If you’re anything like me, you probably think that cupcakes do deserve their disputable standing. I mean, just a quick look around you, and the only thing you’ll see are colourful, sprinkle-packed, prettily piped buttercream topping tasteless (or even worse, awful-tasting) cakes baked in cups.

So yes, that’s what you think.

However, if you’re anything like me, you might also have the inner feeling that you can change that. Make delicious cupcakes, baked with flair, sophistication and novelty.

And well, this is totally what I want you to do for this September edition of Sugar High Friday – aka, SHF; the terrific event created many months ago by the no-less terrific Jennifer, the Domestic Goddess.

Please, help me prove the world that cupcakes can be as tasty as they look. Prove that they aren’t dead.

I heart them. For their size; for their cuteness; for they practical-ness; for how fun they are to make. And to look at. And to eat.
Today is your chance to show that you heart them too.

Et en français? Non non, je ne vous ai pas oubliés. Voici les instructions (résumées) pour participer à Sugar High Friday.

1. Faire des cupcakes. Un seul mot d’ordre: originalité et sophistication.
2. Les prendre en photos et écrire un article.
3. M’envoyer un email avec votre nom, le nom et l’url de votre blog, un lien vers votre article SHF et une photo de votre choix d’au moins 205×205px.
4. Profiter de ces cupcakes avec les gens que vous aimez.

I checked on the daring bakers’ recipe quite late this month, thinking I would have to miss out on this one (yet again) given how tired I felt.

However, things turn out to be a little different. Far from what I expected them to be. As I opened the forum thread, I was thrilled by Meeta and Tony’s pick.

But I mean, who wouldn’t?

1. It’s from Pierre Hermé. Yes, this is totally the point where I blabber about how I loved working him, getting to make all the pâtisseries he sells in his shops, blah, blah, blah. Someone, please stop me. I love him. Period.

2. It has chocolate. Lots of it.

3. It’s made from pâte à choux: perhaps my most favourite thing in the entire world (if you put my consistent inability to produce nice looking choux puffs aside).

And if that didn’t convince you, I’ll have to force the following into your minds. How could you not love something that oozes chocolate crème pâtissière everytime you sink your teeth in it?

I knew it, you’re sold. So was I.

The experiment
- golden choux encasing
- the most luscious chocolate crème pâtissière
- and iced with a simple chocolate fondant

The pâte à choux is a basic. Flour is cooked into a smooth mass with water, milk and butter. First, the butter is cut into small even-sized cubes that are thrown into a pan along with water and milk, and a little salt and sugar. Both the milk and butter make for soft and golden-coloured choux. Indeed, milk is the perfect ingredient to enhance the Maillard reaction that naturally occurs between amino acids and reducing sugars. Heat milk proteins and lactose together and the magic will take place: deep brown colour, and lovely caramel and smoky aromas.

Anyway, this mixture is slowly brought to the boil. And as soon as the butter has melted, flour gets incorporated off the heat in one go, and beaten until it forms a smooth dough.

Then, the pan is placed back over medium heat. The dough is beaten vigorously with a wooden spoon to get rid of excess moisture, and also slightly denaturate the proteins behind gluten – glutenins and gliadins. This prevents the gluten from forming too strong a network, and thus, enables the development of the choux in the oven.

Once the flour mass is ready, I moved it into a pyrex bowl and added the eggs, one at a time; beating well after each addition.
For me, four 60g eggs were enough to get a thick yet soft dough. It should hold its shape but be pipe-able as well.

Since I don’t have my piping tools here, I used a Ziploc bag, but as you can see from the not so perfect choux above and below, well, I didn’t do a good job. The thing is, if you want to get nice even choux, you must pipe from above, not pressing the piping tip against the baking sheet (in comparison with how macarons are piped). Well, do this, unless you want multi-air-pocket-choux.

The dough will most likely form peaks which you can press down using your wet fingers. Next step is the baking: preheat the oven to 200°C, but reduce it to 180°C as soon as you place the baking sheet into the oven. As you do so, sprinkle water over the little balls of dough, then close the oven door and do not open it before the choux have risen well – approximately, 10 minutes later.

At this point, you want to open the door slightly and keep it that way. Given that I suppose you have other things to do than staying close to the oven maintaining that door opened, I suggest you stick a wooden spoon in there. It does a magnificent job at it.

