Project Patisserie Goes to the Opera

Project Patisserie : Adventure #4

 

Chocolate, cake, and coffee- they sound like components of a leisurely dessert course. But what if they were magically combined into one bite-sized little package? Well, this week they are. Chocolate and coffee lovers, allow me to introduce the Opera. The Opera is a bite-sized rectangular cake composed of three thin layers of almond cake soaked in coffee, layered with coffee flavored buttercream filling, and chocolate-coffee ganache. As if that weren’t decadent enough, true chocoholics then have the option of enrobing each piece in additional chocolate.

According to culinary historians, the Opera, named after the Paris Grand Opera, was invented in 1955 by a well –established French pastry house named Dalloyau (pronounced dahl-why-yo.) The Dalloyau brothers got their break in 1682 after one of their desserts impressed French King Louis XIV. The King not only offered the Dalloyaus a position in his court but also conferred upon them an aristocratic title- only in France can masterful dessert wield political influence!

Operas are of the petit fours category, that is, miniature, meticulously executed desserts that are intended to deliver the varied tastes and textures of an entire cake in one or two bites. Petit fours are by definition petite- not meant to be larger than 1 ½ -2 inches tall; they’re also intended to be visually striking due in part to their uniform presentation. Not only are petit-fours my latest culinary obsession but I’m so enamored of the concept, in fact, that I’ve been contemplating writing a petit fours series for this column- maybe with a little North Country flare? “Project Patisserie Goes Petite-Four Wheeling” comes to mind as a possible title.

But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. What the results of my first Opera attempt lack in uniformity and stature they made up for in flavor- they tasted like a richer version of a tiramisu. On that point they were successful. I was a little generous with the layers of cake and filling, and as a result, the finished Operas were more like a slice of cake than a small, delicate dessert- towering way over the 1 ½  – 2 inch height restriction.

“Elegance is refusal” - or at least Coco Chanel thought so. I admit that quote has always seemed a bit enigmatic but I find that the petit four is a perfect didactic tool to explain it.  In order to achieve the elegance of the petit four it’s important to practice some restraint – refusal, if you will- when applying the layers of buttercream and ganache.  Though not my natural tendencies, I will make a concerted effort to muster up some restraint and refusal next month when I make my second Opera attempt for a Watertown charity event.

OPERA Recipe- Start the day before you plan on serving it.

Like a lot of European desserts, the Opera has multiple components- in this case only three: almond cake, chocolate ganache, and coffee flavored buttercream.

Almond cake: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit and line three jelly roll pans with parchment paper. Whip together 4 egg whites and ½ cup of sugar until stiff peaks form. Whisk in 4 whole eggs. When fully incorporated, gently fold in 1 ¼ cups of ground blanched almonds (also called almond flour), 2/3 cup of confectioner’s sugar, 5 Tbsp. of all-purpose flour, and 5 Tbsp. of instant coffee. The dry ingredients will sink right to the bottom of the bowl so when folding the batter be sure to scrape the bottom of the bowl well in order to incorporate the ingredients completely. The first time I made a cake with an egg white base I didn’t pay much attention to my folding and when I poured the batter into the baking pan I was not happy to see that a good chunk of the dry ingredients were never fully mixed in! Finally, when everything is thoroughly folded, mix in 2 Tbsp. of melted butter- still liquid but slightly cooled. Divide the batter between the three pans and top with slivered almonds (about 1/3 cup total.) The batter will be spread very thin but that’s what you want- remember that petit-fours aren’t meant to be towering stacks of cake (like mine turned out to be!)  Bake the cake until springy to the touch and golden brown- about 5 minutes, depending on the size of your pan.

When the cake has baked, flip each pan over onto a piece of parchment paper dusted with a little flour; peel the parchment paper off of the top and allow the cake to cool completely.

Buttercream: Remember last week’s Italian meringue that we used for the Crème Chiboust? We’re doing that again, but just adding a few ingredients- specifically, butter. Lots of it. Before I give you the exact number I recommend that you take a moment to think about the importance of the dairy industry in our local economy. Dairy farming’s huge in the North Country, right? Supporting the dairy industry is good for Northern New York and it’s every citizen’s duty to do so. Right? OK. Ready? Drum roll please. You will need no less that 4 and ½ sticks of unsalted butter at room temperature, cut into tablespoon-sized pieces. That’s a box and a bit - or just over a pound. Take a deep breath and keep thinking about those grateful dairy farmers.

