Snow can fool us into believe winter is here. When really it’s not.

And even after it came and went, the sharp winds still  gives us goosebumps no matter how many layers of mittens, hats and scarves we’re wearing.

I’ve found a relief in the shape of a hot bowl of soup.

Slightly spicy, full of flavour, and damn good.

So good in fact, that I’ve made it four times in just a short eight days. Just when the sun goes down, my flat starts to smell of ginger and lemongrass.

Evidently, it’s always too dark to take a picture. But, who needs it anyway. You have my promise.

Make this – or as a matter of fact, any of the listed things below (which I see as a winter edition of my culinary obsessions chronicle). And feel better. Warmer. And possibly, happier.

Oh and while I’m at it, I’m wondering what are the foods that help you make it through winter? Please tell me. We can never have enough comfort in our kitchens.

And for the record, I realise it’s technically still autumn, but my frozen cheeks tell me it feels like winter. Hope you stick with me on this one.

One. Thai chicken soup. Grab a couple of chicken thighs, with all the trimmings: bone, skin and organic. Pan fry the chicken, skin-side down until golden, flip around and deglaze with a litre of water and a mini-can of coconut cream.
Add two spoonful of sweet chilli sauce, a dash of toasted sesame oil, and soy sauce. Squeeze the juice from one lemon, and bring to the boil. In the meantime, roughly chop the soft end of a lemongrass stick and grate a fat piece of ginger. Add o the soup. Simmer for 20 minutes. Remove the chicken thighs; then using two forks, shred the meat from the bones and skin. Place back into the pan and add a handful of each: frozen peas, rocket, and rice noodles. Divide in between two bowls, and top with chopped red chilli peppers, two sliced spring onions and fresh coriander. Eat with a spoon when still piping hot. Preferably with good company and a movie.

Two. Eggnog lattes. Be lazy and go to the closest starbucks. Order a venti eggnog latte. And burn your tongue while drinking it. Or make it at home. Bring 250g of milk to the boil along with 2 cinnamon sticks, a couple of cardamom pods and a little grated nutmeg. Add a dash of vanilla extract, the one with the seeds. In a bowl, mix 2 eggs yolks with 50g of caster sugar. Strain the boiling milk onto the eggs, mixing as you do so. Then place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and cook, stiring all the time until the anglaise reaches 84°C. Add a double shot of espresso or a heaped teaspoon of your favourite instant coffee. Drink. From the comfort of your own home. And perhaps, with a dash or two of rhum.

Three. Roast garlic. Preheat the oven to 200°C. Line a baking tray with foil. Take four heads of garlic and chop their top off by a centimetre or two. Place on the prepared baking tray. Drizzle with oil and season with Maldon sea salt. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 40 minutes. Make sure you have some bread close by.

Four. Gü chocolate banoffee. Walk to your kitchen. Open the fridge and reach the black Gü chocolate banoffee package. Open with your hands. Grab a spoon, preferably small. Lift the foild cover away. Eat the chocolate layer first. Then sink your spoon into the goo. And wonder if they’re is anything sweeter – literally and figuratively – in this world. Don’t even think about having the second one.

Five. Molly’s waffles. Before you go to bed, visit Molly. Read her words. Fell in love and in hunger. Then make the recipe. The first one, Marion Cunningham’s raised waffles. Except, switch the dry yeast for 5g of fresh yeast. Because your heart tells you to. Sleep. Wake up half and hour before your alarm goes off. Cook the waffles. And eat plain, thinking about sending Molly a thank you note later.

Thank you Molly. x

With no rational reason except that those brioches looked terribly good, I decided to venture into the realm of feuilletage.

Once again. Although, this time, my kitchen did not come with a rolling pin.

I could have bought one on my recent visit to Pages. I almost did in fact. But eventually got out from the shop carrying many cercles [rings], a couple of knives, a sugar thermometer, and some ramekins.

Quite providentially, my kitchen did come with too many empty wine bottles to admit it; let’s be honest, I had five of them sitting on the counter.

In my defence, I must tell you they have been there for weeks, not just since the last waste removal day, which was – let me think – this morning.

