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

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

But I mean, who wouldn’t?

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

2. It has chocolate. Lots of it.

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

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

I knew it, you’re sold. So was I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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!

This is all quite a surprise to me. I originally thought I would have to skip this month’s daring bakers challenge – again – because of my so-not-working internet connection. But what first appeared to be a never-ending story did find an end yesterday, as a France Telecom monsieur dropped by without warning and fixed my ligne télephonique.
I did certainly gave him one of the little perfect party cakes I had made earlier that day; how handy it is to be a daring baker.

The experiment:
The perfect party cake is made of:
- a vanilla cake
- filled with home-made strawberry confiture
- and frosted with a rich meringue buttercream (or more accurately, a meringue cream cheese frosting, as you’ll see below)

I started with the cake, which recipe is a keeper. The baking powder and salt are thoroughly combined with the flour. The butter and sugar are creamed together, then the eggs* are beaten in, one at a time. As usual, all the ingredients have to be at room temperature. You don’t want your cold egg to make your creamed butter mixture curdle, do you?
Then, I alternatively folded in the flour and the milk, aiming for a smooth batter.
I then baked at moderate temperature – 170°C – in 8cm cercles à pâtisserie for 25-30 minutes. The cakes had raised yet the top were slightly flat, which is perfect when making layer cakes.
Since I’m a vanilla kind of girl, I skipped on the lemon zest and threw a dash of my favourite natural vanilla extract into the batter. The finished cake was just perfect: the crimb was delicate yet tight, and had that wonderful aroma of freshly cut-open vanilla bean.

*I just noticed that the recipe called for egg whites, not whole eggs! That’s probably why my cake crumb turned out to have a golden hue.

As the cakes were into the oven, I decided to make my own confiture [jam]. I had some beautiful strawberries sitting on my counter and since one kg is too much for one girl, I thought it would be a great way to use them. Oh I know what you’re thinking: strawberries? In March? Well, they looked so temtping at the farmers’ market on Saturday morning, that I had to have them. Plus they’re grown in France and actually have flavour, which is pretty special for March strawberries.
In a small pan, I combined 200g of diced strawberries, 140g of caster sugar and the juice from half a lemon. Over medium heat, I brought the mixture to the boil and left it simmer for 20 minutes. When it had cooled down, I blitzed it in the food processor, then pour it into a small container and chilled overnight.
This was so good I had some – spread onto a thick slice of crusty levain baguette – for breakfast. Imagine ruby-red sleek jam, speckled with small seeds.

The next day, I made the frosting. Not the meringue buttercream, as the recipe called for, but a delicious – totally finger-licking – meringue cream cheese frosting. This, which probably is 2008 best food discovery, found its origin in my strong hate for anything buttercreamy.
But as a daring baker, I stuck as close as possible to the recipe, only substituting the butter by the same quantity of cream cheese.
Basically, I made a meringue italienne by wisking some boiling syrup – 112°C – into the whipped egg whites, and then mixed in the smooth cream cheese.
This frosting, white and creamy, was smooth and had that lovely cream cheese flavour, which – in my humble opinion – nicely complements the subtle sharpness of the strawberries.

Soooo…
This layer cake was a real winner. The combination of a fragrant vanilla cake, tangy yet sweet strawberry jam and creamy slightly salty frosting, actually made for a perfect party cake.

A few years ago, when my mum went to the pâtisserie on Sundays to get us dessert, I would invariably ask for lemon meringue tart with the exciting promise of a smooth and tangy treat in mind. Apparently, the flavour of those Sunday tarts always seemed to be nowhere close to my dream.
There is no such thing as bad lemon meringue tarts. Damp crust. Eggy filling, nonetheless flavourless. Tooth-aching meringue.

I’ve been pretending to hate lemon meringue tart ever since. But well, a couple of months ago, as my sister begged me to make her favourite dessert, I couldn’t help but change my mind. The lemon meringue tart I had made was simply perfect. And to be honest, I had the inner feeling that it was matchless.
So when I found out that this month’s daring bakers challenge involved making a lemon meringue tart, I got slightly disappointed. My first thought was something like: why would I make this tart knowing it can’t measure up to my go-to recipe? Quickly followed by: what the hell! It could be interesting to make it anyway.

The experiment
The lemon meringue tarts are made of three components:
- a simple pâte brisée
- a fragrant lemon cream
- a sweet fluffy meringue

The pâte brisée is easy to make and produces a lovely flaky crust. The dough is made of butter, flour, sugar, salt and water. When it comes to shortcrust pastry, the key is to have the ingredients ready and more importantly cold. The butter should be hard and the water ice-cold. This is what ensures a great crust that won’t shrink or soften in the oven.

Once the ingredients have come together roughly, I placed the dough into a plastic bag and refrigerated for 20 minutes. It was then rolled and cut into 13cm-wide disks (either for muffin-size tarts or 8cm wide ones). I slightly dusted the disks with flour and wrapped them, before setting them to chill overnight.
The next day, I re-cut the disks using a 12cm-wide round pastry cutter, as the dough shrank due to the butter contraction and the water evaporation. I then lined the holes of a muffin tin with the dough and baked it blind for 30 minutes.