Now, you should bake the choux for 10 more minutes or until golden-brown, and dry and firm to the touch.
Take out from the oven, and quickly pierce the bottom of each choux using a pointy knife to help the steam escape and not making those choux all gooey inside. Allow to cool then store in an airtight container.

The crème pâtissière is pretty classic too. Except for the extra-chocolate. You start by making a simple crème pâtissière: bring the milk to the boil, then temper the egg yolks, sugar and starch mixture. Place back into the pan and cook to 84°C.
This crème is then transferred into a container, and chocolate is incorporated. When it reaches 60°C, a little butter gets mixed in for extra smoothness and thickness.
Cover with cling film, making sure the film is right onto the crème – filmé au contact, as we say in France; and refrigerate.

To pipe the crème pâtissière into the choux, simply fill a piping bag fitted with a fine noozle and use the hole previously made to fill in the choux.
Chill while you get on with the fondant.

For this, I forgot Pierre’s recipe and went with a very simple fondant: warm milk, icing sugar and cocoa powder, mixed into a smooth and thick paste.
Then it’s all very easy. Dip the choux, allow the excess fondant to drip and arrange the choux onto a serving plate. Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.

Soooo…
What if I say that the crème pâtissière was out of this world? Thick and luscious, with the most delicious chocolate flavour.

Anyway, I’m quite happy with how this all turned out. I’ve now officially conquered my choux-fears; not that they look perfect. But at least, I know why they look this way – read multi-air-pocketed. It also made me realise I’m not that bad at making choux. I mean, when I look at my second attempt, they somewhat look goo to me.

Ok, so enough digressing. Back to those chocolate choux, I’m pretty sure I’ll make them again, but this is something I knew even before I started making them. Now the next step is to top the unbaked choux with what French call craquant: a dough make of sugar, flour and butter; rolled very thinly, that gives the choux a lovely crackly look.

Apparently, it’s been a month since I last told you about this beautiful blueberry focaccia. A month. And no, I’m not going to ramble on how time flies; I’ve done that too much in the past already. Not that I don’t like to complain – you know I do; but well, I’m just too tired and unhappy.

Or at least I was too tired and unhappy until it all happened.

You see, those past few weeks of unusual silence had a reason. I’m physically exhausted, and an emotional wreck. I barely sleep. I don’t eat how I should. I can’t find comfort anywhere or in anyone. I’m restless, always on the lookout for new experiences to share, new sensations to explore, new, new new.

Every morning I wake up after a couple of hours of sleep only to remember what a long day I’ll find on my path. Daily internship. Writing my thesis. Then going back home. Let the fun begin. I create. Or less fancily – and perhaps more appropriately – I make things.

The creative process is part of me. I don’t care about the end result. What matters to me is how you get it. Beautiful.

This is terrific. Exciting. And totally fulfilling. But also very shattering. Especially when I haven’t had the chance to have a few days off since last Christmas. When I know I’ll have to wake up at 3:30am every morning for a year. No break.

And I still don’t know what I want to do next.

Or more exactly, I know what I want, but also feel like it’s never going to happen (St Martin’s school of design, I shall tell you goodbye before we even met).

I’m scared.

What do I want to be? Product developer. Certainly. Pastry chef. Possibly. Making my dream come true: being the owner of a pastry shop meets bakery meets book store meets cooking school. Hopefully.

So many doubts. And only one thing to be certain about: this focaccia is out of this world. Go and make it before it’s too late and blueberries disappear for another long year full of expectations, worries and excitement.

Blueberry focaccia
Adapted from Dan Lepard.

When I was younger, I remember my dad talking about how his grand father would make him olive oil bread topped with freshly cut apricot halves and baked until the flavours blend beautifully.
And well, since I had some blueberries to use (OK, I needed an excuse for not eating that whole tub); I thought I should give it a try.

The base recipe is just from Dan, as you may have guessed. So good it makes for the most perfect brunch or snack.

You could also replace the oil with softened butter if you feel like the olive flavour might be overpowering (I loved it, but it’s all a matter of taste).

I now have an online portfolio to display some of my pictures and crafty projects. Please do check it, you’ll make me super*happy.

ps. I know it’s cheaply coded in dirty html, but damn, it was 4am!

