FRANGIPANE ÉCLAIRS

The Paradoxical Son


Winter rolls in on a wave of misty white, the fog hanging heavy and cruel over the city. The icy chill penetrates every pore of one’s body and no matter what one does, no matter how many blankets or pairs of socks, the cold has simply moved in. But the gloom and gray of an autumn day doesn’t dampen my excitement for the onset of winter and the coming of the festivities. The holiday spirit seems to have arrived and settled in, as the bustling marketplace is alive with shoppers pushing their way towards stalls overflowing with seasonal treats. Garlands of gold and silver sneak their way in, Santas pop up on velvet hills of snow and visions of sugarplums, smoked salmon and oysters dance in my head. The first strains of Winter Wonderland and Rudolph signal the beginning of the Christmas season.

I’ve been as busy as an elf, planning organizing, packing and unpacking as I unwind from one trip and prepare for the next. How did this ever happen to me? Old homebody that I am, I sit and tick off the places that I’ve been in the past year on my fingers, astonished and bemused. Husband teases me, friends laugh at my new jet-setting lifestyle and already have my name engraved in the annals of the rich and famous. As I sat and began to type this post, snuggled back in yet another train seat, the landscape sliding by smooth and silent, I chuckled to myself and wondered, once again, how I arrived here.


I have just returned home from a sensational weekend, an early holiday gift, if you will. When I opened up the email that popped up unexpectedly in my in box, something told me that it was no ordinary mass mailing, yet another “Dear Life’s a Feast” or “Hello Jamie, you have a wonderful blog” and then leading into the same old sales pitch. Delete, delete, delete. Just not interested. But once in a while an email pops up that I can just sense is different, personal, something that has heft and meaning. And it still never fails to astonish me. The last contained an invitation to speak in Oman and this, well, an invitation to discover Cognac.


Three whirlwind days, a group of fabulous bloggers, now new friends, quite a number of knowledgeable, sweet, generous, fun folks from Martell Cognac and Balistikart all made for a glorious voyage. Thoughts of the luxurious, historical surroundings and the rich, smoky Cognac filling up our hours are swirling through my head, thoughts that still must be organized and lined up like well-behaved schoolchildren, ideas that still must be matured, aged like fine cognac, that must be given time to prepare themselves, bubble up to the surface like fruit finally ripe for the picking. Or fine cognac ready to sip. A weekend brimming over with activity from that first meeting, that first Parisian meal at Les Closerie des Lilas, an evening that ended with our group crowded merrily together around old wooden tables downstairs in the bar, late into the night, clinking glasses and chattering together as old friends used to gathering together for a nightcap, to that final, sad train trip back home, sad because we wanted it to last yet another few days, so happy we all were together.


My baking has become somewhat sporadic of late. Put it down to the laziness that a change of weather engenders, the indolence that gray, rainy days of autumn provoke. Or it could simply be the general lack of ideas, the brilliance usually blazing through my brain is muddled and hazy. Or maybe I have been distracted by too much excitement; the festivity in the air, the glorious trip to Cognac, that thinking about my own blog just pulls up a blank. The holidays approach, the gift suggestions, the wishes and desires, the hints just a tad louder than a mere hint, fly through the air and bounce off the ceilings and walls, welcomed by smirks, knowing grins and faux-confused looks. I can’t sit still, can’t concentrate, I spend my time dancing through the apartment, swinging through JP’s office, rubbing my cheek against Marty’s soft, warm, confused head and then heading into the kitchen to, well, let’s bake today! My alter-ego Ilva sits on the other side of the screen, keeping me focused, making me laugh, sending me informative links and pushing me to work. And then Clem arrives home, bursting into the apartment on a whirlwind of activity, dropping bags and books, kicking off shoes, tossing coat, sweater and scarf onto the chair and scooping up Marty in one seamless movement. He finally swoops into my room where he inevitably finds me typing (and chatting) and asks, “Have you made them yet? Where are my éclairs that you promised?” So anxious has he been for me to make his favorite sweet treat that he actually bought and offered me a tiny book on éclairs. “No excuse not to make these for me now!” he chortles. But planning for my trip pushed it all out of my head….

