Those brownies saved me from the many damages of sleepless nights. You see, I’m that kind of people who wakes up in one go – 4am, 8 am, or 11am… it feels the same to me.
And once that I’m awake, it will take hours to find my sleep – not to mention, lovely dreams filled with acorns and pastries – back.

This hadn’t been a problem in my life so far.

But as Guillaume woke me up forty five minutes before our 7:36am alarm for the eleventh day in a row with half-closed eyes, a giant smile on his face, and only one word to be said: brownies (or more accurately: J’ai envie de brownies), it sort of became one.

A quick look into the prospects of such a situation rushed me to the kitchen.

And here I was, stirring a mixture of butter, cocoa and sugar over a bain-marie at 6:49am; into which I, later, mixed in eggs and flour.

Once my oven was doing what it’s best at, I sat on the counter and looked through the window while sipping a green tea latte.

Seconds later, the barely perceptible blue morning sky grew into a dark grey cloud, and drops of water started hitting the glass.

At that exact moment, it felt like le monde appartient à ceux qui se lèvent tôt [literally, the world belongs to those who rise early].

By 7:17am, the dark-brown appareil had turned into the fugdiest brownies I’ve ever made and filled our flat with a toasty chocolate scent.

And for the record, Guillaume even emerged from bed before the usual wake-up time just to have a couple of slices.

Brownies fondants au cacao
Adapted from Alice Medrich’s Bittersweet (thank you Deb).

When I had my first bite of those insanely fudgy brownies, I felt sorry I hadn’t made them back when I first spotted them on Smitten Kitchen.

At the time, I thought it would be nice to experiment but wasn’t sure the flavour would be au rendez-vous. But I was wrong. Not only the use of cocoa powder provides the brownies with an intense chocolate taste, but it also is the secret to their amazing texture (along with the high quantity of sugar that is).

A new favourite at home!

J’aime: fudge-like cocoa brownies, pretty fabrics, roast pumpkin soup with lots of chili pepper, blooming flowers, perfect macarons, finding the perfect shop for kitchen tools, bright pink rhubarb, sharing a cheap Chinese take-away with Guillaume, polaroid pictures, waking up early, and dark chocolate with maldon sea salt.

Le must: coming up with the most reliable recipe for macarons; after weeks of research. It feels like finding out you had had a treasure lying in your attic for ages.

I’m super happy because these cute little guys are so going to be part of the book I’m – deceptively slowly – trying to write (not this picture though, it was just a mere snapshot taken tonight, on the floor of our bedroom with a table cloth suspended in between two chairs to reduce the incoming light).

I will definitely share some more pictures later this week (or perhaps, more realistically, month) after I post the recipe for the most delicious brownies ever and the funny story that goes behind them.

As I was diligently peeling a stampede of organic lemons to turn them into neat candied squares – a pretty lengthy task if you consider all the steps involved – the pungent scent brought down memories of a now long-gone day.

Rewind.

As Guillaume wakes up – or more accurately, as I push the snooze button of our alarm clock every two minutes, giving him a repeat-hug to gently get him to emerge from his dreamless sleep – I suddenly realise that today is my much-longed-for day-off.

After more minutes that I will dare to divulge, Guillaume slowly walks to the bathroom, and I can’t resist to fall back asleep with the soothing sound of falling waters tickling my ears.

It’s now almost eleven aye-emm, and after a quick bath – my very own luxury – I hop onto the bus towards High Street Kensington. Read: towards Whole Foods.

On my way back, white flakes begin to fill the skies. By the time I reach the door to our flat, the streets, trees, and sadly for my tendency not to resist to any slippery surface, the sidewalks are coated with thick snow.

It’s damn cold outside, and the heat I find at home feels unbearable.

Until I look through the window only to mentally record the image I see. A white cocoon surrounded my fog clouds.

It’s pretty much one of the most comforting sensation ever. As if I was contemplating my own daily world from above; except it’s now all-quiet, almost like a nature morte.

With such an astounding cosiness, a couple of things were bound to happen. A feel-happy movie, a trip to my very favourite blogs, a nap – taken from the warmth of my thick couette.