I wish I’d come here today to tell you about how super excited I felt when I found out about Chris‘ pick for July’s daring bakers challenge. But things happened to be a little different.

It’s not that I didn’t like it. It’s just, that, well, there is so much more than buttercream-layered-cakes out there. Hence, this challenge initially felt a little frustrating.

Initially.

Then ideas started to pop like crazy. I knew I wasn’t going to make it buttercreamy, because, we all know I don’t dig buttercream.
I wanted it to have a summer feeling. Berries imposed themselves in the most natural way.

So did the cream filling; flavoured with a fragrantly nutty paste made from almonds and sugar.

The experiment
- three layers of butter and almond enriched génoise, sandwiched with
- an almond and cream filling, and
- fresh raspberries, and glazed with
- a dark chocolate ganache

The cake is a génoise, enriched with butter and ground almonds, which both make for a moist and tender gâteau.
I kept the given proportions – almost – unchanged, but slightly tweaked the process because I dare to be different. I first whipped with egg whites until they formed soft peaks, then added one fourth of the sugar, and set those aside. Using the same whisk (no cleaning involved), I beat the egg yolks with the remaining sugar until white and fluffy, then carefully folded those into the whipped egg whites.

In a small bowl, I had handy the flour, cornflour and ground almonds – all, thoroughly mixed. I dumped this mixture onto the whipped eggs and folded using a large metal spoon, until just combined.
Finally, the warm melted butter (not clarified) was poured over and incorporated as fast as possible.

The batter was then transferred into a 20cm cake buttered-and-baking-papered tin. And the cake was baked for 30 minutes, or until it feels springy to the touch and separates itself from the sides of the pan.

The filling is made by folding almond praline paste into softly whipped cream.

The almond praline is very straightforward to make. The only you really need is a powerful food processor, and you’re in.
Just make a syrup with caster sugar and water, and bring it to 120°C. Next, ditch the blanched almonds in there, mix quickly and transfer onto a lined baking sheet. Allow to cool and chop into smallish pieces that you blitz using your super processor until smooth and creamy.

Now, you simply have to slice the cake into three layers, sandwich them using the filling and throwing in a couple of handful of raspberries; and finally glaze the cake using a basic ganache made of equal parts of dark chocolate and double cream.

Sooooo…
My cake was so moist that I didn’t find it necessary to brush it with syrup before going on with the layering part of the process.

In the end, I really liked this challenge, but who can go wrong with berries, almond and cream?
Oh, sure, I did find the chocolate a little overpowering and will totally leave it out if I ever happen to make this again. Because I will.

The cake is so delicate and fragrant; and most importantly, rose beautifully. The filling was thick and creamy, which perfectly complemented the tanginess brought by the berries.

Fifteen days went by since the last time I talked to you my friends. But what feels even more unusual is that today is precisely foodbeam’s third birthday. I can’t believe you guys have been reading me and sharing your stories for three whole entire complete years.

Things haven’t changed; or so I tell myself. In fact, I’m now a grown-up, and part of this, is clearly seeing where and what I want to be. Such a pleasing feeling.

Pâtisserie has become a true passion of mine over the years, and hopefully, I’ll be able to call myself a pâtissier next year, on this exact same date.

Keep your fingers crossed for me, not that I’m superstitious or believe in luck, but well… your support truly is amazing and an actual happiness shot. Through this little unpretentious blog, I’ve had the chance to make great friends, to meet some respected writers and pâtissiers; and perhaps, most importantly, to find what makes my heart all happy inside. You know, the thing I can wake up at three am for; the thing I can work for countless hours for. No, not boys, you silly. Pâtisserie. And that’s totally thanks to you guys who encouraged me, supported me and helped me having the life I had always dreamt about.

Sure I always get distracted by other things; prints, illustration and polaroids (I seriously considered enrolling in a CAP Polaroid, until I found out it doesn’t exist; damn, we need to find a solution).

But pâtisserie do and always will mean happiness for me.

Ok, enough for the tears-inducing words. Let’s move onto the real thing. The blog. And the pictures. First off, let me tell you I don’t consider myself a good food photographer. My pictures are decent, not terrific. But since I get so many requests about how I get such pictures, I thought I could share how I do it.

