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 13, 2015
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
October 3, 2015

Chasing rugbrød, part one

We waked, in the two cabins in those happy days, just before the sun came up, when the birds were in their loudest clamor of morning joy. Wrapped each in a blanket, George and I stepped out from our doors, each trying to call the other, and often meeting on the grass between. We ran to the river and plunged in,—oh, how cold it was!—laughed and screamed like boys, rubbed ourselves aglow, and ran home to build Polly’s fire beneath the open chimney which stood beside my cabin. The bread had risen in the night. The water soon boiled above the logs. The children came laughing out upon the grass, barefoot, and fearless of the dew. Then Polly appeared with her gridiron and bear-steak, or with her griddle and eggs, and, in fewer minutes than this page has cost me, the breakfast was ready for Alice to carry, dish by dish, to the white-clad table on the piazza. Not Raphael and Adam more enjoyed their watermelons, fox-grapes, and late blueberries! And, in the long croon of the breakfast, we revenged ourselves for the haste with which it had been prepared.

Edward Everett Hale (1869), The Brick Moon, and Other Stories

If I came to you today with the perfect recipe for rugbrød – which I’ve come to know as danskt rågbröd, literally, Danish rye bread – then I think this story would have no point in being told.

It might have started on our way to Lövnas. We stopped in the closest town, an hour or so away from the cabin, at the small supermarket facing the gas station. And although I was still dozy from our trip, I remember – with an unusual crispness – picking a small bag, much heavier than it looked, dark and packed with seeds, with five or six thin slices of danskt rågbröd.
I didn’t think much about it then. Not that it would send me into a relentless search for my favourite homemade rugbrød or that it would be the start of many months (and possibly years, although it’s something I can’t say just yet) of breakfast tartines.

I also remember Kalle putting two yoghurt cartons in our basket. Perhaps, because they read körsbär [cherry], but more plausibly, because they were called fjäll [mountain], a word I’d heard – and not quite understood – when Kalle spoke it. “Vi ska åka till fjällen”.

The next morning, we had our first breakfast at the cabin. And while everyone else could only think about what they’d top their bread with, I was studying my deep-dark slice of rågbröd.

Yes, nobody talks about the bread. The foundation of a tartine, really.
That one had the colour of wood bark and the smell of roasted pumpkin and sunflower seeds. Whole rye berries barely held together with a sour rye dough. And linseeds dotted throughout.
The very same that created the obsession I have for rågbröd.

Danish rye bread #1
Adapted from Baktips.

As I’ve told you earlier, I’m not coming today with a perfect recipe. More of the first part of a long study. Eventually, I’d love to be able to make a danskt rågbröd that’s packed with more rye berries than dough, feels moist yet crunchy and has lovely dark-brown undertone.

Today’s experiment was delicious. In fact, I could only take a picture a few days after I’d baked it and right before it had been devoured.
I’m not quite happy with how light the crumb came but I made the very stupid decision to bake mine at 150°C (a wrong educated guess as I assumed the baking would be the same as for a filmjölksbröd – my favourite! but I digress) – so I think I’ll definitely have to try the same recipe again with a higher temperature and perhaps a longer baking time as since then, I’ve read tales of breads baked for as long as twelve hours.

PS. Maman si tu lis cet article, je pense que tu aimerais ce pain!

Danish rye bread #1

Makes one loaf.

For the soaker

215 g cracked rye
100 g sunflower seeds
20 g linseeds
200 g water
50 g sourdough

For the dough

All of the soaker (above)
100 g sourdough
170 g water
10 g fresh yeast
130 g pumpkin seeds
10 g salt
160 g plain flour
40 g rågsikt or rye flour

On the night before the day you’re planning to bake your bread, combine all the ingredients for the soaker; cover losely with clingfilm and allow to rest overnight at room temperature.

The next morning, butter and line a 1.5L loaf tin with baking paper.

Add the remaining ingredients (making sure to dissolve the yeast into the water, as the dough doesn’t get kneaded) to the soaker and mix well until smooth. Depending on your flour you might need to add a little more water (or less). The dough will have the consistence of a runny batter, almost like a cake batter with oats inside.

Scrape the dough into the prepared loaf tin and proof at room temperature for 2 hours.

About an hour into the proofing, preheat your oven to 250°C/ fan 225°C (and now, it will differ from what I did – bake at fan 150°C, which was silly and really, don’t do it! – I’m leaving the original baking instructions even though I haven’t tried for myself).

After 2 hours, brush the top of your loaf with water and bake at 250°C/ fan 225°C for 10 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 200°C/ fan 180°C and bake for a further 50 minutes or until dark-brown and a probe inserted into the centre of the loaf reads 98°C.

As soon as the loaf comes out from the oven, place inside a plastic bag or wrap in clingfilm and let it cool down for at least 6 hours before cutting the loaf into thin slices. My topping of choice is butter, flaky sea salt and radis!

The recipe.