The last thing involved flour, baking powder, eggs, sugar, a good dose of lemon, butter, and cream. Also known as cake weekend, this loaf will keep – in the fridge, well-wrapped in cling film – for days.

Oh, and did I mention how easy it is to put together, how pretty it is to look at, and how down-to-the-last-crumb delicious it is to eat?

It is also a damn good reason to use my absolute pâtisserie tour-de-main [process] crush. The one trick you won’t be able to live without.
If you want a life lived in the shadows of neatly cracked cakes, please avoid eye contact with the following lines.

The secret is to pipe a line of butter on the top of your unbaked loaf. Simply cream a couple of tablespoons of butter, and using a piping bag – or as I do, a paper cornet (another playground love, which I should definitely make you discover laterish) – pipe a thin line across the length of the cake.

Bake and allow your eyes to sparkle.

But more than this, this promenade into the past allowed me to discover what pushes me to make a recipe in particular.
I think it says a lot about the pastry chef – not to mention the person – you are. The way you combine coincidences, accidents, facts into a delicious pâtisserie.

And I strongly hope my recipes come across just how people see me. Refreshing, sophisticated yet with an edge, and fun.
This means a lot to me since I have just realised that I am now ready to write a pastry book. It’s always been a dream, a long-term goal, and possibly the one thing – except for my passion – that got me into those not-so-hot pieds-de-poules pants.

Until today, I had never felt the need to write a cookbook. I kept telling myself I had to wait until I would master an actual knowledge on French pâtisserie, and also, until I had a good unexplored book material.

So when the idea came to me on my way to work, I was thrilled.

A book I would have loved to read a couple of years earlier, when I hadn’t yet entered a professional pastry kitchen. And actually, a book I would still love to read now.

It’s still the very beginning of the process, and even though I keep my fingers crossed to the point my joints hurt, the book will possibly never be printed. But I like to challenge myself.

So well, let’s forget about this all, and please go make a cup of your favourite tea – although I couldn’t recommend anything more than a delicate cup of green tea – to sip through the savouring of a thick slice of weekend lemon cake topped with a large spoonful of clementine confit and a dollop of crème fraiche.

Cake weekend au citron et confit de clémentines à la vanille
I feel like I’ve already talked way too much today, so I will now simply urge you to make this. Weekend or not.

Just make sure you fold the flour very delicately into the batter, not to loose any of the air (incorporated in the eggs right at the beginning by much whipping) that gives the loaf cake such a light texture.
Same goes for the fats (both cream and butter; that’s actually the difference between a cake and a weekend cake).

What I usually do is to incorporate vigorously a small amount of batter (around one cup) into the melted – yet not hot – fats, then pour this mixture back into the batter, folding very gently.

As for the confit, you simply need to briefly blanch the whole clémentines a couple of times, before cooling them in ice-cold water. This allows to 1) get rid of the skin’s bitterness, and 2) keep the bright orange colour.
Then proceed as detailed below!

You can certainly make it in advance as it will keep for 5 days in the frigde.

Sometimes, things can’t wait. Not for a week, a day, an hour, a second, or even a minute. Things like… SNOW.

In fact, ever since I spotted the first snowflakes almost five hours ago, I’ve seemed to have a canon 400D glued to my right hand.

And damn, this is a useful new organ, acting as an extension of my eyes. I think beauty surgeon should consider reconversion as camera-stickers in the most serious way.

Silly stories apart, snowflakes make the prettiest things to photograph. So much that I actually jumped onto the bed to reach my laptop and tell you about this. Then, I second-thought, and realised that as lovely they might be, they are not considered pâtisserie.

Oh yes, I could have written a recipe for snow granita, which in my humble opinion taste best with a dash of lemon juice and some vodka (this is off records, right), but it didn’t quite fall in what I consider shareable.

Those petits gâteaux aux cranberries I made a couple of days ago do.

Well, let me check. Delicious: yes. Seasonal: yes. Moist: yes. Flavourful: yes. Pretty: not so much, but you have to realise we don’t even own a muffin pan yet, so they’re a little free-form.

Quite evidently, things couldn’t be as smooth. I could certainly post the recipe, but a picture? By night?