Mix 1 ¼ cups of sugar with 6 Tbsp. of water in a small saucepan and heat over low heat until a candy thermometer registers 250 degrees Fahrenheit.  While the sugar syrup is heating up, put 5 large egg whites and ¼ cup of sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer until stiff peaks form. If you don’t have a stand mixer, you can use a hand-held mixer and a large bowl but you’ll need an extra set of hands- call up your friend from last week to come over and help out again if they’re so inclined. Once the syrup has reached the right temperature, with the whisk on high speed, pour the syrup into the egg whites in a slow and steady stream, taking care to keep it away from the whisk or you’ll send molten syrup flying through the air. Keep whisking until all the syrup is incorporated, the meringue is glossy, and both the meringue and the bowl itself are at room temperature- this will take a number of minutes. After the meringue and the bowl have cooled, begin adding the butter one tablespoon at a time. Wait until the first chunk of butter has been fully incorporated before adding another. After about the third stick of butter the texture of the meringue will suddenly change- that’s normal, you didn’t ruin anything. When all of the butter is mixed in, add 1 shot of espresso or 1/3 cup of instant coffee granules. If you taste it at this point, you will note that the buttercream has an intense coffee flavor and (depending on the coffee used) is even a little bitter. That taste will mellow out a bit during its 8 hour rest in the freezer.

Chocolate Ganache: Pour 1 ½ cups of whipping cream in a small saucepan and bring to a boil over low heat. Put 1 pound, 2 oz. of dark chocolate, 3 ½ oz of milk chocolate, 3 pinches of salt, and 3 Tbsp. of  butter (more butter!) into a mixing bowl.  When the cream is at a boil, pour it into the bowl containing the chocolate. Start to mix the ingredients together using a circular motion just in the center of the bowl. Keep mixing in a tight circle until the chocolate starts to melt and emulsify with the liquid. Gradually widen the circle to incorporate more of the mixture until everything is emulsified, smooth and shiny. Allow to cool slightly. While it’s cooling, brew a cup of coffee- two if you’re in the mood for one as well.

Assembly: Cut out three 8 x 12 inch rectangles from the cake slabs. If you have a cake frame, this will be a great time to use it. If not, don’t worry- the edges of the finished Opera can be cleaned up after everything’s cooled. Place one cake rectangle on a parchment lined baking sheet (in your cake frame if you are using it) and brush the top with coffee. Spread half of the buttercream on top of the cake and level it with a spatula- trying keeping the buttercream layer about as thick as the cake. Freeze for 10 minutes to set, then spoon ¼ of the ganache over the buttercream, again trying to maintain a uniform thickness. Spread level. Place a second cake slab on top of the ganache, brush with the remaining coffee, buttercream, and one quarter of the ganache as before, leveling it with a spatula. Freeze for 30 minutes to set. Place the last slab on top and spread with another quarter of the ganache. Level it and freeze for 8 hours or overnight. Refrigerate the remaining ganache.

The next day, gently heat the ganache over a pan of simmering water to liquefy it and remove the cake from its frame if you were using one. If you have no idea what a cake frame is and weren’t using one- take out the sharpest, biggest kitchen knife that you own and run it under hot water to heat up the blade. Wipe off the excess water with a towel and, working quickly, trim the sides of the cake to give it a clean edge. Using the hot-blade technique, cut the cake into twelve small, equal sized rectangles, wiping down the blade after each cut. This is a delicious place to stop and enjoy them as is. If, however, you’re craving the ultimate decadence, cover the Opera fingers with ganache by putting the slices on a wire rack over a jelly roll pan and pouring the warmed ganache over each slice to coat them. Give them a few minutes to set before serving. Between bites, be sure to take a moment to send some thoughts of love and gratitude to the dairy farmers, the cows, and the glory of butter!

On the left, the ganache covered Opera, on the right the 

Opera- au naturel.

Pears Chiboust

PROJECT PATISSERIE : Adventure #3

 

Gelatin has been a suspect passenger in the airport terminal of my kitchen for some time now, but after this weekend’s debacle, it’s been put on the “no fly” list. With the possible exception of Bavarian cream, which begrudgingly necessitates it, I will henceforth staunchly refuse to use any recipe that incorporates gelatin. Ever.  “All done”- as my three year old says.

I was undecided about this weekend’s specific recipe but I knew, come what may, that it would  incorporate crème chiboust. I stumbled upon the recipe for it earlier this week and it quickly became the stuff of dreams:  pastry cream combined with lightly sweetened whipped egg whites. Chiboust had me at “bonjour.”