As this is a straightforward dough and all I want to highlight for personal reference is the ratio of ingredients, the percentages shown below are not bakers’ percentages, but composition percentages.
I had to add an extra 70g of water (in reference to the recipe linked above) as the finished dough seemed on the drier side. And I also left out the raisins (might want them next time) and walnuts – as I didn’t have any at home then.

Danish rye bread #1, overall formula

Weight		Ingredient	Percentages
215	g	cracked rye	18%
100	g	sunflower seeds	8%
20	g	linseeds	2%
370	g	water	31%
150	g	sourdough	12%
10	g	fresh yeast	1%
130	g	pumpkin seeds	11%
10	g	salt	1%
160	g	plain flour	13%
40	g	rågsikt	3%
Total
1205	g

Just a few numbers for keepsake:
– 22.8% flour (16.6% unfermented + 6.2% fermented flour)
– 18% cracked rye
– 12% sourdough
– 19% seeds (without linseeds)
– 2% linseeds

The ingredients.

The recipe calls for ingredients that might be slightly hard to come across outside of Scandinavia (really, I have no idea, let me know in the comments if you’ve ever seen it), like rågsikt [sifted rye flour], which is a flour blend made of 60% wheat flour and 40% finely milled and sifted rye flour.
I used the ICA eco rågsikt and also ICA vetemjöl in place in plain flour.

In case you don’t have any rågsikt available near you, I suggest using 100% rye flour – something I’m planning on trying next time I make this recipe.

The timing.

With the addition of yeast, this recipe is almost instant (if you don’t account for the soaker).

Day minus 3: Two or three days before you want to bake, take out your sourdough from the fridge (if that’s where you keep it, in case you feed it/bake everyday, then jump to the next step!) and feed it twice a day at 12 hour-intervals.

Day 1 (evening): Mix the ingredients for the soaker. Let to rest at room temperature overnight.

Day 2 (morning):
– Add the remaining ingredients and scrape the batter into a 1.5L loaf tin.
– Fermentation = at room temperature, for around 2 hours.
– Brush the top of the loaf with water.
– Bake.

Notes.

– I need to find the “right” baking settings for this bread as I’d like its crumb to be darker and also perhaps slightly chewier. Maybe increase the amount of rye berries, add malt extract?
– As mentioned above, I’d like to try this recipe again using rye flour instead of rågsikt. And raisins too!

Ressources.

– A video, which shows the texture of the finished dough and the process of making rugbrød in Denmark. I might try the recipe next time too – if you wanna join me in #chasingrugbrød!

– The table of Danish rye bread elements.

– About rye (wikipedia).

October 1, 2015

Brioches feuilletées au sucre
[Flaky sugar brioches]

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

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

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

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

Brioches feuilletées au sucre

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

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

Author: Fanny Zanotti

Prep Time1 hour
Cook Time30 minutes
Total Time13 hours 30 minutes

Ingredients
510 g strong flour
40 g caster sugar
20 g fresh yeast
7 g sea salt
150 g whole milk
150 g eggs
50 g soft butter
300 g butter for tourage
For the simple syrup
100 g caster sugar
100 g water
To fill
150 g pearl sugar

Instructions
Place all the ingredients aside from the tourage butter in a large bowl, and mix until it forms a dough. Transfer to a clean work surface and knead until smooth and elastic; around 15 minutes by hand (if you're using a stand-mixer fitted with the hook attachment, check the dough after 10 minutes as gluten will develop considerably faster). Wrap in clingfilm and chill in the freezer for 30 to 45 minutes, until hard but not frozen; then transfer to the fridge overnight.
Make the syrup: bring the sugar and water to the boil, and allow to cool down at room temperature.
The next morning, cut the butter into 5mm thick slices and arrange on a large piece of baking paper. Roll to a 20x30cm rectangle.
Lightly flour your work surface and roll the dough into a 20x60cm rectangle. Place butter on lower half, then give the dough three tours simples, with at least 30 minutes of rest in between each.
Chill the dough for an hour, then roll into a 35cm wide rectangle, around 5mm thick and 60cm long.
Sprinkle the dough with the pearl sugar leaving a 5cm margin on one edge. Roll lightly using your rolling pin for the sugar to stick to the dough; then brush the “naked” edge with syrup.
Roll tightly, then wrap in clingfilm and chill in the freezer for 30 minutes, seam-side down.
Trim and slice into 4.5cm logs; or divide the dough in 12.
Place into two muffin tins, 6 rolls in each so they have plenty of space.
Cover loosely with clingfilm and proof for around 2 hours (at 24°C for me).
Bake at 190°C / fan 170°C for 30-35 minutes, or until golden-brown. Brush with the remaining syrup when still warm.
PS. The pictures above were taken when I made half a batch of brioche. So, in case you wondered, that’s why my finished log of dough is only around 30cm long and not 60 as yours would be if you decide to make a full batch.
April 25, 2015
Kusmark sourdough

I thought it would be nice to start my weekend boulangerie posts with a book quote. You know, being the weekend and all. Perhaps, you’ll want to do what I’ve doing and explore forgotten books.