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

Now, why my kitchen did not come with full wine bottles? At that point, I could have used a glass.

Instead, I started doodling, only to realise my panic attack was pointless. A simple tour double.
Just like for puff pastry.

I made the dough. Left it to rise. Made the matcha filling. Chilled it. Then, I started rolling and folding, and rolling and folding.

Somehow, my dreamlike vision of the use of wine bottles as rolling pins vanished when the filling started leaking and the dough stuck to the bottle.

My counter ended up green, so did my fingers.

But that’s okay.

First, because I like green. And second, because I see no problem whatsoever in licking green fingers when they taste like matcha.

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

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

Brioches marbrées au thé matcha
Adapted from Les carnets d’une connasse parisienne.

Don’t be scared with all the rolling pin action here. These brioches are very easy to make, and a teart to eat.

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

Today I have a little contextual-behaviour exercise for you. Nothing overly difficult, but you’ll definitely end up with a positive knowledge on human actions and needs-related brains-alteration mechanisms.

So please, keep your pens and paper sheets on the table, and drop your bags near the exit door.

You have exactly one hour to complete the exercise. After the time is up, turn in your copies at the desk.

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1. Context
Take one upbeat, passionate, and somewhat stubborn (not to mention adorable) person; namely: Fanny, me. Place her into a pâtisserie laboratoire for a year.

2. Assignment
Observe and document her behaviour.

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Okay, it was mean to trick you into this whole exercise thing. I know how stressful exam conditions can be (by the way, I passed my CAP pâtisserie, yeah!). I just meant to make a – terribly not funny –

joke (but, hey, I haven’t changed that much over the year).

Now is time for me to be honest and reveal what actually happened during those past twelve months (some events shall be kept secrets forever though due to their random, obnoxious or simply boring characteristics; other had to just because of the inexistence of photographic proof).

I passed my CAP – I know I lamely ruined the effet de surprise a couple of paragraphs above – , but well, I was TOO excited not to tell you (be glad I waited one hundred and twenty two words to disclose the news).

I got covered in more chocolate mousse, praliné, guimauve… than I thought was even possible.

I called Lenôtre my cantine.

I got the sweetest acorn – fake – tattoo ever.

I made a good million of tarts. Not to mention fraisiers. (or as a matter of fact, pretty much every entremet the boutique sells). And yet, I’m still in love with Pascal’s pâtisserie.

I met a strange snorkeler.

I drank way too many diabolo kiwi [kiwifruit syrup, plus lemonade], to cure hangovers.

I stumbled upon the coolest girl (and she blogs too) in the entire world while I was busy being an Amerindian. In case you’re wondering, pink is our favourite colour.

Oh and here it comes…

I forgot I had a foodblog.

Period. Double period.

And it made me sad. Because the business of life set aside, the other reason behind the one-post-a-month phenomenon is that I just felt like what I made wasn’t good enough. Happily a snorkelling passerby managed to make me love foodbeam again.

Oh and here it comes…

Happy fourth birthday foodbeam.

No period. No double period.

I’ll be back here soon. With the glamourous, the delicious, and the random. Heart you. xx

The most paralysing feeling. This is what I felt as I woke up this morning.

Just the thought of an empty day ahead of me was enough to make me feel numb. Wide awake and yet, unable to move. The time had stopped. For a day.
Too tired to eat and too hungry to sleep*, I headed to the kitchen – my favourite room of the house – and by the time I had reached the cagibi [larder], I knew croissants would be made and eaten this same morning.
* favourite song alert here.

You see, the prospect of twelve unbound hours felt so unusual that I had to get back to my daily pâtisserie-making routine.

Over the past month, I haven’t been much too work. Ten days to be accurate. The rest got spent at school, in London, and in Lyon – where I was lucky enough to pay the SIRHA a visit, but also have my very own special tour guide of the town and its many pâtisseries (thanks B.).

An exciting month for sure, but terribly exhausting as well.

Now I’m back here. For good; at least until I leave again. One thing is certain though. Days off – and particularly Sundays – make perfect experiment fields for pâtisserie.

That said, I must confess I’ve never felt as great as I do right now. The crumbs of croissant that quietly sit around my mouth are so not going to disagree!