Trust me, at this point I was more than desperate; not to mention exhausted from a never-ending sore-throat and looong hours of work at the Capital Hotel (yes, I know, this is – another – new thing in my life: two star restaurant!).
And then, I grabbed a binder, a cookbook, and a pastry chef jacket, and created this lightbox.

Please, close your eyes, unless you haven’t had a chance to get your advised dose of daily laughing; because, well, I’m sure THIS will make you giggle to the point when your cheek hurt and you start crying.

Now take a deep breath, notice how sore your ribs are after this unexpected whoop, take a piece of paper and a pen, and write that recipe down for instant Christmasness.

Petits gâteaux aux cranberries
There is something comforting about those small cakes. It might be the wonderful smell that fills the house, setting everyone into a Christmas mood; or maybe it’s their light texture.

If – unlike me – you use a muffin pan, your cake will rose higher and might require a couple extra minutes of baking. Just insert a knife into the centre of the cakes and as soon as it comes out clean, it means they’re ready.
Simply make sure you don’t overbake them, in which case they would turn out slightly dry instead of theire usual moistness.

You should also make sure your milk and egg aren’t too cold when you add them so the butter doesn’t set when you mix them in. If it does, don’t worry, the cakes will be lovely, just perhaps a tad smaller.

Apparently, I told you I was going to come back with something glamourous. Pardon me if I’m mistaken, but in my world, a light cake topped with a delicate mousse feels glamourous.

A fondant au chocolat just doesn’t. It’s plain. It’s dark. And it’s damn good.

So good in fact, I had to write about it right away. Just a couple of hours after I hade made it, as a matter of fact.
If this doesn’t convince you to rush to your kitchen and make this fondant, please do listen carefully.

I made a cake. Took pictures. And blogged about it. In less than twenty-four hours.

…

Since I’m now alone I could let my creativity craziness flow, and ramble about how wonderful it is to blog from a garden table, or how I wish I had the time to change foodbeam’s look, or how I should make a decent portfolio. Oh yes, I could.

But I won’t because I know it’s just going to be a matter of seconds before you realise you left for the kitchen without taking the time to write the recipe down.

Anyway, I think you might have caught something important here: I am a mess. There are so many things I want to do/make/write about, that I just don’t know where to start. So I thought the simpler the better.

I made this cake yesterday with my eight-year old cousin, Sindri, who’s the most adorable little boy ever to be seen. That how simple it gets.
Oh and in case I haven’t mentioned it enough. I am on holidays. In Fouras, my grandparents’ town. And I love it here, so well, I’ll possibly be writing a little more around here during the upcoming weeks.

Fondant au chocolat
adapted from Pascal Lac

As I mentioned above this is a simple recipe. As in many cases, simple does not means average. In fact, this cake is a French classic, and a staple in my house.
It only requires widely available ingredients: chocolate, butter, eggs, sugar and flour; and its confection only needs a dozen of minutes.

The chocolate and butter are melted together. I generally use a microwave (500W for approximately a minute or two) since it’s so convenient, but a water bath would be just as fine.
Then comes the most delicate step: the eggs and sugar are mixed in a heat-resistent bowl over direct heat just so they come back to room temperature. If you don’t feel to work over a flame or simply don’t have gas (electric stoves so remind me of my good old student kitchen), just bring a pan of water to the boil and place the eggs/sugar bowl over it (= water bath again). Mix until just tempered.Finally the two masses are united, and flour is sprinkled over.

If you’re going for the fancy (read individual sized cakes) bakes them at the same temperature, but only for 9 minutes.
In both cases, a knife inserted into the centre of the cake should come out slightly wet with batter, in opposite with the cake edges where the knife would come out clean.
Enough digressing, time for the recipe.

This is how we love Christmas cake around here.

No, we’re not going insane. We just like how versatile it can be over the years. Never the same, yet not entirely different either.

This year, I’ve decided to combine our favourites from the past to create a unique and delicate cake. Most definitely number one of the Christmas cake hall of fame.
Picture plump and fragrant dried and glacé fruits, and whole almonds, held together in the shape of a cake thanks to a rich and moist batter.

Do make it now and you’ll have a lovely cake to devour on the twenty-fifth.