Yes, I’ve had time. To bake, to draw, to read.
And yes, I’m extremely happy.

On this subject, a few nights ago, we watched a documentary – in Swedish – about what used to be Frantzén/Lindeberg. It was unusually accurate and very interesting. I could relate a lot; with both Frantzén and Lindeberg, who were in two – very – different phases which caused them to separate. But really, I especially liked the part where Lindeberg – after leaving the restaurant – says (and I’m about to very badly paraphrase/translate him) that once you leave that intense bubble created by the constant need to reach perfection, you start to soak in the beauty of life that has been around you all these years without you even noticed.
And while I don’t want to leave that bubble behind just yet, it’s certainly refreshing to be able to live without being consumed by a limitless passion that restlessly occupies every of your thoughts.

“It was a pleasant May morning in 1775, and the air was filled with the fragrance of the freshly cut pine logs that had been poled down the river in big rafts to be cut into planks and boards at the big sawmills. The river, unusually full with the spring rains, dashed against its banks as if inviting the little girls to play a game with it. Usually Anna and Rebecca were quite ready to linger at the small coves which crept in so near to the footpath, and sail boats made of pieces of birch-bark, with alder twigs for masts and broad oak leaves for sails. They named these boats Polly and Unity, after the two fine sloops which carried lumber from Machias to Boston and returned with cargoes of provisions for the little settlement.
But this morning the girls hurried along without a thought for such pleasant games. They were both anxious to get to the lumber yard as soon as possible, not only to fill their basket with chips, as their mother had bidden them, but to hear if there were not some news of the Polly, the return of which was anxiously awaited; for provisions were getting scarce in this remote village, and not until the Polly should come sailing into harbor could there be any sugar cakes, or even bread made of wheat flour.”
Alice Turner Curtis (1920), A Little Maid of Old Maine

Kusmark sourdough
Adapted from Jeffrey Hamelman’s Bread: A Baker’s Book of Techniques and Recipes.

You know those times when you know you’re doing something wrong, but you decide to go ahead and do it anyway. When, this was me, all over this bread. And yet, it turned out beautifully.
A lovely chewy crumb, with a wonderful sourdough aroma – yet not too strong – and a dark crisp crust.
I had a slice with a little butter and that Swedish flaky salt I’ve fallen in love with; the bread still slightly warm and the butter oozing on my fingers.

The dough felt quite dry and gluten development was very fast. I guess I’ve gotten too used to my usual 75% hydration sourdough and this one being only 65%, it was surprisingly easy to work with.
Yes, I do think it’s one of those magic breads that can absorb mistakes. Perhaps, a new go-to.

I’ve named it Kusmark sourdough as it is apparently custom to name your bread according to the geographical location of your starter. And really, I thought it sounded great.

The recipe.

Makes one boule.

The recipe is based on Jeffrey’s Vermont sourdough, which seems to be loved by many.

75 g T55 flour 100%

95 g water 125%

15 g starter 20%

for the dough

375 g bread flour 90%

50 g whole rye flour 10%

231 g water 65%

169 g levain

9.5 g salt 1.9%

The ingredients.

Jeffrey recommends to go for a 12% protein flour for his levain breads. So I went ahead and used my Kungsörnen vetemjöl special and the Saltå Kvarn rågmjöl that I’ve also been using to feed Surdeg these past few weeks.

The latter seems to absorb slightly more water than what rye has gotten me used to, so if you’re using the same flour, you might need to adjust the hydration slightly.

Starter used: Surdeg (19/03/2015), 14 days old.

The timing.

Mixing the dough & autolyse = 1 hour-ish.
Bulk proofing = 3 hours, with one or two folds.
Pre-shaping, bench rest & shaping = 35 minutes.
Fermentation = at room temperature, for around 2-3 hours or 1 hours at 20°C then retarded overnight (for up to 16 hours according to Jeffrey) at 5°C.
Baking = 45-60 minutes, depending on the size of your loaf.

The process.

While I’m a bit of a perfectionist when working, I must say that I’m way more laid-back when it comes to home baking. In my mind – perhaps because I’ve spent so much time being insanely precise – I really like the nonchalance of baking at home. Yes, the oven isn’t perfect. Yes, the dough temperature might be too high or low. Yes, you will fail. But I’ve learnt to appreciate all of these. Maybe that will change, but for now, I’m pretty happy to take it for what it is: trying to make the best things possible in a home kitchen environment.

That means, I’m not going to lie, that:
– I didn’t measure dough temperature, even though I know they’re important. I adjusted the water temperature slightly to have a dough slightly warmer than 23°C, which I measured with my hands. There you go probe.
– I don’t have a banneton to prove my loaves, but a bowl lined with a floured kitchen towel.
– I didn’t score my bread using a lame – but a small serrated knife.

Other than that, here is the process I followed.

Make the levain.
In a bowl, mix your active starter and water. Add the flour and mix until smooth. Cover with clingfilm and allow to ferment overnight.

Mix the dough & autolyse.
In a large bowl, combine the levain, water, and flours until it just forms a dough. Leave covered for an hour.