Croissants

Making croissant can seem pretty daunting at first, but once you’ll really pay attention to the different steps, you’ll realise it’s as easy as making pâte feuilletée.

First, you make the détrempe – with yeast this time (remember, croissant dough is a pâte feuilletée levée). Gently combine flour, sugar, salt, butter, yeast and water. Knead into a very soft and smooth ball; and proof until doubled in size.

Then, you roll the détrempe into a neat 60 x 20 cm square and spread the beurre de tourrage [remaining butter used for making the tours] across the far left two thirds of the rolled détrempe.
Fold the right – and butterless – part over the middle one. Then fold the far left end over the whole thing. You should have a ‘book’ with the spine on the left.

Chill for a couple of hours, then roll again into a 60 x 20 cm square making sure you place the ’spine’ on your left beforehands. Make a tour double. Chill, make a tour double. Chill, make a tour simple. Roll the dough into two 80 x 25 cm (half a centimetre thick that is). Then cut triangles – top to tail – with a base measuring approximately 15cm. Each dough triangle should weigh around 180g 90g (and one batch should yield to 20 croissants). Then shape into a croissant. Place on a lined baking sheet and proof for an hour or until doubled in size.

Bake at 180°C for 30 minutes or until golden brown.

The great thing about these is that you can make them a day or more in advance. Just get the dough ready. Shape the croissant and keep them either refrigerated (not more than 12 hours) or frozen (up to a month). Allow them to come to room temperature before baking. And there you are. Fresh croissants on a Sunday morning!

Now I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you. A cotton fabric needs to be embroided. See you soon my favourite people in the entire world!

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).

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.

You see those cute little guys above. Don’t underestimate them.

Oh no, don’t.

Sure, they do look nice. So plump and golden, you could almost tell right away how crisp and brittle their beautifully thin crust is.
And they certainly do taste good as well. Imagine fragile layers of fine pastry made sticky with oodles of sucre semoule [caster sugar] and beurre doux [unsalted butter]. These are probably what your next dream will be built around, which I would understand. More than you think I would.

But gosh, they gave me a hard time back when I was an intern at Pierre Hermé’s patisserie.

It’s not their détrempe – the mix of flour, butter, fresh yeast, water and salt. Although, I must admit that carrying 25kg bags of flour or emptying the mixing bowl, which I could fit into, wasn’t as funny as it may sound.

It’s not even the tourage, during which you enclose some delicious unsalted butter into the prepared détrempe and fold. Trois tours simples. Folding in caster sugar as you do so, but only for the last tour. It is, without a doubt, a lengthy process – with three resting times in the fridge since the last thing you want is the butter to start melting, the yeast to wake up, the gluten to develop, but an relaxing one.

Here it comes: the façonnage [shaping], the all-time feared step. Guilhem, who was then chef de poste at the tour, should be blessed. He patiently kept showing me how to fold little squares of the elegantly layered dough flecked with jewel-look-alike grains of sugars into neat folded buns.

That just wouldn’t work for me.

Or only very rarely, the only excuse Guilhem could come up with being that my body temperature is just too hot for me to handle buttery doughs. By the time, my squares had been folded into eight, they had that shine. Yes, that shine; which warned me of the upcoming liquefaction the butter was about to undergo.

And quite evidently, they wouldn’t hold their shape and almost always opened like flowers. Pretty pretty, but so not wanted here.

I hear you coming. It must not be that difficult! She’s only exaggerating / incapable (cross out the least appropriate answer). Well, I told you how frustrating those little guys tend to be.
Just try and say their name right.

kouign amann

As most French word, you so not pronounce it the way it is written. That would just be too simple. Remember who – or more extacly – what we’re talking about. Not your usual plain croissant or brioche or even pain au chocolat. No, we’re talking kouign amann here.

koonnee* queen aman-neu, an being French [ɑ̃] as in amande [almond] or grand gâteau [tall cake].
*basically, I’ve always said koonnee and not queenn, but I might possibly be wrong. Thanks Nol for pointing me right!

Obviously, you could also just visit Pierre Hermé’s pâtisserie and buy one – or two – and savour them to the last crumb before you hit the tube or vélib station.