Along with the food, the camera is the only thing you really need to become a food photographer.

Yes, it’s that simple, or it’s at least what you think when unpacking the camera from it’s shiny cardboard box and before you actually spot the five-hundred-page manual, waiting there, just for you.

Manuals are like those guys who, sticky-with-love, always want to be by your side. You don’t want them, but certainly need them from time to time. Well, may I suggest you both get a little closer (or more accurately, you get closer from him), and you’ll find out how wonderful they actually are.

So yes, whether you have a Chelsea camera or an East-End one, read the manual. And try the different functions, get to see how it works and how you can get the results you want.

I now have a DSLR – read: digital single lens reflex. A canon 400D (or XTi, for you guys across the ocean). But back in the old days, I had to make the most of that other less fancy camera I had. But I have the feeling I succeeded. Not that my pictures were perfect – I’m pretty glad I never took the time to re-upload the pictures from the archives (after I moved foodbeam from blogger to wordpress).
Basically, you just need to know your camera, and how to set it; which is something we’ll discuss a little further.

Make it. Have fun. And don’t take it too seriously.

Did I say that all you really need are food and a camera? Well, seems like I was lying. I love to have an assistant handy as well.

My assistant – or slave, you choose – is most of the time my little sister or boyfriend. Pick someone you can harass, manipulate, and judge without going through much trouble. Yes, your eight-year old cousin will do.

While it’s not compulsory to have one, it might help you through tricky issues. I mean, which colour should I pick for the background? Or how in the world am I supposed to keep those delicately piled choux in place with such a wind?
See, very handy.

So, yes, as soon as the food is made, get ready to take the pictures. Get your assistant to measure the distance between your camera and the food, to determine the best focal length to choose considering the light conditions your assistant (again!) assessed using his new luminometer.

Or in the real world, find a place where you have access to natural light. I love natural light, but not when it’s too harsh; that why late summer nights and me have such a special relationship.
Don’t put the food in direct light either, but behind a window or under a porch.Thus, you’ll have soft shadows and a sufficient amount of light coming through your lens.

You can certainly invest in both a good tripod and flash; I can’t since I have other things in my to-buy list, which come first far away from this useful duo. Just don’t use your built-in flash. Never. It makes the food looks flat, with no contrast except for that bright white spot on the shiny surface of the chocolate jelly you’ve just made.

As much as I would like my pictures to look like pretty pages from my favourite food magazine, I just can’t. And I totally grown over this.

First, overstyled shots just don’t feel right to me; not that they don’t look good, they certainly do. They’re simply not – embodying – me.

Second, I don’t have enough money to buy tons of props, not enough time to style the food. It’s meant to be eaten after all and I’d much prefer my friends to enjoy the food rather that having them to wait angrily until I finished the styling and shooting. Two words: Ikea and garage sales. Those are the places where I find my tableware. I love Ikea for the cheap white plates that make any food look great; while the garage sales – or vide-greniers as we call them here in france – are a wonderful way to find lovely vintage scorched pans and plates.

Third, my approach to food photography is more food-geared than anything else. I want the bread* to stand out, not the neat polka-dot ribbon that’s tied around.
* replace with any food you plan to shoot.

That’s why in most of my picture you’ll find a container – plate, jar, cake stand – holding what matters most; the delicious food. Nothing less – and most definitely – nothing more.

By now you should all be aware that I love clean pictures. And needless to say, simple background. White cotton fabric is my favourite. Ever. But coloured – and even illustrated – fabrics are ranked high amongst my top-ten.

What I do is usually ask my assistant to bring a cardboard box, place it on the table and cover both with the chosen fabric. The food is placed on this, around 15cm in front of the box.

This is probably the trickiest part for those of you who don’t know a thing about how cameras work – basically, this description fitted the person I was three years away from now.

Consider your camera as a small window through which light beams. The amount of incoming light is what makes the picture, so this is most definitely a critical point. For a couple of minutes, please excuse me if I stop sounding silly. We need to concentrate.

When I take pictures, I always work in manual mode and pay attention to:
- the shutter speed
- the aperture
And then tweak the ISO settings so I have enough incoming light.

The shutter speed is the time during which your shutter will stay open. Quite obviously, the longer it remains open, the more light will go through it, and the brighter your picture will be.