Bulk proofing.
Add the salt and knead the dough to medium gluten development. The dough will feel elastic and smooth but slightly loose.
If you’re feeling like it, Jeffrey tells us the dough should now be 24.4°C.
Cover with clingfilm and leave at room temperature to proof for around three hours.

Folds.
My gluten development being a bit more than medium, I only gave the dough one fold. To give a fold, simply place the dough, “nice side” down on a slightly floured surface (I didn’t need any flour here) and pat with the palm of your hand into a rectangle. Then fold like a business letter. And again in the other direction. Place back into the bowl, and keep on proofing.

From the very beginning till the end of the process, make sure to keep the “nice side” – or seamless – of your loaf as is. While the other side will always be the one with seams.

Shaping.
Place “nice side” down onto a lightly floured surface. Pat down with the palm of your hand to degas the dough. Pre-shape the dough into a rough ball. Then cover it with a cloth – leaving its “nice side” down so not to put any flour on the seams and leave for around 30 minutes. In the meantime, get your banneton – real or homemade – ready. Then shape the dough into a tight ball, on a clean surface; the sticky dough will pull the outer layers creating some surface tension.
Place the dough seam-side up into your banneton if you intend on scoring the bread. Or for a more natural look, place the seam-side down to let the natural cracks bloom in the oven.

Fermentation.
You can either ferment your loaf at room temperature until doubled in size and a positive finger poke test, or proof for around an hour before wrapping it in clingfilm or placing it in a sealed bag, and retard it in your fridge for up to 16 hours.

I went for the latter. But I think my fridge was too cold as barely any fermentation happened overnight and I had to leave my bread to proof outside for another two hours in the morning before it was ready to go in (slightly underproofed, but I had reached my patience limit).

Scoring.
Unmould your loaf onto a piece of baking paper, big enough for you to lift the bread to the cast-iron pot. And score into the pattern of your choice.
Scoring weakens a portion of the outer dough layer, creating the perfect escape for steam during baking and the cuts will expand in the oven, making sure your bread gets to its full volume.

Baking.
Preheat the oven to 250°C for at least an hour before your bread is ready. You can preheat a cast iron pot as well, although I’ve baked bread in a cold pot before with great results. It’s really up to you, although I do think a hot pot will generate a better oven spring.

I choose to bake in a cast-iron at home for two reasons:
– it removes the need for a stone: cast iron will accumulate heat, just like a stone would. A hot cast-iron pot will prevent your bread from sticking and has amazing heat retention properties, which means it’ll keep your oven hotter and provide a real nice hot base for your bread to bake on.
– the bread steams itself: by placing a lid on top of your pot, you allow the steam that comes out from the bread to stay in a closed environment, hence acting as a steamer.
Yes, steam is essential for a good crusty bread that has a lovely oven spring. As the steam moisten the surface of the bread – retarding the gelatinisation of starch, a process which starts at around 60°C – it will increase the volume of your loaf and turn the crust into a shiny surface.

I baked mine at 250°C for 20 minutes with the lid on and then 30 minutes without. A quick way to check if your bread is done is to probe its centre. It should read 96-98°C for a sourdough bread.

Notes.

Next time, I’ll increase the hydration to 70%, to – perhaps – get a more open crumb.
I also need to check my fridge temperature to make sure it’s not too cold.

Perhaps, I’ll use a lower protein flour, around 10.5-11% proteins.

Vermont sourdough ressources.

Jeffrey Hamelman’s Bread: A Baker’s Book of Techniques and Recipes

The fresh loaf’s posts on Vermont sourdough.

R.F. Tester & W.R. Morrison (1990), Swelling and gelatinisation of cereal starches.

April 4, 2015
La tarte tropézienne

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

Yes, this is it. Sweden.

And really, it’s just as wonderful in the vinter [winter] as it’s ever been in the sommar [summer].

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

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

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

La tarte tropézienne
Adapted from Paris Pastry Club.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La tarte tropézienne

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 16, 2015
Kanelbullar croissants

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

Because, you see, my book was coming out the day after. And I guess that – as pretty much the entire universe – when I’m about to step in the unknown I like to delve a bit deeper in my comfort zone.
It might be just a breath. Or as it happened, it might be croissants.

There is this one thing I know for sure though. It’s that there are many rainy weekends ahead of us. And really, I thought I’d take you with me.
A time machine of some sorts.

Making the détrempe under the grey light of a drenched morning.
Rolling turns later that day during the blue hour.
And waking up to gold through our windows to finish shaping the croissants.

By twelve, we had hot coffee – much hotter than I’d usually care for, and freshly baked croissants. And perhaps, you’ll have some too.

This recipe doesn’t make traditional croissants. But more of a beautiful cross between a kanelbulle and a croissant. Soft and slightly flaky, as I only gave the dough two simple turns, as opposed to my usual croissant routine: three simple turns. In fact, a look at the insides will give it away: the membranes are thicker, and cinnamon speckles dot them throughout.