To make this cake you’ll need:
250g raisins
125g sultanans
300g dates, pitted
250g dried apricots
50g glacé cherries
1 candied mandarine
1 andied slice of lemon
3 vanilla beans
250g boiling water
250g whole almonds

Finely dice the candied mandarine and lemon slice.

Place all the fruits into a glasse bowl.

Using a sharp knife, cut the vanilla beans open, and scrape the seeds out. Add both to the fruit mixture.

Pour the boiling water over the fruits.

Cover tightly with cling film and allow to rest for a couple of hours, or until the water has been absorbed.

Do not forget to give it a gentle shake every now and then.

Meanwhile, toast the almonds. Heat a large frying pan and place the almonds in there. Cook over medium heat, shaking as you do so, until you can smell a definite almond aroma. Take care not to burn them, a couple of minutes should be enough to get the best from them.
I love how toasted almonds have that slight savouriness due to the smoky flavour. Try not to munch on them because they do add a nice crunch to the cake.

And get on with the batter:
170g butter, at room temperature
170g light brown sugar
200g flour
175g ground almonds
4 eggs
3 tbsp golden syrup
2 small apples

As usual, make sure you have all the ingredients ready: weighed and measured.

Start by creaming the butter. If you’re anything like me, you’ll never think of getting the butter to room temperature before making the cake. Luckily, I’ve developped a foolproof method. Place the cold diced butter into a heat-safe bowl and heat until half the butter is melted. Then quickly turn onto you’re stand mixer, which will do the remaining job.

Mix in the sugar.

And golden syrup.

Now, you need to peel and grate the apples. Discard the peels and cores. All you keep is the juicy flesh.
I don’t know about you but I love that first picture and totally think about printing, framing and hanging it onto my kitchen wall. Naked apples look good.

Mix in the flour and ground almonds, then the grated apples. It’s totally normal for the batter to look lumpy.

Finally fold in both the toasted almonds and plump fruits.

Preheat the oven to 140°C.

Fill two tins: one 16cm and one 18cm. As you can see from the picture above, I decided to go for a 18cm plus a thin 16cm and a tiny loaf. But really, do as you wish.

Bake the cakes for 1h30 or until firm to the touch. Allow to cool slightly before removing from the tins.

Wrap in parchment paper, and foil. And keep until ready to decorate.

Hopefully, I’ll see you again next week for an update on marzipan and fondant. In the meantime, I wish you all the best for the holidays – and the year to come. xx

So far my apprentissage at Pâtisserie Lac has been the most life-altering experience I’ve ever had. This time, I’m not doing this just for school. I’m actually working days after days to become a pâtissier. Something I’ve been dreaming about for years – literally – but am now living.

And as you would expect, living a dream is… well, dreamy.

Pascal, which I now call patron, is one of the most passionate and talented pâtissier I was ever given the chance to work with. He imagines outstanding flavor and texture combinations, and uses the best ingredients available. And despite his overloaded schedule, he does put an apron on every morning to get all the entremets, tarts and petits-fours ready for the daily shop-refill: the livraison.
Passionate, talented and caring.
And it shows: the pâtisserie Lac probably is the best pâtisserie around the Côte.

They say you can’t judge a book from its cover; I say, on the other hand, you can judge a pâtisserie from its laboratoire – the hidden part of the iceberg: the place where all the luscious pastries are made.

Here, things couldn’t be any closer to perfect. In order to have plenty of room, Pascal decided to move the laboratoire from the usual shop-backside to the north-east suburbs of Nice. Sure, this means I get to host a daily forty-minute off-key singing driving party in my car – consider yourself lucky not to be invited! But it also means I get to work on my very own marbre. Picture two metres of stainless steel, just for me.

But trust me, I make a full use of those two metres. Especially from 5.50 to 7, at which point the refrigerated car hops to town to deliver the pastries.

Because you see, during this period of time, my role – and mission – is to produce the fraisiers (something you should be acquainted with if you’ve read my previous post). Le fraisier is a gâteau composed of two layers of syrup-drenched génoise, encasing a fluffly vanilla crème mousseline, and plenty of fresh and juicy strawberries.

Believe me, making eight fraisiers does take time. More time than I’m actually given. And there is a joke amongst the boys – who are so very adorable, by the way – and the Chef – whom, despite his actual name Stéphane, we all call Chef! – saying that we’ll never finish our shift on time (read, before one pm) if I make the fraisiers.