You see, my son often goes through very long periods boycotting my baked goods, upset that I bake too often and bake what he doesn’t specifically ask for. Yet another reason that I have been baking less often. So when he desires something, ask expressly for this or that, I can’t but be pleased, I can’t but want to fulfill his request. And now with the holiday spirit having taken over my body and my brain all abuzz, now that the sun has once again burst through the dreary, bleary bleakness of an autumn grappling with winter for control, I push myself away from my laptop and head to the kitchen, laden down with bowls, whisks, scale and baking trays. I flip open the book to the page carefully marked by son and begin.

Adapted from recipes in Éclairs by Marianne Magnier-Moreno, I made éclairs filled with Frangipane Cream Filling. I followed her recipes, finding that I much prefer my own recipe for choux, which come out lighter, more delicate on the inside, crispier on the outside. Her frangipane filling was delicious but not at all adapted to a filling for éclairs, so I whipped heavy cream and beat half the quantity of frangipane into it, making a light, cool, tasty whipped filling for the choux. Perfect. Topped with slivered almonds and dusted with a shower of powdered sugar, the Frangipane Éclairs made for a delicious dessert; JP and Clem each ate two. I will be making éclairs again shortly as I am now inspired to return to my old, faithful, perfect recipe for choux and fill them with something creamy and chocolate and, most definitely, spiked with Martell Cognac.


Changes I would make to this recipe: I would use my own choux recipe. Beating the cookbook’s Frangipane into whipped cream was a fabulous decision, creating a cool, creamy and light filling tasting of Almond Frangipane without being heavy at all.

FRANGIPANE ÉCLAIRS
From Éclairs by Marianne Magnier-Moreno

PASTRY CREAM
Crème Pâtissière

2/3 cup (165 ml) whole milk (I used half whole, half lowfat)
2 large egg yolks
2 Tbs + 2 tsps (35 g) granulated white sugar
1 Tbs + ¼ tsp (8 g) flour
1 Tbs + ¼ tsp (8 g) cornstarch
Small pinch salt

ALMOND CREAM
Crème d’Amandes

5.5 oz (155 g) finely ground almonds
5.5 oz (155 g) powdered sugar, sifted
5.5 oz (10 Tbs + 2 tsps / 155 g) unsalted butter, softened
2 tsps dark rum
1 tsp vanilla

ÉCLAIR/CHOUX PASTRY

1/3 cup (80 ml) milk
1/3 cup (80 ml) water
5 Tbs (70 g) unsalted butter
1 large pinch salt
1 Tbs (10 g) granulated white sugar
4/5 cup (100 g) flour
2 large eggs
Large handful slivered blanched almonds for decorating
Powdered sugar for serving

7/8 cup (200 ml) heavy whipping cream

Prepare the Frangipane (Pastry Cream and Almond Cream):

Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C). Spread the finely ground almonds on a large baking sheet.

Begin by preparing the Pastry Cream: Vigorously whisk the egg yolks with half the sugar and the salt in a large mixing bowl until blended and thickened. Whisk in the flour and cornstarch until a thick, smooth, lump-free paste is formed. Heat the milk with the rest of the sugar in a medium pot over high heat until the first bubbles appear. Slowly pour the hot milk into the egg mixture in a stream while whisking vigorously to prevent the eggs from cooking. Once the hot milk has been whisked into the eggs, pour it all back into the pot and return to the heat. Whisking continuously, cook the pastry cream over high heat until it comes to the boil and then allow it to boil, whisking nonstop, for 1 to 2 minutes until the pastry cream is thick and luxuriously fluid. Remove from the heat and scrape the pastry cream into a small heatproof/Pyrex bowl or mixing cup, cover with plastic wrap, pressing the plastic directly onto the pastry cream and refrigerate until chilled.

Prepare the Frangipane: Slide the ground almonds into the preheated oven and allow them to roast for 10 minutes; remove them from the oven and scrape into a bowl or platter and allow to cool. Place the butter in a pot over low heat and when the butter is only half melted, pour into a heatproof mixing bowl, whisk in the powdered sugar until smooth and then whisk in the roasted ground almonds, the rum and the vanilla. Remove the now chilled pastry cream from the refrigerator and whisk into the almond cream until well blended and smooth. Cover with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator to chill.

Place the heavy cream in the refrigerator to chill along with a medium-large mixing bowl and the beaters from an electric mixer/beater to chill as well.