It is a fraction that looks like 1/3000 or 1/100 or 1/3 or 1/10″… the longest being 1/10″ and the quickest 1/3000. I recommend not using a shutter speed lower than 1/100 or your pictures might turn out blurry.

The aperture is lens-dependent. I currently own two lenses: one 50mm (focal length) f/1.8 and one macro 100mm f/2.8; which I both have now words for except they’re the real thing. The 50mm is cheap and totally amazing; while the 100mm is somewhat more expensive, but worth every cents.

The mean f-slash-number represents the maximal aperture of a length. The smaller the number, the wider the lens will be open and thus, the brighter the picture will be.
But what makes aperture special – more special than shutter speed, at least in food photography – is its ability to produce a lovely blurry background, while the main subject is well in focus. To get that depth of field, I tend to use the wider aperture possible: f/1.8 with my 50mm lens and 2.8 with the macro one.

Now, the hard thing is to combine both the shutter speed and aperture to produce a beautiful picture with just the necessary amount of light. If too much light comes through the lens, then the picture will be overexposed. In the other case, it’ll be all grey – or even worse, black.

These misfits would happen all the time if the exposure bar didn’t exist. You know that -2…-I…0…+I…+2 at the bottom of your viewfinder. It helps you see whether the picture is underexposed (negative) or overexposed (positive).

Sometimes, when I have both the shutter speed and aperture set in order to have the maximum amount of light coming in, but it’s a little too dark outside, my pictures look greyish. Well, in those situations, I just increase the ISO speed from 100 to 200 or in extreme conditions, 1600.
Increasing the ISO speed does affect the quality of your picture by adding graininess to it; but this is totally worth it when you don’t want the party layer cake you’ve spent hours making look like a pantone shade of black.

Do you need actual help on this?

Once the pictures are in and the cake eaten, I will transfer the pictures onto my laptop. And then, I edit all my pictures using Photoshop CS3. Yes, all of them.
In fact when you see a strawberry cake, it is really a chocolate flavoured one.

Oh yes, I do use Photoshop for every single of my pictures, but that’s mostly to crop them into neat 410px-wide rectangles so they fit perfectly into the little food heaven that foodbeam is.

Sometimes, I will tweak the levels or colours, but only when much much needed – read: when you can’t clearly recognise what’s in the picture.

Oh damn, I could talk about food photography for hours. There is so much to say I’m crazy to try and express how I feel about it in just one post. I certainly don’t want to bore you. Getting you grab your camera with excitement is what I aim for. So please, experiment, take your time and enjoy yourself. With this, I’m positive that your pictures will look beautiful.

And, remember:
- natural light
- simple composition
- good framing
- macro or manual settings
- love

Oh what about that last picture. Yes, it is totally a delicious blueberry focaccia, which recipe will come soon.

Quite unexpectedly, summer showed up; with its glorious harvest, hot breezes and refreshing drinks.

Quite unexpectedly, I hadn’t noticed how time flew by. These past months; this past year.

It seems that since I came back from New Zealand, things haven’t stopped. Not even for a brisk moment. New Zealand. Bang. Nice. Bang. Pierre Hermé. Bang. Nice. Bang. Paris. Bang. Toulouse. Bang. Nutrition & Santé. Bang.

Nutrition & Santé. That’s what keeps me busy at the moment. And actually, that’s what has kept me busy for the past few months as well.

It might sound cliché, but although four months have passed by, the day I arrived feels like it was yesterday. Now the project I’ve been working on is drawing to an end, and just the thought of it gives me that strange sensation: I know where all those hours of hard work go – into a terrific biscuit, period; however, I can’t help but wonder why the hours faded away this fast.

Time is such a delicate concept. Something you can’t grasp unless you’re missing it. Yes, time is one of those things you aren’t aware of until the day you realise you don’t have it anymore.

And I think this day has come for me.

Sure, I’ve always complained about how I don’t have enough time to make random things. But today is an entirely different matter. I just realised I haven’t lived for a year. I just kept doing what people wanted – expected – me to. And, well, yes, the whole I-hate-not-having-spare-time situation is part of it, but it was only a very teeny part.

I’m happy though.