Although no one really knows its exact origins, the word on the street is that crème chiboust was invented in the 1840s by a French Pastry Chef named (what else?) Chiboust.  You know you’ve achieved pastry-world domination when you not only invent your own pastry component, but when you name it after yourself everyone goes along with it. I make a pretty mean cheesecake, but try as I may to have everyone call it a “Lenka Cake” no one seems to be getting on board. I have to keep working on it, I guess.

Anyway, back to the chiboust. There are two ways to go about it: one method involves folding whipped raw egg whites into a pastry cream base. The other involves substituting the raw egg whites with Italian Meringue - a safer bet as the egg whites are cooked by the addition of boiling syrup. After some consideration I decided to err on the side of caution and go with the latter method for my maiden attempt- if I was going to risk salmonella poisoning I needed to be certain that the end result was worth it. I could feel all the pastry chefs in France sneering at me. France is the land of unpasteurized dairy, after all, and there’s a general eye rolling when it comes to the American obsession with germs. C’est la vie.

You can eat the chiboust all by itself, much like you would a mousse, which is actually what it tastes like and what I will do next time. The recipe that I used incorporated caramelized pears to fancy the whole thing up a bit but they were nothing to write home about- partially my fault as I let the caramel cook too long and it was slightly burned. Also, the recipe calls for the pears to be firm- I would shoot for medium soft. The pears present an interesting catch-22 as they will retain their firmness after they’ve been caramelized but if you cook them long enough to soften them, you’ll burn the caramel. Also their firm texture makes them hard to cut with a dessert spoon and adds a weird texture contrast to boot with the rubbery-ness of the chilled chiboust, courtesy of the gelatin. All in all, the dessert was a bit of a disaster. And in case you’re wondering, the only reason I know that the gelatin was the culprit and not the chiboust itself is that I tried it before it went in the fridge. It was lovely before it was chilled.

Counterintuitive as it seems to pass along a bad recipe, in the interest of integrity, here it is. See what you think. I’ve included the directions for the Italian Meringue and the hated gelatin. My advice is to skip the gelatin altogether unless you’re going the raw-whipped-egg-white route, in which case the egg whites will benefit from the structural support of the gelatin. The Italian Meringue has enough body to hold the cream all on its own, thank you very much.

Pears Chiboust recipe:  serves 6.

Unlike the leisurely pace of last week’s French Crepe Cake this Pear Chiboust moves at a quick clip. It’s done in about thirty minutes but you’re going 90 mph the whole time. You’ll need a stand mixer, or at the very least a handheld mixer and a friend, a pastry bag (although you could probably MacGyver-it with a gallon zip lock bag and a pair of scissors), and a candy thermometer. Unfortunately you can’t MacGyver that one- if you try substituting the thermometer in the medicine cabinet it will probably melt. Candy thermometers are inexpensive and available at most hardware stores in the canning section.

Caramelized pears: Peel, core, and quarter two firm, ripe pears. Cook 2 ½ T sugar in a medium skillet over medium heat, stirring with a wooden spoon until it melts and turns a light amber color.  Add the pears to the skillet and cook them until coated with caramel on one side- about 1-2 minutes. Turn them over and repeat the process until they’re caramelized on all sides. Remove from heat.

For the pastry cream: Combine ¾ cup of milk and ½ T of vanilla extract in a saucepan and heat just to a boil. In a separate bowl, whisk together 3 egg yolks (save the whites for the meringue), 3 T sugar, and 2T cornstarch until thick and creamy.  Whisk 1/3 of the hot milk into the egg yolk mixture. Return the mixture to the saucepan and cook, stirring constantly, over medium heat until thick. Pour into a clean bowl and place plastic wrap directly on the cream’s surface.

If you’re using the gelatin, here are the directions; if you’re skipping it just pretend this paragraph doesn’t exist- it won’t affect the order of the recipe at all: mix one envelope of plain gelatin (about  ½  T) into ¼ cup of water. Let the gelatin sit until it absorbs all the water and swells. Stir it into the hot pastry cream. Do not chill the cream or allow it to set while you work on the Italian Meringue.

Italian Meringue: Combine ¾ sugar and 3 T water in a small pan. Mix them together and bring them to a boil. Place 3 egg whites and 1/8 teaspoon of cream of tartar in the bowl of a stand mixer. If you don’t have one, a big glass bowl will do and have a friend at the ready with a hand mixer. Insert your brand new candy thermometer into the boiling sugar mix- as it approaches 220 degrees Farenheit begin whipping the egg whites. Once the egg whites form soft billowing peaks, reduce the mixer speed and continue whipping.