Prepare the Choux for the Éclairs:


Preheat or reduce the oven temperature to 300° (150°C). Line a large baking sheet with parchment or oven paper.

Place the milk, the butter cut in cubes, the sugar and salt in a pot and heat over high heat. Bring to the boil and allow to boil for about 3 seconds. Remove from the heat and add the flour all at once. Stir to blend and then mix vigorously until it is homogenous.

Return the pot to the heat and “dry” the dough by stirring vigorously and cooking for 30 seconds to 1 minute until the dough no longer sticks to either the pot or the spatula. Allow to cool slightly.

Lightly beat the eggs then whisk or beat into the dough a little at a time. Add a little more than 2/3 of the egg or as much as just under the full 2 eggs (you should have at least a tablespoon of egg left), and the dough slowly falls off the spoon or spatula when lifted (not too fast).

Spoon the choux dough into a pastry bag fitted with a plain, 3/4 –inch (20 mm) wide tip. Holding the pastry bag at a 45° angle from the baking sheet, pipe/push out even, regular tubes of dough 5 ½-inches (14 cm) long or into large mounds, slicing the end away from the tip with a sharp knife. Leave space all around the choux/éclairs as they puff up and spread while baking.


Using your fingertips or a pastry brush, gently rub and coat the éclair dough with the egg, smoothing the shapes as needed. Sprinkle generously with slivered almonds (pressing them on if necessary). Bake for about 1 hour until puffed and evenly colored a deep golden. You can prop the oven open slightly the last 5 or 10 minutes of the baking to allow steam to escape.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool on a rack.


Finish the Cream Filling:


Using the chilled beaters and bowl, whip the chilled heavy cream until thick and peaks hold. Beat in up to half of the Frangipane, about 2 tablespoons at a time, until blended. This should leave you with a deeply almond-flavored whipped cream. Using a serrated bread knife, carefully and gently slice each éclair lengthwise in two and pipe Frangipane Cream Filling onto the bottom half, cover with the top half, carefully move to a plate and dust generously with powdered sugar and serve and eat immediately.

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ORANGE CHOCOLATE BROWNIES… and a Guest Post

SHARING


Here I am, surrounded by my own brand of mess, desk half straightened yet not quite, baking supplies lined up on the spare space allowed on a kitchen table not yet cleared of breakfast dishes, one too many writing projects awaiting my attention as the documents line up impatiently on my computer desktop. E-mails tap their hypothetical fingers and toes, arms crossed and annoyance glowing almost audibly as one, two, three more ask for my participation in this activity or that challenge, demanding immediate action. I love being solicited, I am fueled by writing projects, I am more than flattered by each request for help, yet how can I possibly take on more and more as disorderly as I am, as chaotic as is my life?

When I received a request from Anuradha to guest post on her blog Bakerstreet, I immediately said Yes!, very excited at having been asked, eager to support a fellow blogger. I have been twittering with her for quite some time and have always found her adorable, sweet, kind and generous, so of course I would say yes to whatever she asked of me. I have watched her tentative steps towards confirming her blog, and I feel somewhat like a mother supporting and cheering on a daughter. And something inside of me is still thrilled and filled with wonder when approached to lend a helping hand, advice or support. Yet when I step back and see all of my obligations, everything that I have collected around me and taken on, I wonder how I will ever find the time to do it all. And I wonder if indeed I am crazy…. (please click here to read the rest of the post and discover this fabulous recipe!)

This week, as Meeta, Jeanna, Ilva and I finish the last details which will forever close the Plate to Page Weimar workshop, a truly unforgettable weekend, and open up the next chapter as we begin organizing the second workshop in Tuscany, as JP and I plan our bicycle trip up the Canal Nantes-Brest, I will make this blog post short and sweet. Anuradha, a wonderful, kind friend, asked me to guest post on her lovely little blog, Bakerstreet. I immediately said yes, never doubting my excitement and pleasure in guest posting. As I pondered over what to write on this guest post, one thought kept popping into my head: the noise made about a certain food blogging workshop held in the US the same weekend as our Plate to Page workshop in Weimar. Many bloggers complained about being snubbed by “big” bloggers who seemed content to gather and remain amongst their own “special” clique, neither desiring nor needing the attention of the “lesser known” bloggers. I was stunned as I read one post after the next with the same criticism and disappointment bordering on disillusion. What are we if not a community? What I am as a blogger without my readers who read, support and encourage me? And with this thought about my own feelings on the subject, please dash on over to Anuradha’s blog to read the rest of my guest post and where you can find the recipe for these luscious, moist brownies: deep, dark chocolate infused with the kick of Grand Marnier and bitter orange marmalade, a match made in culinary heaven and a dessert at once homey, comforting, intriguing and sophisticated. Enjoy!