Perhaps, if you want to, I could make some regular flaky croissants, just like the ones I grew up on, and show you too. Yes, croissants are nothing new. But I guess, in the constant chaos that surround us all, there is still some wisdom left.

The ingredients.

For the détrempe
300 g strong flour
200 g plain flour
80 g caster sugar
12 g instant yeast
10 g milk powder
10 g sea salt
250 g cold water
45 g butter, melted and cooled down

For the butter
300 g unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 tbsp ground cinnamon

For the glaze
200 g icing sugar
boiling water
seeds from one vanilla pod

twelve pm.
Mix the flours, sugar, yeast, milk powder and salt in a large bowl. Add the cold water and butter; and mix until a dough starts to form.

ten minutes past twelve pm.
Transfer the dough to a clean work surface and knead for around ten minutes or until the dough feels elastic and smooth.

twenty minutes past twelve pm.
Place the dough back in the bowl and clingfilm tightly. Leave in a warmish place for an hour or so, or until doubled in size.

twenty-five minutes past twelve.
While the yeast is working in magic, work yours with the butter. In a bowl, mix the soft butter (you could flash it in the microwave for ten seconds at a time until soft but not melted) with the ground cinnamon. Perhaps a pinch of cardamom too.

half past twelve.
Scrape the butter onto a piece of piece of baking paper and top with another one. Roll it until you get a rough 40x30cm rectangle. Transfer to a baking tray and chill in the fridge.
Have a cup of coffee. And kisses. And maybe, even tickles down your neck. I highly recommend the latter. That’s what dream-Sundays are made of.

half past one.
The détrempe is proved when it’s almost doubled in size. When you take it, it will be very smooth and elastic.

half past one.
Place the détrempe onto a lightly floured work surface and roll into a rough rectangle. Wrap in clingfilm and freeze for twenty-five minutes to stop the yeast. Then transfer to the fridge and let it be for a few hours.

five o’clock.
Tea time for some. And feuilletage for others. I can’t help but feel a little sad for the former who’ll never know the calmness only rolling dough can bring.
Take out the butter sheet on your bench to soften it ever so slightly. Place the détrempe onto a lightly floured work surface and roll to a 40x60cm rectangle. Flour more as needed but always make sure to brush off the excess afterwards.

ten past five.
Place the rectangle of butter on the lower half of the détrempe – patching it as you do so to cover any naked corner – then fold the upper half over.

fitfteen minutes past five.
Flatten the dough with your hands to get rid of any air bubbles, and rotate counter-clockwise so that you have a “book” its spine on your left hand-side.

twenty minutes past five.
Roll the dough before the first turn.

For that, I like to press my rolling pin into the dough to create some indents. This step – if done gently yet with sufficient pressure – allows to distribute the butter evenly.
I then start rolling the dough in long movements, from the centre up and then from the centre down. Those two techniques can be applied to any laminated dough.
If the dough starts to stick, don’t hesitate to flour your work bench and reposition the dough.

twenty-five minutes past five.
Once the dough has been rolled to – ideally – around seven millimetres, brush off any excess flour, and fold in three, like you would do with a letter.
This is a tour simple [simple turn].

Wrap the dough tightly in clingfilm and chill in the fridge for at least an hour.

twenty-five minutes past five (of the am kind).
I went for another simple turn as I’ve told you before. Because fluffy meant something special to me that day, or so it seems.
Of course Karl wouldn’t wake up, so pictures didn’t happen, but here is what I did: I rolled the dough to around seven millimetres thick, then folded it in three, exactly like shown above.
After that, I placed the dough back in the fridge – again, wrapped in clingfilm.
If you wanted a flakier texture, I would advise to go for another tour simple [simple turn] now.

half past six (of the am kind).
Get two baking trays lined with baking paper.
Roll the dough on a lightly floured surface to a rough thirty-centimetre-wide rectangle. Cut the dough in half width-wise (if that’s even a thing) and place one half onto one of the prepared baking trays. Chill while you get on with the other half.
This will make the dough easier to handle and roll thinner, while the other part stays cool.

Keep on rolling the dough, maintaining a width of around thirty centimetres, until it’s about four or five millimetre-thick.
Cut triangles using a sharp knife, making sure their base is eight to ten centimetre wide.
As you cut the triangles, place them onto the prepared baking tray; and keep in the fridge until needed.

Repeat the rolling and cutting process with the other half of dough.

seven am.
Get two baking trays lined with baking paper.

Take out a couple of dough triangle out at a time. Gently stretch them, then roll without putting any pressure on the layers. And place them with the “point” underneath on the prepared baking tray, generously spaced out.

twenty minutes past seven.
Layer two large pieces of clingfilm, chasing any air bubbles and lightly brush with vegetable oil.

twenty-five minutes past seven.
Place the layered clingfilm – oiled side down – on top of your croissants, to cover them loosely. Allow to prove at room temperature for around two hours or until wobbly and doubled in size.
If butter starts leaking, then you might want to find a slightly cooler place to prove your croissants. If I’m at the restaurant, then 26°C is the temperature I go for (with 65% humidity for the ones of you who are lucky enough to have a prover).