When the syrup reaches firm ball stage- that’s 246 degrees Farenheit- remove it from the heat and very carefully pour the syrup in a steady stream between the wall of the bowl and the beaters while whipping the egg whites at high speed. Try like all get-out to not get the hot syrup on the beaters themselves or you’ll (1) make a mess, (2) have hard sugar chunks in your meringue, and (3) quite possibly send molten sugar flying in the air. Not good. Keep whipping the meringue until all of the syrup is incorporated evenly, approximately 1 minute.

Remove the plastic wrap from the pastry cream and quickly fold in 1/3 of the hot meringue into the warm cream with a rubber spatula- you need to move quickly before the cream and meringue (and especially the gelatin- if you’ve used it) begin to set. Gently fold in the rest of the meringue. This is your crème chiboust. If you’ve used the gelatin, make sure to taste the chiboust creme now and revel in its deliciousness because it will taste very differently once it chills. Spoon it into a pastry bag. Pipe a mound of chiboust cream into each serving dish, top with a caramelized pear or two and more chiboust. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes. If you want to be a fancy pants, top each dessert with a drizzle of caramel just before serving.



Pears Chiboust with Caramel

  

 

You Can’t Rush Perfection: the Gateau Mille Crepes

PROJECT PATISSERIE: Adventure #2

“All human wisdom is summed up in two words- wait and hope.” Those sage words were uttered by the 19^th century writer Alexandre Dumas.  Insightful as he was regarding the human condition, I wonder if Monsieur Dumas wasn’t also a baker on the side because that’s what I spend a lot of my time in the kitchen doing-waiting and hoping!

Last weekend’s project was the Gateau Mille Crepe- literally “the cake of a thousand crepes” also known to us English speaking folks as the French Crepe Cake. Don’t worry, it’s not really made of a thousand crepes- only twenty, which is still a lot, but not when you compare it to a thousand.

The Gateau Mille Crepe takes some time to make- not active working time, mind you, or even baking time (this is the only cake I know of that doesn’t require the use of an oven) but resting time. The French Crepe Cake likes to take two hour lunches, work 35 hour weeks, and enjoys six weeks of standard vacation time (Vive la France!)  

Somewhat ironic, on a personal note, is that in keeping with the leisurely style of this cake, it took me almost five years to get around to making it. I pulled this recipe during my initial burst of interest in French cooking. It then hung out in my recipe file for about five years until I dug it out last weekend to satisfy my craving for something creamy and lightly sweet. In the few days since, I’ve seriously come to regret not making this cake immediately upon finding the recipe.

A final word to the wise: invite some friends over to help you eat it, otherwise you may succumb to the temptation to devour it all yourself.

 

                                                  The Gateau Mille Crepes! The texture of this cake is                                     so interesting- not just for the mouth but also for the eye.

 

Gateau Mille Crepes (a.k.a. French Crepe Cake)

The CREPE BATTER: make it the DAY BEFORE you plan on serving

6 T unsalted butter                        

3 cups of milk

6 eggs

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour

7 T sugar

Pinch of salt

Vegetable oil (for the skillet)

Cook the butter over medium-low heat in a small pan until it turns a hazelnut- brown color. Set aside. In another small pan, heat the milk until steaming and allow it to cool for ten minutes. In a mixer on medium low speed, beat together the eggs, flour, sugar, and salt. Slowly add the warm milk and browned butter. Pour into a container with a spout, cover it, and stick it in the fridge- OVERNIGHT. While it’s in there, the ingredients are drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and discussing Existentialism. You get to wait.

After a nice long eight hour rest, the crepe batter should be ready to go. If you have a fancy-pants crepe pan, break it out. If you don’t, a 9” low-sided frying pan will do. Heat it over medium heat until nice and hot, swab the surface with a little vegetable oil, then add 3 tablespoons of crepe batter and swirl to cover the surface. Cook until the bottom just begins to brown, about 1 minute, then CAREFULLY lift an edge and flip the crepe with your fingers (don’t burn yourself!) If you’re a seasoned crepe-maker you’ll be able to flip them over in mid-air (like a pancake) and impress your friends, if you’re not you can try it anyway and amuse your cat.

Cook on the other side for no longer than 5 seconds. Slide (or flip) the finished crepe onto a plate. Repeat until you have a stack of 20. Don’t stress if your crepes look a bit deformed at first, they’ll start looking better as you work and, anyway, out of the 20 crepes, only the one that goes on top needs to look somewhat presentable.