I also would like to share two other posts and recipes of mine:


Destination Dessert: From My Father’s Kitchen to My French Wedding Lunch on The Rambling Epicure. I share a family favorite, my dad’s recipe for Choux along with ideas and recipes on how to use Choux to make, among other things, Profiteroles and Pets-de-Nonne.


La Pinolata: My Italian Pine Nut Tart, certainly one of my family’s favorite desserts! My latest article and recipe on Huffington Post!


Don’t miss Weimar Impressions – the first Plate to Page workshop: photos from this our first P2P workshop, a rundown of the weekend’s activities as well as links to participants’ own write-ups of their experience at P2P on their own blogs.


And... (drum roll) coming soon to Twitter : Jamie & JP's Big Biking Adventure! Be sure to follow our travels, trials & tribulations as we make our way up the Canal Nantes-Brest on bicycle over the next week. With one change of clothes, a First Aid Kit, a camera and my sense of humor, I will be following in JP's wake, admiring the beauty of the landscape, the flora and fauna of the region, and grabbing a snack surreptitiously when I can. I have been promised the use of his iPhone (do I hear the word bribe?) so I can tweet with you along the way, giving up-to-the-minute details of our great adventure! Follow me at @lifesafeast and don't miss one single tweet!

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PETS-De-NONNE or NUN’S FARTS

BEIGNETS SOUFFLÉS or DONUT PUFFS


It took me quite a long time until I was fluent in French. The common belief among expats, the old adage one hears over and over again as you are struggling with your verb agreement, the gender of nouns and the inexplicable plus-que-parfait, is that it takes five years no matter what you do. Others merely claim that when you begin dreaming in a foreign language then it is no longer foreign. Learning catch as catch can, picking up words and phrases from television, books (don’t keep relying on that dictionary!), spouse and, heaven forbid, the children, slowly but surely I came to actually speak – and dream in – French. All of my years of high school and college French got in the way, hampering, hindering instead of helping as I kept hesitating, tripping over my words for fear of getting it wrong, of being admonished by some invisible professor, but I finally arrived.

Now, husband and I, being avid and passionate readers, drink up books like there is no tomorrow, swimming in and out of decades and centuries, Montaigne and Balzac, Austen and Dickens, Swift and de Toqueville all sit happily on our shelves alongside more contemporary fiction, history books and murder mysteries. We’ve spent years wandering in and out of centuries as we weave in and out of conversations, cultures, countries, and all of this together has caused us to simply pare our language down to the necessary, the clear, the correct and proper. Our first concern has always been being understood by others wherever we are, to whomever we are speaking, in whichever language and culture we are in. When one travels, moves about, there is no time to catch up on the slang, the common expressions, the latest word fad. And yes, I must also admit, that we are rather language snobs, in love with words; my husband reads dictionaries and encyclopedias while I curl up at night with my beloved Roget’s Thesaurus. We simply love words, their sounds, their meaning, their origin. And language. Foreign language. A favorite dinnertime game of ours with our boys was comparing words and phrases between the many languages we have studied as a way to make our multi-lingual lifestyle more a game than a burden. So twenty-some years together, we all speak correctly, use big words and, as those of you who have met me know, I do indeed speak like I write.


But of course it doesn’t stop there. We aren’t really snooty language snobs. As much as we strive to speak correctly, we love us some good old slang and curse words and silly expressions and weird-sounding names for things, and they all play a part in our day to day. Oh, maybe not outside of the house, but certainly inside. We love rolling the other’s curse words and dirty language, les gros mots, around on our tongues like a sharp-biting mouthful of whiskey, let a slang word or two slip out here and there in the middle of a family discussion, using the odd, unusual and fun to describe the things and people around us, a way to learn and practice, have fun and be silly. But between the proper way to speak to others and the silly word games we play together, never the twain shall meet.