Dans ma bibliothèque
[In my library]I just launched something I’m so very excited about: my own special library, where I share my thoughts on the books I’ve read.
Head over here to find the books I’ve read, those I’m currently reading and those I’m planning to read.
So far, I’ve only written one review, but I promise that many more will come.Oh and yes, I know there are still some tweaking to get done. I can’t seem to include the top navigation abr without problems, which makes the layout look funny on IE. Consider this as an opportunity to get a decent web browser!

I had high hope about 2008. See, a little more than a week ago, things couldn’t have been more perfect. Indeed, potatoes were finally to be celebrated through the immensely important international year of potato; which, needless to say, kept me in a state of ecstasy.
That, until my laptop crashed, leaving thousand of pictures and a miserable me behind. Days passed by and when I eventually felt brave enough to start eating again, I found them, sitting in a little basket. They sure had some shoots pointing through, but still looked quite perfect to me. The glorious potatoes.

Not that you care, but last night, I had mashed potatoes with a spoonful of confit d’oignons stirred in and a fried egg on top of an English muffin. And it was good. The mashed potatoes were soft and creamy; just what you would expect from something after which a year was named. The confit d’oignons brought a nice contrast – both taste and texture wise. The fried egg was cooked to perfection: the oozing yolk sat on top of the white that had crispy golden-brown edges. And there, almost hidden underneath and totally unpretentiously, laid the apple cider vinegar English muffin.
I hear you coming though. Oh yes, I do. What’s so special about that English muffin? Show me the potatoes, you teaser.

And well, I might, in the future, but those little fluffy breads, the ones you see above and below and, ahem, all over foodbeam right now, they’re out of this world. The taste is fantastic, so is the texture. Yeah, I bit into one. Just to check you know. But then I kept biting and just when I though it couldn’t get any better I found that gorgeous pocket of air.

As you might have guessed, Dan Lepard is the guy behind all this. And as usual, he clearly rocked it.

Apple cider vinegar English muffins
Adapted from Dan Lepard’s The Guardian ‘s guide to baking

I’ve always been a big English muffins buyer as nothing quite appeals to me as much on Sunday mornings as a toasted English muffin does. However, since I’ve discovered how to make these at home, I’ve never looked back.
The dough relies on both apple cider vinegar and live yogurt as souring agents. Thus, the finished muffins have a pleasing sour flavour.

The dough, although pretty soft, was fun to work with and felt really smooth after a couple of kneads and folds.
As with most Dan’s recipes, you are required to knead the dough very gently three times at 10-minute intervals, and to fold twice it during the proofing time (at 40-minute interval). If you have no idea of what I’m talking about you can go and check there, as the process I used for making foccacia is sensibly similar.

By now, you guys should be aware that to me, Dan Lepard is to bread-making what Pierre Hermé is to pastry. My icon and absolute role model.
I never really used to make bread, except for the occasional pizza dough; but since I’ve discovered Dan’s take on bread making I’ve literally been unstoppable. Fresh yeast has become a staple in my fridge and I’m known to run to the grocery store as soon as my flour stock approaches 2kg.

So far, I had only made white loafs or buns; to which I regularly added ingredients such as herbed butters or cheese or mashed potatoes.
However, I needed a focaccia for the Christmas Eve dinner my sister and I were hosting. While I firstly intended to make my reliable pizza dough, only slightly wetter; I quickly moved on Dan’s recipe. And boy, I’m glad I did!
This focaccia is the best flat bread I’ve ever had and it’s a delight to make. Still, the whole process can seem a little daunting because of the different steps and resting times.
Given that I really want you to make this focaccia and bite into a crusty yet moist square of this fragrant bread, I thought it would be great if we made some together. Get your aprons ready!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ever since those two weeks, which I restlessly spent mostly mixing flour, butter and yeast or shaping croissants and brioches, I’ve been a bread-making addict.
It seems to have that double-effect-factor. The act of making the dough come together in a nice smooth ball certainly is relaxing, but the greatest part is the facial expressions of both my parents and sister when they bite into a warm slice of freshly baked homemade bread. And trust me, this is just priceless, and makes you forget that a couple of hours before your hands were stuck in a sticky mess.