The PASTRY CREAM:  make it THE DAY BEFORE serving.

Pastry Cream is just a fancy term for vanilla pudding, but you’ll be well served to do it from scratch as per the recipe- any mention of the words “instant”, “canned”, or really “pudding” for that matter may lead to mass street protests from the fancy crepe batter.

2 c. milk

1 T vanilla extract

4 egg YOLKS (save the whites for an omelet… or a meringue)

½ c. sugar

6 T cornstarch

2 T unsalted butter

Bring the milk and vanilla extract to a boil over low heat. Meanwhile, in a mixing bowl, whisk together the eggs yolks, sugar, and cornstarch until smooth and creamy.

Slowly pour half of the boiled milk into the mixing bowl containing the egg mixture whisking it constantly. Then pour the egg-milk mixture back into the sauce pan with the remaining milk. Over low heat, whisk the mixture continuously until it thickens and begins to bubble. Remove from heat and whisk in the butter until it has melted completely. Transfer the pastry cream to a bowl and pace plastic wrap directly on the surface of the cream to prevent a skin from forming. Stick it in the fridge- and wait. The pastry cream has to cool completely or when you mix it with the whipped heavy cream (I’ll get to that part in a second) you’ll have a hot French mess.

 

FINISHING & ASSEMBLING: make at least 2 HOURS BEFORE serving

1 c. heavy cream

1 c. whipping cream

1 T sugar

2 T sugar (for the top- optional)

Combine the two creams and sugar and beat with an electric mixer until billowing peaks form. Fold it into the pastry cream in stages until smooth. This combination of pastry cream (pudding) and whipped cream is called crème diplomat but on this side of The Pond we just call it dessert!

Lay a crepe on a plate. Spread a thin layer of the crème diplomat on the crepe. Cover with another crepe and repeat the process until you have a stack of 20 (with the nicest one on top!) If you have a kitchen torch, sprinkle the top of the cake with 2 T of sugar and caramelize it with the torch to give the cake a nice crunch. If not, you can dust it with powdered sugar to decorate it a bit.

Here’s the painful part- just when you thought you were done you get to (that’s right): wait. For two more hours while everything sets.  You can’t rush perfection.

 

NOTE: When I made this at home I just couldn’t wait anymore so I dug into to as soon as the sugar was caramelized... and I was disappointed. The crème diplomat tasted just like whipped cream- none of the rich pastry cream deliciousness that I was expecting. So I put it in the fridge and let it sit for a few hours. When I revisited the cake in the morning (cake for breakfast is totally acceptable in my house) the flavors had had time to combine and it was ten times better than the night before.

 

 

If a Cheesecake Married a Creme Brulee...

PROJECT PATISSERIE : Adventure #1

… their baby would be named Crème de Cheesecake.  Really. I know it sounds like a silly portmanteau- like “spork” or “Labradoodle”, but according to the illustrious French Pastry chef Christophe Felder, there is such a thing in the world of French Patisserie- and as it turns out, it’s quite delicious.

   Crème de Cheesecake has components of both desserts: a cheesecake batter that’s baked like crème brulee custard in a ramekin until not quite set. Once at room temperature the cream is topped with strained strawberry puree and a streusel topping that’s akin to a crumbled shortbread cookie. Just before serving, it’s dusted with powdered sugar- that bastion of dessert finishes. The result should be a cream cheese flavored custard reminiscent of a crème brulee with all the fixin’s of a cheesecake.

   While it takes less than an hour to make, has a beautiful presentation, and, with the use of eight ounce ramekins, serves four people there is one caveat:  you can’t chill it. Which means that you can’t really make them too far ahead of time. Monsieur Felder did mention that in his recipe but he didn’t say why and since I was making it ahead of time and I don’t do well with unexplained directives I decided to ignore his warning (intrepid baker that I am)- and off to the fridge they went.

   Luckily, I tasted one beforehand and so I had a basis for comparison. Before they were refrigerated, they really tasted like a cream cheese crème brulee- silky and sweet with a hint of tartness.  After they had cooled the Crème de Cheesecakes were slightly less enchanting- really tasting more like a plain old cheesecake served in a ramekin- the culinary equivalent of Cinderella’s carriage turning back into a pumpkin.

   The moral of this story: listen to the (sometimes) furiously enigmatic directions of French pastry chefs.

The finished Crème de Cheesecake