But accidents happen. When one lives in a foreign language, skips from one language to another, mistakes happen, the occasional faux pas slips out and trips you up, earning smirks and stares, the occasional dirty look or shocked expression or even a snort of laughter from the spouse. Like the time early in our marriage when JP used a less than savory sexual expression in the place of “Beat it, Injun!” when describing a scene from an old black & white Lone Ranger episode to my family. Or when, after years of my using the French word bordel to indicate a complete mess, my husband (from whom I picked up the word) kindly pulled me aside and said “Don’t use that word in front of my parents! It’s vulgar!” Thank you very much for telling me after how many years? Normally cautious and self-conscious with how we speak, it isn’t always easy to differentiate between the normal, the usual and the vulgar when trying to pick up the other’s language. Oh, some words or expressions are clearly off limits once we step outside the house, but others, well, there is a fine line to step over as words are magically transformed from the rude to the common. Language, after all, does evolve. And sometimes, well, we are just a little bit fascinated by an expression and end up using it anyway, just for the fun of it.


And this brings me to donuts. I bake with the Daring Bakers, a wonderful baking experience led by the ever-wonderful Ivonne and Lis! The October 2010 Daring Bakers challenge was hosted by Lori of Butter Me Up and Lori asked us all to make doughnuts or donuts. Now, she did offer us recipes for regular yeast donuts, baked or fried, and I have always wanted to make yeast-risen donuts. But because of both the lack of time and interested eaters (I mean, who doesn’t like donuts? How do I end up living with people like this?) I decided to make something easier and much lighter. Pets-de-Nonne. Nun’s Farts. Yes, you read that correctly, Nun’s Farts! I must admit that I have long wanted to make these delicate little treats if for nothing but the name. Pets-de-Nonne rolls off the tongue in a joyous tumble of giggles, hands clasped to the mouth, eyes dancing with delight like some schoolgirl who let loose a silly word in the middle of history class. Grown woman that I am, discovering foods with daring, vulgar, even slightly obscene names still has the power to amuse me. Like couilles du pape, pope’s well…. all I need to say is that they are a common name for a type of oval purple plum, or Gratte Cul, hmmm check your French-English dictionary please, a common name for Briar or Wild Rose (think of how and where it scratches) and a little cheese called Trou du Cru, a small cow’s milk cheese which when said much too quickly will come out trou du c**. Just plain silly, if you ask me, right? But after all of these many years I am smart enough to ask husband if it is okay to use this name outside of the house. Pets-de-Nonne, after all, is written there in bold black and white in his favorite food bible, Les Meilleures Recettes de Françoise Bernard … but is nowhere to be found in my Larousse Gastronomique. “Well,” explained husband, “of course it isn’t, it is a vulgar nickname for those beignets.” “But your Françoise Bernard has it in her cookbook!” “Oh, really?” Yes, and so it goes, the evolution of language. And the fun of it all.

Pets-de-Nonne are simply dainty little dollops of froth, light as air (or light and airy as a nun’s fart, I am assuming), dusted with a shower of icing sugar like snow on a bright winter’s day. Made from choux pastry dough, fried instead of baked, pushed off of a teaspoon into hot oil, Pets-de-Nonne float lazily up to the surface and puff up before your very eyes, turning a glowing, gentle golden color, like sunlight. Allow them to deepen in color a bit to make sure the dough is cooked all the way through, scoop them up and douse them quickly with sugar and pop them into your mouth one glorious beignet at a time. So light, they melt in your mouth, a delicate bit of dough, a sweet afterthought of sugar, and you will be left utterly…speechless.


And they smell divine!

We’ve had an overwhelming response to the Plate to Page workshop we announced earlier this week. I thank everyone of you who emailed, tweeted and spread the word.

If you really want to join the four of us for this intensive, hands-on food blogging experience then register now! – we’ve had a big rush and there are only a few spots left. Registrations have come in from South Africa, Canada, USA, Italy, UK and Holland and you wouldn't want to miss this exciting new concept in Food Blogging Workshops: this is more than a conference, this is a working weekend, a complete learning experience specifically designed for the food blogger who yearns to hone his or her writing, food styling and food photography skills. And have a great time while doing it!

