Paris Pastry Club: A collection of cakes, tarts, pastries and other indulgent recipes (3 page)
Read Paris Pastry Club: A collection of cakes, tarts, pastries and other indulgent recipes Online
Authors: Fanny Zanotti
Tags: #ebook
100 g (3½ oz) liquid glucose
2 teaspoons sea salt
a fat pinch of cayenne pepper
a fat pinch of smoked paprika
a pinch of crushed chilli pepper
20 g (¾ oz) butter, cubed
Preheat the oven to 160°C (320°F). Spread the almonds in a single layer onto a baking tray lined with baking parchment and bake for 15 minutes, giving them a good shake every now and then, until golden-brown and aromatic. Set aside while you get on with the caramel.
Before you start, have two Silpats (or two large pieces of baking parchment) and a rolling pin ready on a flat work surface.
Bring the water, sugar, glucose and salt to the boil in a large pan over high heat, stirring as you go. The syrup tends to boil over when it reaches 100°C (210°F) so make sure you use a larger pan than you’d think.
Cook the syrup until the temperature reaches 165°C (330°F) or it is a light-amber colour, then add the spices and whisk in the butter, one cube at a time. When the butter has melted and is emulsified with the caramel, tip in the roasted almonds and stir quickly to coat them evenly.
Pour the coated almonds onto one of the Silpats, cover with the other and roll so that the almonds are all in a single layer. Allow to cool completely, then gently lift off the top Silpat and break the nougatine into pieces, or roughly chop using a large knife.
This is the cake of my childhood, of Sunday mornings at the beach and Wednesday afternoon
goûters
(snacks) at home. My mum used to make it every week. At times I would help her too – in fact, the only recipe she has is a drawing I made with felt-tip pens and a not-so-steady hand.
In those days, we wouldn’t weigh anything but would measure the flour, sugar and butter using the empty yoghurt pot. And we’d bake the cake in a large tin.
You could do the same and bake it in a large cake tin, generously buttered and lined with baking paper, but I have a soft spot for plump little oranges filled with the crumbly and melt-in-your-mouth cake, just like the oranges
givrées
(frozen oranges) my grandmother would make for birthdays. To make one large cake, bake at 180°C (350°F) for 35–40 minutes.
Makes 8 small cakes
8 oranges
200 g (7 oz) plain (all-purpose) flour
½ tablespoon baking powder (baking soda)
a pinch of salt
120 g (4 oz) yoghurt
3 eggs
175 g (6 oz) caster (superfine) sugar
zest of 2 oranges
60 g (2 oz) butter, melted
30 g caster (superfine) sugar,
for the orange syrup
Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F).
Wash and dry the oranges. Slice off the tops, scoop out the flesh using a metal spoon and set aside in a bowl. Arrange the empty oranges sitting cut-side-up on a muffin tray.
Combine all the ingredients in a large bowl and mix well until smooth.
Divide the batter between the prepared oranges until each is two-thirds full and bake for 25–30 minutes or until golden-brown and a skewer inserted into the centre of each cake comes out clean.
Strain the orange flesh through a fine-mesh sieve over a jug, squeezing as you go to extract as much juice as possible.
Place the juice and extra caster sugar in a small pan and bring to the boil over medium heat. Simmer for 10–15 minutes or until reduced by half; set aside until needed.
When the cakes are still warm from the oven, drench each with a little of the hot orange syrup.
I always joke that my mum can only make three perfect desserts: vanilla pudding popsicles (which I remember eating one hot summer day of garage sales and neon tropeziennes sandals); upside-down pineapple cakes (which were always eaten first on my childhood birthdays); and baba au rhum. Her recipe has never failed me and, despite a few tweaks here and there, it’s always the one I use at home or in the restaurant kitchen.
She would serve hers as a giant savarin, soaked with more rum than you think you could handle and a big fluffy pile of whipped cream in the centre. In the summer, berries would always be folded into the cream with their juices. Perhaps this is why I like to serve mine (in the traditional bouchon shape) with a light raspberry syrup and a lot of gin and tonic, inside and on the side.
Serves 4
FOR THE BABAS
250 g (9 oz) plain (all-purpose) flour
½ teaspoon of sea salt
20 g (¾ oz) honey
10 g (½ oz) fresh yeast (or 1 teaspoon instant)
5 eggs, beaten together
70 g (2½ oz) butter, softened
FOR THE RASPBERRY CONSOMMÉ
500 g (1 lb 2 oz) raspberries
50 g (2 oz) caster (superfine) sugar
FOR THE RASPBERRY GIN AND TONIC SYRUP
300 g (10½ oz) water
500 g (1 lb 2 oz) caster (superfine) sugar
300 g (10½ oz)
Raspberry Consommé
200 g (7 oz) tonic
200 g (7 oz) gin
FOR THE ROSE CHANTILLY CREAM
400 g (14 oz) whipping cream
40 g (1½ oz) icing (confectioner’s) sugar
seeds from 1 Tahitian vanilla pod
1 teaspoon rose extract
watermelon and fresh raspberries, to serve
Start by making the babas. Using a stand-mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, mix the flour, salt, honey, yeast and half the eggs on a slow speed until it forms a rough dough. Add the remaining eggs, a little at a time, kneading on medium speed until incorporated. Crank up the speed to high and knead for 10 minutes, or until the dough detaches from the edges of the bowl. Reduce the speed to low and add the butter, a little chunk at a time, until the dough is smooth and satiny.
Cover the bowl with clingfilm and leave to rise for around an hour until doubled in size. While the babas are proving, make the syrup.
First make the consommé – place the raspberries and caster sugar into a large bowl set over a pan of simmering water and cook on low heat for an hour, stirring now and then. Transfer to a sieve lined with muslin cloth and drain without pushing. Discard the raspberries and keep the juices.
Bring the water and sugar to the boil in a large pan to dissolve the sugar.
Take off the heat, add the consommé and when the syrup reaches 60°C (140°F), add the tonic and the gin. (You can make the syrup in advance and reheat when ready to soak the babas.)
Back to the babas … Butter 12 dariole moulds and preheat the oven to 195°C (375°F). Quickly mix the dough using a wooden spoon to deflate it then tip into a piping bag fitted with a large plain nozzle. Pipe 40 g (1½ oz) into each mould and leave to rise until the dough almost reaches the top of the moulds.
Bake for 15–20 minutes, until deep-brown and fragrant. Leave the babas to cool down slightly before turning out. You can freeze them for later or use them straight away.
Use your syrup straight away when it is at 60°C (140°F) or reheat to this temperature if you have made it in advance. Place the babas in the hot syrup and soak for 1 hour, flipping them around every 15 minutes.
Remove the babas from the syrup using a slotted spoon and leave to cool on a wire-rack set over a baking tray. Chill, covered with clingfilm, in the fridge for at least 30 minutes and up to a day.
When you’re ready to serve, make the rose chantilly cream: whisk all the ingredients together until firm peaks form.
Lay out 4 soup plates, place a baba in each, arrange some fresh raspberries and watermelon cubes around and generously drizzle with the cold gin and tonic syrup. Finish with a fat dollop of the cream.
Crêpes are a Friday night tradition in our house. My dad, who used to own a crêperie, is always in charge and he makes the best savoury crêpes you could dream of.
When dessert-time comes, I’ll jump in to make my very own favourite. The batter is delicate and light it has the intense flavour of vanilla and subtle hints of nuttiness from the beurre noisette.
These crêpes are a delight on their own, but you could serve them with a topping of your choice. To keep them warm while you cook, layer them on a plate set over a pan of simmering water and cover loosely with foil.