As you may have noticed, my go-to recipe comes from Dan Lepard. It’s simple and reliable, and the end-result – a loaf of fluffy white bread – tastes terrific. I usually make at least one batch a week: for lunchbox sandwiches or just to dip in my usual dinner soup.
However, I’m always happy to find new recipes, especially when it comes to bread. For this month’s daring bakers challenge, Tanna gave me the opportunity to try out a lovely potato bread.

The experiment
This tender potato bread is made of:
- boiled potatoes
- cooking water from the potatoes
- active dry yeast
- white flour
- whole wheat flour
- salt
- butter

This soft bread is made special with the addition of cooked potatoes and their cooking liquid. The amount of potato you use will have a direct impact on the stickiness of the dough. Thus, Tanna suggested to add from 230 to 450g of potatoes (weighed raw), depending on how confident you feel.
I went for middle-ness and decided to peel and chop 4 medium sized potatoes, for a total weight of 320g.

It all starts by boiling them in one litre of water until tender and cooked through. I did not add salt to the water as it’s known to slow down the yeast fermentation – which I don’t want.
The cooking liquid is then measured and only 750ml is kept.
Given that I was looking for some interesting texture, I placed both the potatoes and water in a bowl, and mashed with my forks until few lumps remained.

Once this mixture reaches 32°C, which is the optimal yeast fermentation temperature (lower when using fresh yeast as it’s more sensitive to temperature changes), you can mix in the active dry yeast.
Adding the yeast to warm liquid is essential in the case of active dry yeast. However, any other type of yeasts will benefit from this step as it allows the cells to wake up steadily. Being spanked isn’t an option for your mornings, is it? So expect the same for your loved yeast cells.

The yeast/water mixture is left for ten minutes at room temperature. the cells will find all they need to start working efficiently: warmness and fermentable sugars. The presence of mashed potatoes and their cooking water also plays a great role in waking-up the yeast. Indeed, potato starch is degraded more rapidly than wheat starch. Hence, the initial growth will be quick and significant, making for a great production of carbon dioxide = bubbles!

Once the yeasts have had plenty of time to get moist and fluffy, 130g of whole wheat flour is added along with 250g of plain flour. Here, the whole wheat flour is mostly used for flavour and texture, and is in my opinion a great add-on.
It’s briefly mixed, just until soggy and lumpy, and then left for a couple of minutes. At this point, the dough has the perfect consistency for adding salt and butter, which enhances the softness of the dough.

Another 250g of plain flour is then added. The dough will be very sticky but you still have 500g of flour to add. How, you may ask. Just don’t dump it directly onto your dough, but generously flour (= 250g) a surface and start kneading.
Given that I like wet doughs as they make fantastic breads, but hate to have my hands covered with so much dough lumps that I can’t move my fingers anymore, I came up with a great method for kneading wet doughs.
Wet your hands. Dip them in the nearest flour bag. Yes, it’s that easy!
Now, it’s time to stretch and fold for 10 minutes, incorporating flour and air as you go. The dough will start to feel firmer. However, if it ever happens to start sticking again, adding more flour and getting your hands clean-wet-and-flour-covered will work like charm.
At the end of the process, I suggest that you keep at least 60g of flour for the next steps.

The first fermentation was fast. I mean really fast. In an hour, I had created a monster. All bubbly and ropy and sticky.
I put the dough back on my marble with the remaining flour and gently pressed it down to get the air out. Do not worry if it’s gooey. It should. Just handle it as you can and place it – or like me, throw it – in a pan for proofing.
The baking is long and barely bearable as the bread fills your house with warming potato and golden-crust (or more accurately Maillard-generated) aromas.

Soooo…
This bread was soft and fragrant and I’m sure I’ll make it again. Although the dough is quite sticky, it’s funny to work with.
I was pleased to see how fast it was to make. Potatoes do really have an amazing impact on yeasts’ growth, not to mention the pleasing flavour they bring.

* The title refers to a French song much loved by children, which sounds like:
Lundi, des patates.
Mardi, des patates.
…
Dimanche, des patates aussi.