Quite luckily I got faster and better. My génoises now turn out perfect every time I get them out from the oven. My crème mousseline is glossy and feathery. And I love the draw the arabesques with my chocolate cornet on top of the pâte d’amandes disks.

Coming up next, she who almost enrolled in a pâtisserie rally.

I didn’t really intend to share this loaf cake with you this soon.

But as I was driving back from the pâtisserie, and rain drops started to hit my car window – in what I refer to as the most comforting sound ever – I knew I had to tell you how fabulous and perfect this chocolate cake is.

I made it a couple of weeks ago. On a Sunday, and by Monday it was all gone. Nigella, who once was my very own favourite person in the world before Pierre got in the way, totally re-gained my love and trust.

It might not be the prettiest cake, but just a single bite will make you forget the glossy entremets, and as a side-effect, your worries.

Believe me when I say I would happily sink my teeth into one of those dense yet melting slices. For tea. Every single day.

And maybe, if I did, then everything would look sweet and chocolate-coated; even though I must admit I’m currently so happy that it would take a lot to bring me down.

But well, if for whatever reason (and I know there are many), you’re feeling sad or tired or both, then please, take the time to make this super-easy cake. Hopefully, the sky will clear up, and the next minute, you’ll be your usual happy self.

Cake fondant ultra-chocolaté
Adapted from Nigella Lawson’s Feast.

As you’ll make the batter, you’ll definitely measure how good the cake is. Deeply fragrant, with a melt-in-your mouth texture.
Shall we all thank the cocoa powder. And melted chocolate. And cocoa syrup. And fine chocolate slivers.

However – and trust me, this is a not a problem – the recipe yields to two loafs. But they freeze beautifully, and they texture even benefits from they’re little Aspen-like vacations.

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.

It’s not a secret to anyone. I could kill for cheesecake. Great cheesecake, that is.
Quite evidently, I was thrilled when I found out about this month’s daring bakers challenge. Cheesecake. Lollipops.

Those are basically two of my favourite things ever. Combined. I mean, the branding for my name even features lollipops.
My warmest thanks go to Deborah and Elle for this great pick.

The experiment:
- a creamy vanilla cheesecake
- dipped into tempered milk chocolate

As with most cheesecake batter, you start by creaming the cream cheese along with the sugar and seeds from one vanilla pod. Then go in the eggs and here, a little flour and an extra egg yolk are added, which I guess helps the cake hold its shape when rolled into balls later on.

I baked the cake into a 18cm wide pyrex dish, and in a water-bath, at 150°C for a little less than 45 minutes. However, given I used a more-than-halved recipe, I suggest to adapt the baking time and temperature if making a full recipe.
The cheesecake should look slightly swollen and should feel firm but still somewhat wobbly in the centre. And the edges might have a light golden colour.

I allowed the cheesecake to cool at room temperature, before wrapping it tightly with cling film, and left it in the fridge overnight.

The next day, I delicately peeled off the thin ‘crust’ and scooped walnut-size balls, which I rolled using wet hands, then placed onto a baking sheet lined with cling film.
Since I don’t own a freezer, I just chilled the balls for a couple of hours before inserting lollipop sticks into the cold and firm cheesecake spheres.

I tempered some milk chocolate – if yours doesn’t feel thin enough, you can mix in a little cocoa butter. Then poured the tempered chocolate into a smallish container, got the pops out of the fridge and dipped them. Because the spheres were so cold, the chocolate tended to set quickly, so I had to work quickly so the sprinkles would stick to the chocolate coating.

Soooo…
Those cheesecake lollipops were a hit. Even though I found the cheesecake part slightly too sweet, I have to say the texture was perfect and easy to handle. Firm yet creamy.
The vanilla seeds brought a lovely aroma, which combined with the egg and cream flavours certainly make you think about vanilla ice-cream.

They would make a great present. However, everyone seemed to be begging for more. I guess walnut-size is not enough; ice-cream-lollies-shaped cheesecake pops would definitely be more appropriate. They could then be called, vanilla ice-cream cheesecake lollipops. Yes, vanilla. Ice-cream. Cheesecake. Lollipops. Yum!