The resulting crust was golden and flaky, and didn’t skrink in the oven although I kind of mess up with the lining process and was scared that my fingers might have warmed the dough a little too much.

The lemon cream was very interesting to make. Mostly because it’s so far from every recipe I’ve seen for lemon cream.
It relies on cornstarch, egg yolks and butter as solidifying agents, which you flavour adding lemon juice and zest, and sugar.

I didn’t have any cornstarch on hand so ended up using potato starch instead, which didn’t have any major impact.
I started with a cold liquid base: water to which I added the starch and sugar. This liquid was then brought to the boil until very thick. I then added the egg yolks, making sure to temper them with the starchy mixture first. I set the pan over moderate heat and mixed with a wooden spoon until the thermometer read 84°C – the temperature at which the egg yolks solidify.
The last step consists in folding in the butter, lemon juice and zest and dividing the cream into the baked (and cooled down) crusts.

Finally, I topped the tarts with a montagne of fluffy French meringue. The egg whites are whisked until they form soft peaks and caster sugar is added. In order to get a marshmallow-like meringue, I had to double the quantity of sugar (thus using 60g of sugar for each egg white). Indeed, I found that using only 30g of sugar per white yielded to a grainy and not-so dense meringue.

Soooo…
Those lemon meringue tartlets were good. They certainly won’t replace my favourite recipe, but I’m happy with how they turned out. The crust had a pleasant crunch, and the filling was flavourful, although slightly starchy and didn’t had that smooth glossy feel Pierre Hermé’s has.

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.

Cinnamon buns are an autumn favourite in my house. Come by, around the end of September, and a wonderfully rich cinnamon aroma will invariably hit you. A lovely family tradition, kept alive by my sister’s unconditional love for cinnamon buns.
On my side, the least I can say, is that I’m definitely not fighting against this ritual. Honestly, cinnamon buns are the perfect treat to warm up a cold autumn day; spicy, sweet and deliciously buttery.

You can thus imagine how priceless my family’s response was when I told them I had to make cinnamon buns for this month’s daring bakers challenge (Marce, my parents and sister are eternally thankful for your choice).

The experiment
The cinnamon buns are made of three components:
- a mildly rich buttery dough
- a sweet and aromatic cinnamon sugar filling
- a great and dead-easy-to-make vanilla fondant

The buttery dough was a delight to work with. Before starting, I intended to follow a regular brioche procedure. Basically, I wanted to mix the dough, place it in a bowl and refrigerate overnight; before proofing and shaping.
However, as soon as I started to work with it, I realised that the extra steps weren’t going to be necessary.
With only one egg and 80g of butter, this dough is less rich and wet than your usual brioche dough (it also contains milk which isn’t used in classic brioche), and thus, very easy to handle, making the whole process a doodle to follow.

This enriched yeasty dough is made of sugar, butter, vanilla, flour, yeast, egg, milk and salt (I diluted fleur de sel in the warm milk).
As you can see, I substituted the lemon zest for vanilla seeds because I couldn’t figure out what role the lemon could play, and thus, preferred to use the floral tones of Tahitian vanilla beans to balance the warmth of the cinnamon sugar.
For this recipe, it is very important that all the ingredients are at room temperature (22°C) before you start.

Here, I used flour type 45, which is quite not the same as bread flour. Though, given that the wheat grains are ground very finely for this type of flour, the gluten is widely available; and the small size of the flour particles ensures a soft and ropy dough.

The yeast isn’t fresh yeast as you might have expected, but instant yeast. I think Peter Reinhart’s choice comes from the fact that instant yeast is easier to find in the US but also more reliable (indeed, fresh yeast is very sensitive to temperature changes, which might results in the death of a great number of cells and thus, in a loss of effectiveness).
I generally prefer to use fresh yeast as, when used properly, it won’t give any yeasty taste to the dough and will result in more puffed breads; however, this time I went along with instant yeast and I was more than happy with the results.

The dough came together very easily; it was slightly soft and sticky at first, but as soon as I started kneading it, it became stronger and smoother. I decided to knead the dough by hand, because I just love to do so but also because the method I use (which is actually Dan Lepard’s) yields to extraordinary results.

The first fermentation was very quick, in an hour, the dough had almost doubled in size indicating that it was ready to be shaped. Actually, a dough should never be left to proof bigger than twice its size or the yeast will start to produce unwanted components, resulting in bitter or acidic aromas – so watch your dough!

At this point, I rolled the dough (note: you should deflate your dough before rolling it or you’ll have troubles – the cinnamon sugar is likely to escape and your rolls won’t be tight) – one cm thick -, and dusted with the cinnamon sugar, which simply is a mix of ground cinnamon and caster sugar.
Once the buns were shaped, they were left to proof and then baked at 175°C for 25 minutes.

The fondant, made of warm milk, icing sugar and vanilla seeds, and drizzled over the warm buns, was smooth and fragrant.