PETS DE NONNE (Nun’s Farts) or DONUT PUFFS
Beignets Soufflés, Soufflé Donuts made from a classic choux pastry dough, fried instead of baked

5 ½ Tbs (2.8 oz/ 80 g) unsalted butter
1 cup (1/4 litre) water
¼ tsp salt
1 cup (125 g) flour
4 large eggs
vegetable or neutral oil for frying
Powdered/confectioner’s/icing sugar for dusting


Place the butter, water and salt in a saucepan and warm over medium-low heat until the butter is completely melted. Take the saucepan off of the heat and add the flour all at once and stir with a wooden spoon until well blended with the liquid. Return the pan to the heat and, stirring vigorously, cook until the dough holds together in a ball and pulls away from the sides of the pan and no longer sticks to the wooden spoon.


Remove from the heat. Using the wooden spoon, add the eggs one at a time, stirring vigorously after each addition until blended. Then continue with the rest of the eggs one by one. The choux dough will be thick, smooth and very creamy.


Heat the oil in a deep-fryer or large pot to a depth of about ¾ inch. When a pinch of the dough dropped into the oil sizzles and then cooks golden brown, the oil is hot enough. Drop the dough in by teaspoonfuls, only about 6 at a time. They cook very quickly and you want to have only a manageable amount to take care of. As they cook, carefully flip them around so they cook evenly on both sides.


Once they puffed up and are a deep golden brown all over, then lift them out of the hot oil and let drain on paper towels. While they are still hot, and as the next batch starts to cook, sprinkle the Pets-de-Nonne with powdered/confectioner’s sugar and gently toss to coat. Serve and eat immediately while they are still warm.

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CROQUEMBOUCHE or PIECE MONTEE

ONE WEDDING LEADS TO ANOTHER


Our wedding was small, barely a dozen attended. A simple affair, a stroll to city hall, sitting in those gilded chairs fit for royalty, the sun streaming into the large, bright hall, the festive floral murals gracing the pale golden walls made for a celebration. My soon to be husband, glowing in his joy, sitting in his black brocante zoot suit looking rather stunned in disbelief and I, sitting happily, nervously next to him in something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, a bit stunned myself at the wonder of sitting here in Bois Colombes marrying * gasp * a Frenchman. M. le Maire Adjoint walks in, seemingly as giddy as the soon-to-be-newlyweds, bringing with him an unexpected added gaiety to the party, his infectious booming laughter, and an electric buzz shoots through the room and we are off! With much less solemnity than we had expected, we are married by this rotund, funny gentleman who, in no uncertain terms, imparts his pleasure in joining a Frenchman and an American, his first American in 20 years of performing marriages. Sacrebleu!


His words washed over me like warm water and whenever he glanced in my direction, his eyes meeting mine, and he paused I simply stuttered “Oui” as if on cue. He prattled on, his words a lovely, incomprehensible jumble of French, or so I assumed, but nary a word did I understand. No matter. I knew what I was there for, I understood the gist and the huge, fatherly grin splashed across his face gave me the confidence that whatever he was having me promise must most certainly be for my own good.

After the ceremony, the exchange of rings, the fumbling kiss, the signing of the papers with shaking hands, we paraded back home in all of our married glory to a wedding brunch that we had cooked and prepared ourselves the day before. Champagne flowed amid the flowers, we ate and drank and I, in my stumbling schoolgirl French met many of his friends for the first time, giggling at their amazement and disbelief that he had actually, formally tied the official knot. And amongst the guests was one, his witness, his best friend, the one who came to the wedding decked out in red and green tartan plaid from head to toe for a laugh, carrying a baby stroller as a good joke, Olivier. Crazy, wild, funny Olivier with whom JP shares some wild and crazy stories of their adventures together. Well, this is a tale of his wedding, not our own humble affair. Our marriage was no traditional fête, no storybook Parisian wedding, no affair spread out in the dreamy pages of some American women’s magazine; no elegantly dressed guests, no top-hatted gentlemen nor women in extravagant, frothy hats, no fancy white car decked out in flowers to whisk us off to church, no sophisticated string quartet entertaining us as we nibbled on catered fare. No, not even an engagement ring nor les fiançailles, no bridal shower nor stag party, and for dessert on that most special day of our lives? Homebaked Vanilla Sponge Cake with coulis de fruits rouges and a dense, decadent Chocolate Cake with Cognac Buttercream whipped up by the bride herself in her future Mother-in-Law’s kitchen.


