“Nature has provided me with a large palette to work from and, in turn, my presentation has become far more organic in an attempt to represent the natural world.”

Seasons – and more generally, nature – are something we should all be thankful for, so when I read Peter Gilmore’s words, they make me warm inside.
The beautiful approach he has with food is perfectly rendered in his book Quay.

In fact, I’ve noticed that there is something about restaurant desserts that feels right. The creativity, the seasonality, the freshness.
Something that connects me with the reasons why I’m doing all of this.

And this book – like many others that I will share during the upcoming weeks – seems to be the perfect reflection of my feelings.

The words are limited, but always tasteful. The pictures are breath-taking. And the recipes exhibit everything I love about modern Australian cuisine.

A gorgeous lesson on how produce should be treated.

And just for the record, you’ll find a eight-texture chocolate cake, which happens to be number one on my to-make list, on page 218.

Just like the caviar pearl with scallop, pearl oyster and white tea jelly, on page 119. Or the crisp pressed suckling pig with prunes, sherry vinegar, black pudding and cauliflower cream, on page 153.

(All images taken from Quay).

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!

It all happens on purpose. A few months ago, I came across a couple of old notebooks. Notebooks I once valued as precious. Notebooks I wouldn’t go anywhere without. Notebooks I recorded my food-related ideas into. Notebooks that I thought would turn into a book.

Then, I suddenly realised how unrealistic all this was. By then, I was only nineteen and seriously believed I could publish my very own cookbook in a matter of seconds and if not seconds, minutes. So I eventually forgot about those notebooks, assuming the recipes I had created were meaningless.

And now, almost exactly four years later, as I opened the notebooks and decoded the writing, I couldn’t help but have this weird feeling that those words weren’t mine. They were better than mine.
Apparently, what I considered pointless a couple of years ago didn’t seem that bad. Although my way of cooking and more importantly, my penchant for la pâtisserie, have changed dramatically, this episode had a huge impact on my cookbook craving.

And then, I found that great self-publishing website, which sounded nice. So there I am, busiest than ever, wanting to write a cookbook for the people I love.

Oh I certainly know I’m supposedly opening an Etsy shop and adjusting the biscuit recipes of the company I’m an intern at and actively trying to be a daring baker and struggling to post regularly on foodbeam.

Does it seem reasonable then?

It definitely does not, but well, although I wish I actually had the time to do all those things, I’m just too excited about them not to try my best at making them come real.

While I always happen not to have as much time as necessary, I’m lucky enough to be able to take a breather now and then. This past week end at my grand-parents’ house just was the bol d’air I needed.

Some utterly vital hours spent indulging myself with all things beautiful, hoping for happy accidents and, as you may have guessed, baking. Just so I can feel reposed and inspired again.

Le clafoutis de ma grand-mère

I can’t talk about this without an unsubtle hint of delight in my voice. This, people, is one of my favourite recipes ever. The kind of recipes I wrote down on a post-it back when I could barely write my name right and have since kept in a secret notebook.

I like to eat clafoutis at any time of the day, even fridge-cold for breakfast. But it does actually make a nice dinner dessert when served with some sharp yoghurt ice-cream, or failing that, a dollop of sour cream.

Remember the day when I said I would write about my internship at Pierre Hermé’s pâtisserie on a weekly basis? Well, I seem to have forgotten that last part: weekly basis…
I have to admit I’ve been doing really bad. Out of ten terrific weeks, I managed to write two articles. Just two.

I had high hopes though. I intented to tell you about how I got to taste the bûches de Noël and new macarons months before their official release at the palace Crillon. I also meant to write about the awesome two weeks I spent au tour, making doughs, pâtes feuilletées, sucrées et à foncer*.
Oh those two weeks…certainly the best at Pierre Hermé Paris. It is probably where I learnt the most, but my sweetest memory has nothing to do with the techniques Guilhem taught me. Three words: sablés aux olives.
I think I spent hours (and yes, I do mean hours) cutting out 5,5cm-wide disks out of the amazingly smooth yet speckled with crushed black olives dough. The pâte à sablés was so fragrant that as soon as I took it out of the fridge, it filled the room with a strong and delightful olive perfume.
The dough was then rolled, détaillée, arranged into small silicon moulds and baked. Possibly the best cookies I’ve ever had: sweet yet pleasantly salty and perfectly short-textured.

I left Paris with one obsession: making those cookies at home. And so did I. Once, then twice… As you can imagine they quickly became my go-to recipe.

* I promise I’ll try to whip up some posts about those weeks ate Pierre Hermé Paris.

Sablés aux olives noires comme chez Pierre Hermé
Adapted from Pierre Hermé and Julie Andrieu’s Confidences sucrées

I recently bought Pierre Hermé’s new cookbook, co-written with French food writer Julie Andrieu and it appears to be a great book.
Pierre Hermé reveals some of his signature recipes: macarons passion, tarte tango, cake ispahan or sablés aux olives noires; just to name a few.

The recipe for the sablés is the same as the one used at the laboratoire, but is so straightforward that you can easily make it at home.
First, you start by hard-boiling an egg. This might seem weird to you, but you’re only gong to keep the hard yolk, finely grate it and incorporate it into the dough. The use of cooked egg yolk is traditional in Alsace and gives a light and crisp texture.
Then you mix the butter, olive oil and sugar, in which the egg yolk goes. Finally, to rapidly fold in the flour and starch, and crushed black olives.

The key is to mix the dough just until it comes together. Then you have to work fast: roll it and chill overnight. Pierre Hermé suggests refrigerating the dough before rolling it out; but I always find it too hard to roll when too cold; so I chose to roll the dough just after it’s been made, taking care not to overwork it.

At the laboratoire, the sablés are baked in small silicon moulds. Sadly, I don’t have any at home so I went for my muffin tins and it makes wonders. I guess you could also bake them on a lined baking sheet, they just wouldn’t be as regular-looking.

The recipe can easily be halved; just make sure you don’t overwork the dough and you’ll be just fine.

This summer, it seems that I cook more than I can reasonably eat and write about.
But this matter fact has shown me something: food and cooking hold a major place in my life.

I can’t spend a day without:
1) cooking
2) thinking of interesting food / combination / recipe
3) buying things related to food (read: cookbooks, plates, placemats…)

However something quite strange is happening. I am literally bored of cookbooks. It seems I can’t find one that really stands out.
For example, I love the design of Apples for Jam, but do I really need another recipe for beef pasta? I know I’ll end buying this book because Tessa Kiros is such a great writer and inspiration, but what a strange feeling!
I tend to lean towards pastry chef cookbooks – such as my new favourite PH10.

Though, when I cook for myself I like to keep it simple and fresh.
I love clean Asian flavours: lemongrass, soy sauce, coriander are high among my everyday favourites.

These chili prawn linguine are a winner. A simple comfort dish that I’ve made at least once – if not twice – a week during the last few weeks.
It’s pretty straightforward (as most of Bill Granger’s recipes) but has that wow-factor that makes everyone sited at the table go wild.
I like to replace the linguine by egg-noodles, which adds a nice touch.

Anyway, I’d love to hear how you feel about recent cookbooks? What are your favourites and why?
Just a little parenthèse [parenthesis]: I’d like to buy some vintage cookbooks but I don’t know where to start. So any suggestions would be appreciated!