Everything I do makes sense. Giving people happiness. Sharing. Working. Having fun. But somehow it feels different.

Maybe I’ve just become an adult. A lovingly crazy adult, that is; but adult nonetheless.

By the way, are adults allowed to eat ice cream sandwiches now and then?

Gosh, thank you. Can’t believe I once saw adults as austere beings. If only I knew back then, that one can have the life one dreams about.

Brownies-like cookies en ice cream sandwich au chocolat et à la banane

Okay, so let’s get this off right away. I did not make this luscious banana and chocolate chunk ice cream. I wish I had, but I’m the sad owner of a non-turbine-à-glace. Read: please somebody buy me an ice cream machine.

The inexpensive ones don’t fit in my tiny freezer and the huge ones… well, I just seem not to be able to keep six hundred euros long enough for me to rush to Darty and get myself the most prized and loved Magimix.

Anyway, this is mostly a recipe for cookies. Killer cookies that taste and feel like brownies. I love them. Day and night. But I have to admit, I love them even more with ice cream sandwiched in between two of them.

To me, the perfect ice cream conveyor. Cookies that make me wish ice cream sandwiches were more popular in France than they currently are. Maybe one day.

Believe it or not, but I’ve made pâte à choux twice in the past couple of days; and nope, no flat little choux buns were involved. This might not sound special; but trust me – if you’re unaware of my choux-bun-helplessness – it is.

Choux pastry is something I love to make. I mean don’t you dream about not feeling your own arm anymore, because you’ve just beaten three whole eggs into a thickish dough, which tends to split as you do so? Come on! Admit it, you love it too.
Well, I do. But choux buns. Oh no; these definitely don’t love me back. They probably even hate me; and that’s a massive understatement.

We all know how the story ends. On a random day, I decide to overcome this feeling, persuading myself that choux buns do actually love me. After all, there just made of flour, milk, water, salt, butter and – breathe – eggs.
So, yes, I make pâte à choux. It looks sleek and pretty, and has the most wonderful smell. I gently pipe it onto a lovely baking sheet. And bake. And cry.

During my whole life, I might have gotten choux buns right once or not twice. Not a single time more. So well, after giving up for a year, I made it again. Thanks to the NY Times magazine – yeah, finally a two-way relationship!

When I spotted the recipe for herbed fritters, my heart felt quite excited. How could fromage blanc and chives folded into pâte à choux then fried could taste bad? And, perhaps more importantly, how could I possibly failed that?
Frying. This is like totally different from baking. Three different letters, and a couple of litres of oil later, I found myself dropping little balls of the most beautiful dough ever into some bubbling greasiness. It felt good. Quite dangerous –yes – but I’m wild and fearless, so that doesn’t count.

Anyway, since I got such terrific results, I decided to love the NY Times even more. And even got the idea to make one recipe from it every week. Oh, I know, those don’t looks as yummy as the frosted cake and luscious tart I got you used to; but well, they pretty much have the same calorie content!

Choux croustimoelleux au fromage blanc et à la ciboulette
Adapted from the NY Times.

This is quite straightforward a recipe. If you know how to make pâte à choux, then you’re done. And it happens to actually be true as well if you don’t know a thing about choux.

You first make the pâte à choux. Heat the milk, water and butter together, then throw in the flour and salt in one go. Now using a wooden spoon, mix the dough like mad until it forms a ball. Finally mix in the eggs, one at a time. Here I have a couple of things to add: 1) you needn’t a stand mixer, keep using your wooden spoon. And 2) you might not need the entire third egg, so what I advise you to do is to crack it into a small bowl, mix it with a fork until smooth and slowly pour half ot it onto the dough. If it feels right, add more. If not, throw the remaining egg mixture away.

Once the dough is made, it should be used immediately, so I can only recommend heating the oil before you even start making the dough.
Making the fritters is just a matter of folding: some fromage blanc – which you can substitute with ricotta, a handful of chopped chives, and freshly ground pepper.

Then comes the frying. Be careful. I decided to pipe the dough into the hot*hot oil. Basically, I filled my piping bags with the dough, squeezed it over the oil and cut it – using my tiny pair of scissors – to form little balls.
Oh and yes, while I’m at it. I don’t own a thermometer that goes high enough in temperature, so I just rely to the dip-it test; i.e. spoon a little of the dough and se it it pops up and float. If it does, the oil is hot enough; falling that just wait for an extra couple of minutes before trying again.