But Olivier’s marriage, for a rather simple, low-key affair, pulled out all the stops and whistles. We arrived, two tiny sons and my older brother in tow, the day after their small, private City Hall knot-tying ceremony. We settled into the hotel in time to change and make it to his parents’ huge, aristocratic stone pile for the pre-wedding party: lots of food, laughter and loud music as we wandered in amazement from room to room, avoiding small talk with people with whom we had very little in common. The next morning, we found our way to church for the traditional religious ceremony. Bride in a simple beige suit, groom sitting next to her, they listened to the priest for what seemed like hours, the ceremony long and solemn, much more solemn than I would have imagined for something as joyous as a marriage, and totally incomprehensible to me.

But what sticks in my mind most vividly of this entire weekend was the wedding dinner. We arrived as the sun was setting and were led into an unusual, pretty renovated mill all in dark wood and elegant lighting. Guests were milling about (sorry for the pun), admiring the romantic country setting, the beautiful surroundings, finding their way into the reception room. Gold tablecloths, glittering chandeliers, sophistication and charm as the stars lit up the sky outside and the bottles of champagne were opened, pop, pop, pop, one after the other, glasses filled and crystal clinking as the toasts to the newly married couple began. And then the food: oysters, platter upon platter of oysters, began arriving. We joined the line at the table up front and began loading down our plates with oysters and the other wonderful seafood that was carried out and placed amongst the bottles of bubbly. And we ate and we ate and we ate to our fill. And the platters of oysters and smoked fish and all of the delectable treats kept coming. And champagne, of course, to wash it all down. What seemed hours flew by and, completely sated, we simply were left wondering how late the party was to go on for and then it dawned on us. With horror did we realize, much too late, that in fact, the oyster and seafood bar was simply the appetizer. Yes, the appetizer. Just as we were pushing our seats away from the table we turned around and saw waiters carrying in the first course. Well, as polite as we were and as gauche as we were afraid of appearing, we put on our “yes, of course I know what’s going on” faces, picked up knives and forks and dug in. First course, second, third, that huge traditional French wedding feast.


Applause then rose from the crowd, tipsy on food and champagne, as they wheeled in the pièce de résistance, le chef d-oeuvre de la soirée (the evening’s masterpiece): La Pièce Montée: an elegant pyramid of perfect little choux buns, filled with pastry cream and piled up into a sumptuous creation, a delicate, graceful tower of tiny pastries dripping with cascades of golden threads of caramel, the delicate shower of sugary caramel giving this elaborate “Assembled Creation” its other name “Croquembouche” or “That which crunches in the mouth”. This traditional wedding dessert is the French version of the American multi-tiered, frosted, flowered confection topped with tiny bride and groom figurines, a classic at all formal weddings. And we were now witnessing our very first. It is up to the bride to pull apart the tiny choux and pass them one by one to her guests, her way of sharing the happiness of the day. One version of the origin of this French wedding fixture dates back to Roman times when the bride would have a large crown of bread placed on her head. The bread was then broken as a sign of future fertility, a good luck token, if you will. The guests then picked up the pieces and ate them so they could enjoy the same good luck!


The May 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Cat of Little Miss Cupcake. Cat challenged us to make a piece montée, or croquembouche, based on recipes from Peter Kump’s Baking School in Manhattan and Nick Malgieri. I absolutely adored this challenge, as I so love making both pastry cream and choux. I usually use my dear old dad’s choux recipe, but this time I followed Cat’s recipes. Mathilde, my wonderful Macaron assistant, came and spent the day with me so she could learn how to make these treasures! She came with her grandfather’s choux recipe, too! We made both chocolate and vanilla pastry cream as they are both quite simple so Mathilde could learn. She was astonished that both the choux puffs and the pastry cream, although demanding careful attention, were quick and simple to make. This is such a perfect dessert to make when you want to impress family, friends and guests! And memories of my own marriage day as well as all of the weddings, simple and fancy, that I have been to flood over me….