Once the croissants have proved, brush gently with a beaten egg, making sure not to put any egg-wash on the cut edges, which would prevent the rise of the feuilletage.

Bake at 200°C for seventeen to twenty minutes. Allow to cool down slightly, then transfer to a wire rack.

ten thirty.
Make the sugar and vanilla glaze: mix the icing sugar with enough water to form a pourable icing; stir in the vanilla seeds, and drizzle over the croissants.

THE END. Of life as you knew it.

January 10, 2015
I’ll be left with cinnamon croissants

I guess like all good things, Sundays have to come to an end too.

Today was a good Sunday. We went to bed late enough to wake up mid-morning. Crumpets happened. I might have eaten two with homemade raspberry jam from last summer.

And we braved the rain – the mostest perfect excuse for a lazy day in – for a trip to the corner shop. In our basket: milk and butter, lots of. Yeast too. And strong flour. We also got a bottle of our favourite white wine and some salmon we knew we’d have for dinner tomorrow.

Croissants were to be made.

Find the recipe here.

We moved the kitchen table by the window and took mostly blurry pictures. And in all measures, that’s more than fine by me. Since when did blog have to be so editorially perfect? Maybe, I miss the early days when it was more misses than hits.

So yes, I made dough for cinnamon bun croissants. Or is it cinnamon croissant buns? I wanted to do a step-by-step. With – of course – gifs as tokens of my love for the old-school.
It might happen. It might not.

In the meantime, cross your fingers for me tomorrow. I have a book coming out and I can’t quite believe it! And it case it was all just a dream, I’ll be left with cinnamon croissants. Life isn’t too bad at the moment.

April 20, 2014
PS. Une brioche avec un peu plus de beurre

[PS. A brioche with a tad more butter]

London, sometime in April.
I made a brioche. In five minutes; and five days. We woke up early to shape and proof the dough. Well, I did. A couple of hours later, we sat at the table, with our eyes still plein de sommeil [full of sleep].

And we had a slice each. With plenty of strawberry jam. And a cup of coffee.

I then proceeded to braid my hair. And for a walk we went. The trees were snowing and no matter how long I will live in London, my dreams will always float higher with the April snow.
Another coffee was taken, at a café this time; perhaps in Fulham or Clapham. I can’t remember.

But I recall a phone conversation with my mum. About the brioche. And how she should make it.

France, sometime in May.
I flew in wearing UGG boots and a wool scarf. But as we reached the car on the airport parking lot, I switched for those leather sandals I’m so fond of.

We arrived home. And dropped the suitcases somewhere in the living room.

Without judging unpacking necessary, we headed to the kitchen. An apron got wrapped around my waist, flour got weighed out, dough was put away in a bowl.

And before we knew it, we made a brioche. In five minutes; and a five days. Oh and five hundred grams of butter. Perhaps with a couple of hidden chocolate squares. Yes, perhaps…
It tasted just as good. If not better.

Process: Five-minute brioche.

And just so my mum doesn’t have an excuse not to make brioche, here is the recipe in French. Oui!
Accents included and all. Mum if you knew how long it takes to add accents when you have an English keyboard, you’d already be making brioche as you read this.

Dans un bol, fouetter le beurre fondu, l’eau, le sel, les oeufs et le miel. Ajouter la farine et la levure. Mélanger à la cuillère en bois jusqu’à obtention d’une pâte souple et homogène.

Recouvrir le bol avec un torchon et laisser pousser à température ambiante pour un peu plus de 2h.

Une fois la pâte ayant doublé de volume, mettre le bol – toujours recouvert d’un torchon – au frigo pendant au moins 24h.

Le lendemain – ou n’importe quand dans les cinq jours qui suivent – beurrer un moule à cake génereusement. Prélever 450g de pâte du pâton. Puis la diviser en quatre. Fleurer (fariner) le plan de travail et bouler (former des boules) chacun des morceaux.

Placer les boules dans le moule préalablement beurré et faire pousser pendant 1h30.

Pendant ce temps, préchauffer le four a 190°C. Battre un oeuf pour la dorure. Dorer la brioche au pinceau. Et cuire pour 40 à 50 minutes. Démouler et laisser refroidir sur une grille.

July 24, 2011
Five-minute brioche

When I mentioned the five-minute brioche, I forgot to say it’s more of a five-minute and five-day brioche.

Five days where the blossoms turned into snow. Five days where I got less sleep than what a normal night means to you. Five days where everytime I came home, I opened the fridge to imagine that bubbly dough turn into brioche.

And then on the night before the fifth day, I set my alarm to eight am; two hours later than a day on. Still dizzy from a sleep overdose, I walked to the kitchen. Fleurer le marbre [sprinkle the marble with flour]. Couper la pate [cut the dough]. Bouler [make balls]. Faire pointer [proof]. Et se recoucher [and go back to bed].

This, my friends, is the recipe for happiness. Especially, if I then braid my hair and spend the day with someone I love.