Soooo…
These cinnamon buns were an absolute hit and Peter Reinhart’s recipe replaced my old and trusted one, which means a lot.
The dough was soft and aromatic with vanilla and butter. It wasn’t very sweet, but nicely balanced by the sweetness brought by both the cinnamon sugar and fondant.
The cinnamon sugar stayed right inside the buns, making for a tender, syrupy and cinnamon-ish hearts.
A new favourite in my house.

Milk chocolate and caramel au beurre salé has to be one of my favourite flavour combination ever. I know, nothing too fancy or creative, but good enough for me. Creamy, smooth and sweet – just as I like it.
When I found out that the recipe chosen – by Patricia and Veronica – for this month’s Daring Bakers‘ challenge was a milk chocolate and caramel tart from Eric Kayser, I got very excited and well, bouncy!

Things seemed to be just perfect:
1. I was finally a daring baker, which I had been dreaming about for – literally – months.
2. My favourite flavour combination was à l’honneur for my first participation.
3. The recipe was from Les tartes d’Eric Kayser – a cookbook I’d been wanting for ages but wasn’t too sure about

By the third of August (hence, just one short day after my entrance in the fearless world of the daring bakers), my tart was ready – all pretty and yummy.

The experiment
The tart itself is made of three main components (from bottom to top):
– a chocolate and hazelnut pâte sablée
- a rich caramel flan
- a smooth milk chocolate crème chantilly

The chocolate pâte sablée was very easy to make and a pleasure to handle – as with every pâte sucrée you should take extra-care not to overwork it (can’t wait to tell you how to produce foolproof pâte sucrée) nor manipulate it too much.
The dough is made like a traditional pâte sucrée, except it contains cocoa powder, ground hazelnuts instead of the regular ground almonds, cinnamon and baking powder.
I think it’s rather important to discuss the contribution and interests of each ’special’ ingredients to the pâte.

The cocoa brought a pleasant colour and chocolate flavour – it always amazes me to see how little of that earthy coloured powder can produce such an amazing flavour. I definitely need to reconsider the use of cocoa powder in my baking – though, it has to be high-quality.

Just so you know right now, I omitted the cinnamon, thinking it would be the intrus, adding a very unnecessary flavour to the final tart. I strongly believe that if you call your tart milk chocolate and caramel, it should be milk chocolate and caramel, and not: milk chocolate, caramel and cinnamon.

On the same note, I found that the ground hazelnuts added an unwanted nuttiness. I do love the chocolate and hazelnut combination and I do think that ground hazelnuts help for the sable [sandy] texture, though I really didn’t like them here. I feel that using more neutral nuts, like almonds, would have had the same texture benefits minus the why-do-my-tart-tastes-like-nutella reaction.
I won’t describe how to make pâte sucrée – or more accurately in this case, pâte sablée au chocolat – as an upcoming post will explain this in details.

ps. As you can see for the pictures, my crust was way too thick in the angles); luckily my dough skills have much improved since then!

Lastly, I found the use of baking powder both a good and bad thing. Sure it prevents the dough from shrinking but it also results in disgracious ‘love-handles’. My verdict: if you know your doughs and how they react, shrking shouldn’t be an issue; hence, ditch it!

The second layer – caramel flan -, was somewhat interesting. First, because making caramel à la crème is always exciting. Second, because I found the use of eggs as solidifiers both attention-grabbing.

I began by making a caramel sec [dry caramel, ie. made without the use of water – just pure sugar]. Once the caramel got a dark amber colour, I incorporated the butter, small pieces at a time. Then I poured the boiling cream over and whisked for a couple of seconds.
This method is infallible – I’ve made it a thousand times before without having the caramel to seize.
It is imperative for the caramel to be dark-brown or the flavour will be too weak compared to the milk chocolate.

Regarding the butter, I highly recommend using French salted butter: beurre demi-sel, my favourite being Jean-Yves Bordier’s, which uses fine salt crystals for a subtle yet distinctive taste.

Once baked, this layer was firm and speckled with tiny holes, which reminded me of flan aux oeufs.

After allowing the tart to chill in the fridge overnight, I covered it with a milk chocolate crème chantilly.
Here, again, I used my own method as I know that adding warm chocolate to whipped cream will invariably results in a loss of air and thickness, and thus in a thin mousse.

I brough the cream to the boil and poured it over the chopped milk chocolate in three times, first mixing with a wisk and then a rubber spatula, until the chocolate was melted. I covered with cling film and placed in the fridge overnight. The next day, I just had to whip the ganache until fluffy. Perfect, I tell you!
I piped the mousse on top of the caramel layer and smoothed it down with a spatula.
As always, the milk chocolate chantilly, was a huge success – good enough to be eaten on its own. My favourite chocolate to use isn’t Jivara as you may have thought, but Lindt extra-fin.

Soooo…
I’m sure I would have loved the tart if it wasn’t for the hazelnuts. I might sound picky but I really found they distracted me from the main actors.
Other than that I immensely liked the caramel flan layer – a satisfying and deep flavour, and a perfect texture.
As said above, I’m not very happy with how thick the crust is in the corners; but oh well, I know I can now do better.