When I found out about what Kelly and Ben wanted us to make for June’s daring bakers challenge, I was thrilled.

Danish braid.

Read, layers of sweet buttery dough enclosing whatever filling you can dream about. And shaped into a lovely-looking braid.
Oh so marvellous!

The experiment
As said above, the Danish braid is made from:
- a pâte briochée feuilletée [egg-based yeasty laminated dough]
- a simple vanilla crème pâtissière [custard]
- a sprinkle of insanely good dark chocolate chips

Before I begin, let me assure you that unlike most yeasty doughs, Danish pastry is very quick to make.
The recipe calls for a five-hour rest once the final turn is made, but trust me, I started making the dough at two in the afternoon, and by six o’clock, the braid was out of the oven.
Sure I did bypass – or at least, reduce – a couple of steps, but the end result was beyond my expectations. Taking risks sometimes pays off.

Anyway, let’s move onto what I first intented to start with. The dough. Perfect as it is.

Made from flour, yeast, sugar and salt, to which milk, eggs and vanilla extract are added, and into which a beurre manié (simply butter mixed with a little flour) is encased; it is one of the most forgiving doughs I’ve ever worked with.

The détrempe is chilled for 30 minutes before the beurre manié is spread onto its lower two thirds. The dough is then folded into what could be called a business-letter fashion.
This is the first tour [turn].

After another chill in the fridge, the dough is rolled and folded; into three, according to the recipe, and into four for me. Making a double turn makes for a quicker process, without a loss in quality.
I love double turns.

The dough is chilled again and then folded in order to complete a single turn.
Then, the recipe calls for a long rest in the fridge. And well, I’ve been a bad baker here. Daring, but still bad.
I managed to wait for a dozen of minutes before rolling out the dough into a 1/2cm thick rectangle. I guess the fact that I kneaded the détrempe for almost ten minutes helped the gliadin and glutenin to come together into the darling gluten.
I love double turns and relaxed gluten.

Quite evidently, I put all those resting time to use by getting the filling – a vanilla speckled pastry cream – ready.
And this is all simple. Egg yolks, cornflour, vanilla seeds, sugar and milk. The milk was brought to the boil, along with the vanilla seeds and sugar.
I mixed the egg yolks and cornflour into a smooth paste; tempered this mixture with the warm milk, then put everything back in the pan and cooked the cream over low heat until thick.

As you can see, left the cardamom and orange juice out. Ornage juice isn’t a great thing to use in baked good. Sure it does bring flavour, but also acidity. Hence, it’s way better to use orange zest instead of juice.

Once I the dough and filling were both put together, it’s time for some shaping action.
The dough is cut to a mere 20 x 30cm rectangle. And cut into what reminds me of an Indian totem shape.

I then piped the crème pâtissière onto the centre of the dough, sprinkled with chocolate chips – yes, you do read right: amazingly delicious Barry Callebaut chocolate chips –, and folded the lateral dough stripes over so the whole thing forms a pretty braid.

Since my braid was around 30 cm long and 8cm wide, it fitted perfectly the Pyrex loaf pan I took from my parents house the last time I visited.
I left the braid in there for an hour, until it doubled in size, then baked it – still in the pan (to prevent it from ‘opening’) in a hot oven for 30 minutes.

Sooooo…
This challenge is one of my favourites so far. The braid was so very yummy. I love how the pastry turned out: flaky, yet très-brioche. And I think the crème pâtissière brought a pleasing softness.
I’ll definitely make this again.

A couple of weeks ago, I made it back home with the secret aim to find a place to be an apprentice at next year.
I got to spend a day in a dreamy laboratoire, being shown around by the young chef, decorating tarts and making beautiful loaf cakes; all with a view on the gorgeous black-walled chocolaterie room.

The next day I headed towards La Trinité, a small town, north of Nice, where the renown pâtisserie Lac has its laboratoire. The place is huge, probably ten times bigger – I mean, walk-in freezers! – that Pierre Hermé’s.
Pascal Lac, the chef, decided to make the move from the busy city back-shop laboratoire to this large open one for reasons that are quite understandable.