A couple of hours later, we slowly emerged from that broken night – or more accurately, morning nap; a concept that I should put to practice more often.

The loaf went in the oven. And then got sliced, topped with the strawberry jam he made last week – with the somewhat bland berries I was a little too excited with at the market – and then eaten in bed, with the necessary dose of good tunes and the occasional sun peaking through the window.

It felt like a Sunday. With all the trimmings, bar the messy kitchen. And, no matter how much I love to get my hands dirty by kneading the hell out of a sticky dough until it becomes smooth, it seemed appropriate to take a shortcut this time.

Even more so that this brioche proved the die-hard French that I am wrong.

First came Dan. And his focaccia. Almost no-knead. And almost more delicious than any bread I’ve ever tasted. Then came the no-knead bread that got everyone crazy. And now, Zoë.

So as much as it hurts me to say it, it is possible to make brioche in a matter of seconds. In one bowl. With one wooden spoon.

Brioche en cinq minutes
Adapted from Zoë François and Jeff Hertzberg’s Five minute bread.

I once read somewhere that in order to make a good brioche you need time. I think it was actually mentioned as part of the ingredient list, which I thought was clever as I remembered the hours spent kneading – by hand – a three-kg batch at school.

And while I love the process, I must admit it does feel good to – every now and then – take the easy option. It says five minutes. But it really is less than that.
Butter gets melted. And mixed with water, eggs, honey, and salt. No sugar. Just honey, which being inverted sugar – kind of natural trimoline – helps the brioche to stay moist after baking.
Flour and yeast get incorporated. And the dough is left outside to proof. Only to be, later, chilled; for a day or two. Or in my case, five.

As a side-note, I do think this recipe could take more butter. Possibly twice more. Possibly because I’m French. Possibly something I will try and report. Which will also allow me to show you how to bouler une pâte [shape the dough into a ball], because – let’s be honest – I’m not sure it translate into words.

EDIT 24/07/2011: We made this again, but with 500g of butter instead of the 350g written below. It worked and was, as expected, delicious!

Five-minute brioche

makes four loaves

350g-500g (read EDIT above) butter, melted and cooled down
350g water
20g salt
8 eggs
170g clear honey
1kg strong flour
15g instant yeast

one egg, beaten, for the eggwash

In a bowl, combine the melted butter, water, salt, eggs, and honey. Add the flour and yeast. And mix using a wooden spoon until smooth.

Cover the bowl with a cloth and allow to rest at room temperature for a little over 2h (or feel bad-ass and stick it in a turned-off microwave – make sure you read the note above beforehand though).

Transfer the cloth-covered bowl to the fridge and chilled for at least 24h or up to five days.

On the day you’re ready to bake, generously butter a loaf tin and cut 450g off your dough. Then using a scraper – or a knife – divide into four bits. Have some flour handy and gently pat each piece into it. Putting the flour side up – and sticky side down – shape it into a ball using the palm of one of your hands.

Place the four balls into the prepared tin and allow to proof for 1h30.

Preheat the oven to 190°C. Brush the top of the dough with the eggwash and bake for 40 to 50min, or until golden brown. Unmould and allow to cool on a wire rack, or not.

April 19, 2011
Brioches marbrées au thé matcha

[Marbled matcha brioches]

With no rational reason except that those brioches looked terribly good, I decided to venture into the realm of feuilletage; once again. Although, this time, my kitchen did not come with a rolling pin.
I could have bought one on my recent visit to Pages. I almost did in fact. But eventually got out from the shop carrying many cercles [rings], a couple of knives, a sugar thermometer, and some ramekins.

Quite providentially, my kitchen did come with more empty wine bottles than I’m willing to admit ; let’s be honest, we had five of them sitting on the counter.
In my defense, I must tell you they have been there for weeks.

Armed with the one bottle that seemed fit for the occasion – read perfectly cylindrical, label removed – I went straight for the recipe. And then realised the folding instructions were in Japanese.

Now, why did my kitchen not come with full wine bottles instead? At that point, I could have used a glass.
Instead, I started doodling, only to realise my panic attack was pointless. A simple tour double.

Just like for puff pastry.

I made the dough. Left it to rise. Made the matcha filling. Chilled it. Then, I started rolling and folding, and rolling and folding.
Somehow, my dreamlike vision of the use of wine bottles as rolling pins vanished when the filling started leaking and the dough stuck to the bottle.

My counter ended up green, so did my fingers.
But that’s okay.
First, because I like green. And second, because I see no problem whatsoever in licking green fingers when they taste like matcha.

One lesson I have learnt from this experience: get yourself a decent rolling pin girl.

If unlike me – and probably not unlike every person around the world – you own a rolling pin, then I urge you to make these brioches. With green tea, or if you’re feeling a little more subversive, with cocoa powder.

Brioches marbrées au thé matcha
Adapted from Les carnets parisiens.

Don’t be scared with all the rolling pin action here. These brioches are very easy to make, and a treat to eat.
Soft and fragrant.
When it comes to yeasted dough, my favourite kneading technique – which I learnt at school – is quite close from this one. I wish I could make a video to show you, but for now, the explanations of Richard Bertinet will have to do.