PIECE MONTEE
Recipe from Peter Kump's Cooking School and chef Nick Malgieri

PASTRY CREAM
Vanilla, Chocolate or Coffee

For the Vanilla Crème Patissiere (Half Batch)
1 cup (225 ml.) whole milk (I used low fat)
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
6 Tbs (100 g) sugar
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks
2 Tbs (30 g.) unsalted butter (at room temperature makes it easier)
1 tsp vanilla


Dissolve cornstarch in ¼ cup of milk; whisk until smooth and there are no lumps. Combine the remaining milk with the sugar in a saucepan.Bring to a boil; remove from heat.

Beat the whole egg, then the yolks into the cornstarch mixture. Pour 1/3 of boiling milk into the egg mixture in a slow stream, whisking constantly so that the eggs do not begin to cook.


Add the rest of the hot milk to the egg mixture then return all of it back into the casserole and return to the heat.


Continue whisking (this is important – you do not want the eggs to solidify/cook) until the cream thickens and comes just to a boil. Remove from heat and beat in the butter and vanilla.


Pour cream into a heatproof pyrex or stainless steel bowl. Press plastic wrap firmly against the surface. Chill immediately and until ready to use.


For Chocolate Pastry Cream (Half Batch Recipe):
Bring ¼ cup (about 50 ml) milk to a boil in a small pan; remove from heat and stir in 3 ounces (about 80 g) finely chopped semisweet chocolate; mix until smooth. Whisk into pastry cream when you add the butter and vanilla.


For Coffee Pastry Cream (Half Batch recipe):
Dissolve 1 ½ teaspoons instant espresso powder in 1 ½ teaspoons boiling water. Whisk into pastry cream with butter and vanilla.

Pate a Choux (Yield: About 50)

¾ cup (175 ml) water
6 Tbsp. (90 g) unsalted butter
¼ tsp salt
1 Tbs sugar
1 cup (125 g) all-purpose flour
4 large eggs
For Egg Wash: 1 egg and pinch of salt


Pre-heat oven to 425°F (220°C) . Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Combine water, butter, salt and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. As soon as it boils, remove from the heat and sift in the flour, stirring to combine completely.


Return to heat and cook, stirring constantly until the batter dries slightly and begins to pull away from the sides of the pan.


Transfer to a bowl and stir with a wooden spoon 1 minute to cool slightly.

Add 1 egg. The batter will appear loose and shiny.


As you stir, the batter will become dry looking like lightly buttered mashed potatoes.

It is at this point that you will add in the next egg. Repeat until you have incorporated all the eggs.


Scoop teaspoonfuls of batter and push off the spoon with your finger, leaving about 1 inch between the choux. Choux should be about 1 inch high about 1 inch wide.


Using a clean finger dipped in hot water, gently press down on any tips that have formed on the top of choux. You want them to retain their ball shape, but be smoothly curved on top.

Brush tops with egg wash (1 egg lightly beaten with pinch of salt).


Bake the choux in the preheated oven until well-puffed and turning lightly golden in color, about 10 minutes.

Lower the temperature to 350°F(180°C) and continue baking until well-colored and dry, about 20 minutes more. Remove to a rack. With a small sharp paring knife, slice a small slit in the bottom side of each choux to allow steam to escape or the choux may moisten. All to cool on a cooling rack.


Can be stored in a airtight box overnight.

Filling:

When you are ready to assemble your piece montée, using a plain pastry tip, pierce the bottom of each choux. Fill the choux with pastry cream using either the same tip or a star tip, and place on a paper-lined sheet. Choux can be refrigerated briefly at this point while you make your glaze. (We put equal amounts of vanilla and chocolate pastry cream side by side in the pastry bag so each choux would be filled with a marbled swirl of both flavors.


Chocolate Glaze:
8 oz (200 g) finely chopped chocolate (use the finest quality you can afford as the taste will be quite pronounced; I recommend semi-sweet)

Melt chocolate in microwave or double boiler. Stir at regular intervals to avoid burning. Use the best quality chocolate you can afford. Use immediately.

We dipped only half of the choux in the chocolate because it became matte as it dried and though delicious it gave the choux a very heavy appearance. Next time we will prepare a lighter chocolate glaze.

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