After the short interview, I asked my dad – who held the position of pastry-chef-in-the-being (=me) driver for the week end – to drive me to the city centre, so I could have a look and taste of Lac’s pastries.

Just as the pâtisserie from the day before, pâtisserie Lac had that gorgeous sleek look. Very chic. But as I entered, I had that overwhelming feeling that conducted me to choose Lac over any other pâtisseries I had applied to. Don’t laugh, but I totally felt connected with the various entremets, cakes and macarons. Those had my touch in them.

So well, here it comes. I HAVE AN INTERNSHIP FOR NEXT YEAR!
And I’m damn happy.

While we’re talking about internships, it fills me with joy when you guys let me know that you’re planning on become a pastry chef – and thus interning at a French pâtisserie.

However, I must admit that I’m getting bored of those many ‘how did you secure an internship at Pierre Hermé’ emails, as if I was the sesame to Pierre Hermé’s very own private paradise pâtisserie. I am not.

But because I do my best at being a lovely person, here is the answer.
I am passionate about pâtisserie, and I guess that if you do mean it when you tell me about how much you love pastry, then you might actually be passionate too. And this is just terrific. Passion is the key; the so-wanted sesame.
Thanks to my passion, I strive to make my dreams come true. It might take days or years, I don’t mind. All I want is to be satisfied about myself; and so should you.

What about this whole how-to-get-an-internship thingy then? Well, people, just get on it; be proactive; make your best to get what you want. If that means emailing Fanny about her Pierre Hermé internship, then do it. But do you really think that’ll fulfil you? Don’t you want to struggle for it? Or more accurately, are you even ready to struggle for it?

What you want will never come onto a silver plate, which is especially true in the fine food industry.

You want something. Then make it happen.

I understand that some of you might need a little more guidance – I mean, even I, living in France and speaking fluent French, find it difficult sometimes; or actually, all the time. I struggle; making phone calls back and forth; emailing restlessly.
You want an internship in France; then follow this quick step-by-step.

1. Learn the basic principles of French grammar and orthography. You needn’t be an advanced French speaker and writer, but definitely have to be able to understand when people talk to you, formulate a coherent answer, and express your feelings and motivations in a cover letter.

2. Put together a resume in French. By all means, if you don’t have the knowledge to make it look pretty, just keep it simple.
In France, resumes must contain:
- a picture of you
- the basic info about you<
- your telephone number and email address
Plus, all of the usual stuff: education and work experience.
Never worked at a pâtisserie before? I hadn’t. But I managed to highlight how I included my passion into the different projects I conducted.

3. List the places where you want to apply. Use google maps, or les pages jaunes; for contact info. Do make an actual – written on paper – list! Write down the name of the pâtisserie, name of the pâtissier, phone number and email.

4. Write a two-hundred-word cover letter- if you’re not fluent, make it clear at the beginning, but say you’re definite about improving your French; in this case, keep it short and simple.
Basically, just try to convey your passion and enthusiasm through your words. Briefly expose a project you worked on and during which you managed to place pastry into the limelight.

5. Take a morning off (not Mondays, since most of the shops are closed), and call each of the listed place. Make the effort to speak French. Don’t try and speak too fast if you’re not confident; I much rather someone that talks slowly than someone I can barely understand.
Ask for the chef pâtissier. And don’t hesitate to make people repeat if you don’t get something.

When you’ve finally been put through the chef, make it brief. Say you want to apply for a stage [stah-ge]. Ask whether they accept stagiaires [stah-gi-air] or not. If they do, give your availabilities; then politely ask for an email where you could reach him for further communication.

Be warned, they will most likely ask for a stage conventionné, for which you need a convention – a sort of insurance contract – issued by your school or university. So if you’re not currently a student, I suggest you get some info elsewhere.

6. Cross the pâtisserie name off the list. And immediately send an email.
Thank them for the earlier conversation. Repeat what you called them for: stage, availabilities. Attach both your resume and cover letter, but still mention them in the email body.

7. Wait for seven days, then either call or email, asking about the processing of your application.
Don’t hesitate to call again and say you’re very motivated. Tell them you’re highly interested in meeting them for an interview. Actually make it to the interview, even for just one day.

Congrats. You are [insert your country’s name] next pastry chef.