I don’t do it the exact same way, but the throwing and folding are similar. Trust me, this kneading technique is a keeper.

If you’re going to use cocoa powder instead of matcha, go for 20g of powder. And then proceed as follow.

Brioches marbrées au thé matcha

Makes 12 small brioches

For the brioche dough
300g strong flour
60g cater sugar
one tsp dehydrated yeast
125g whole milk
one egg
50g butter, diced and at room temperature

For the matcha filling
80g milk
one egg white
50g caster sugar
20g flour
20g matcha green tea
10g butter

Make the dough. In a large bowl, combine all the ingredients except for the butter and mix until it forms a rough dough.
On an unfloured surface, start kneading the dough incorporating the butter as you do so until it forms a smooth ball; around 8 minutes.
Place the dough back into the bowl – covered with a cloth – and leave in a warm place for 2 hours or until double in size.

make the filling. Bring the milk to the boil. While it’s heating, mix the white and sugar in a bowl until combined. Mix in the flour and matcha green tea, and beat until homogeneous.
When the milk is boiling, pour it over the matcha mixture, whisking as you do so. Transfer back into the pan, and cook on medium heat until thick. Mix in the butter.
Spread it on a baking tray lined with cling film, around 20x15cm. Chill.

Remove any air from the brioche dough by gently patting it down, then roll it into a 30x20cm rectangle. Place the matcha filling in the middle, then fold the dough over it, sealing the extremities together. Roll into a longer rectangle, then make a tour double. Repeat the folding one more time, then roll the dough back into a 30x20cm.

Roll the dough onto itself to form a log. Trim the ends, then using a sharp knife, slice into 3cm-thick segments.

Butter 12 5.5cm-wide rings, and place the slices into them, cut side up.

Cover loosely with cling film, and allow to rise for 30 to 45 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180°C, and bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown.

March 11, 2010
Mastering focaccia, step by step

By now, you guys should be aware that to me, Dan Lepard is to bread-making what Pierre Hermé is to pastry. My icon and absolute role model.

I never really used to make bread, except for the occasional pizza dough; but since I’ve discovered Dan’s take on bread making I’ve literally been unstoppable. Fresh yeast has become a staple in my fridge and I’m known to run to the grocery store as soon as my flour stock approaches 2kg.

So far, I had only made white loafs or buns; to which I regularly added ingredients such as herb butter, cheese or mashed potatoes.
However, I needed a focaccia for the Christmas Eve dinner my sister and I were hosting. And while I firstly intended to make my reliable pizza dough, only slightly wetter; I quickly moved on Dan’s recipe. And boy, I’m glad I did!

This focaccia is the best flat bread I’ve ever had and it’s a delight to make. Still, the whole process can seem a little daunting because of the different steps and resting times.

Given that I really want you to make this focaccia and bite into a crusty yet moist square of this fragrant bread, I thought it would be great if we made some together. Get your aprons ready!

Again, the mise-en-place is fundamental and will make you save precious time. Here, we’ll make a ferment then add water, oil, flour and salt.

For the ferment, you’ll need:
200g water at 20°C
150g flour tipo 00 (French type 45 works well too)
7g fresh yeast, finely crumbled

To which you’ll add:
150g water at 20°C
15ml olive oil, plus extra for folding
375g flour tipo 00
10g fine salt

01.

Mix together the ingredients for the ferment in a large bowl. Cover the bowl with a cloth and leave at warm room temperature for 2 hours, giving the mixture a good stir after the first hour.
After the resting time, the mixture should be all bubbly and have doubled in size.

02.

Whisk in the water and oil. Then mix in the flour and salt with a spoon, until roughly combined.
Cover the bowl and allow to rest for 10 minutes.

03.

Rub your hands, the work surface and the dough with some oil and scrape the dough onto the work surface. Work the dough by gently stretching it with your right hand, keeping it in place with your left thumb. Then fold and rotate the dough. Repeat this kneading about 10 times, but make sure to stop before it starts sticking to the work surface.
Knead again twice at 10-minute intervals. The dough will change from lumpy to smooth and elastic.
Cover with a cloth and leave to rest for 40 minutes.

04.

It’s now time to do some serious stretching and folding. This will stretch and elongate the upcoming bubbles making for big and uneven holes in the final bread.
Stretch the dough into a rectangle then fold it into thirds first in one direction then the other. Repeat this twice with 40-minute intervals.

05.

Once you’ve stretched-folded three times, allow the dough to rest for 30 minutes before going on with the shaping.

06.

Rub a baking tray with olive oil and place the dough onto it. Lightly flatten the dough using your fingers – it’s normal if it springs back. Cover with a cloth and leave in a warm place for 20 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 220°C. Pick the corners of the dough and stretch them out until they reach the corners of the tray. Sprinkle with a little water and some oil.
Bake for 15 minutes, then reduce the heat to 200°C and bake for a further 15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

January 4, 2008