However, as it may not look like, my meals aren’t made of cakes, cookies, entremets and tarts. Nope.
I guess that, as most foodbloggers, I cook/bake more for my blog than for me. Some vegetables, grains, bread, fruits and sometimes, a slice of cake will totally make it for me. But foodbeam? No way. One greedy little blog.

Baking, may it be my absolute passion, is a luxury. And I feel grateful to be able to live up to my dreams. Yet, I realise that many people’s dreams is not to bake. What they dream about is food.

This year, I am proud to be a host for Menu for Hope.
Menu for Hope, a raffle created by Pim, has been running for three years (fourth edition this year!) and raises money for the UN World Food Programme. This time, we’re supporting a specific school lunch program in Lesotho, Africa.
Last year, a fantastic $60,000 was raised and we’re hoping it gets bigger this year.

What can you do?

If you have a foodblog or a food-related website and wish to donate a prize, contact a host in your area:
UK
Johanna of The Passionate Cook

US: West Coast
Bee of Rasa Malaysia

US: Central
Kalyn of Kalyn’s Kitchen

US: East Coast
Adam Kuban of Slice NY

Canada
Jennifer of The Domestic Goddess

Asia Pacific, Australia, New Zealand
Helen of Grab Your Fork

If you are in Europe (except UK residents), contact me at:

If you are a reader, stay tuned as the hosts will list the gorgeous and lovely things offered all around the world. You’ll be able to buy raffle tickets for those terrific prizes while supporting children in need.

Menu for Hope est une loterie organisée par Pim pour la quatrième année. Tous les fonds collectés sont reversés au Programme Alimentaire Mondial des Nations Unies. Cette année l’aide ira aux cantines scolaires du Lesotho, Afrique, afin d’encourager les enfants à aller à l’école.
La campagne de l’an passé a récolté plus de 60000$ et nous espérons faire encore mieux cette année.

Que pouvez-vous faire ?

Si vous avez un blog ou un site en relation avec le monde culinaire et souhaitez donner un prix pour la loterie, vous pouvez contacter un des blogueurs suivants en fonction du pays dans lequel vous vivez actuellement:
Royaume Uni
Johanna of The Passionate Cook

Côte ouest des Etats-Unis
Bee of Rasa Malaysia

Centre des Etats-Unis
Kalyn of Kalyn’s Kitchen

Côte est des Etats-Unis
Adam Kuban of Slice NY

Canada
Jennifer of The Domestic Goddess

Asie, Océnie
Helen of Grab Your Fork

Si vous habitez en Europe (sauf Royaume Uni), envoyez-moi un email à:

Si vous êtes un lecteur, tenez-vous au courant car les blogueurs ci-dessus publieront la liste de tous les prix offerts. Vous pourrez alors acheter des tickets de loterie afin de remporter un ou plusieurs prix tout en soutenant les enfants qui en ont besoin.

Sometimes, things don’t turn out the way you expect them to.
It can be either sad.
One day you know you’re in love – you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams*; and the second after, you learn he’s leaving for another country.
Or happy.
One day, you’re making what you think is going to be one layer of creamy-and-sweet-yet-slightly-salty-and-deeply-caramely jelly; and when you open the fridge door, have the surprise to find a multi-layered jelly.
The top layer is amber-brown and has a dense almost fudgy texture and a wonderful butterscotch taste; while the bottom layer, creamy-white, is more like a flan with a subtle caramel flavour.

While you enjoy your last spoonful of it, you realise you didn’t write down the quantities you used to produce such a sleek and delicious gelée.
Some sugar.
Some salted butter from Normandie.
Some double cream.
Some milk.
Some gelatine (and then she pretends she’s a vegetarian!).

Three lessons. Never kiss a boy goodbye at the airport in the middle of the night, buy yourself a ticket and make his country become your home. Never forget to write down what you put in a pan, even if you think it’s just food-for-you and not for the blog. Never cry because it’s over, instead smile because it happened.
While I can’t say with certainty that following these three rules will make your life perfect, I am sure it can make it better.

But well, you know me. I’m somewhat, ahem, stubborn. I tried to make that gelée again. And again. And again. Three times actually.
Basically, I put some sugar (70g) in a pan and cooked it until amber-brown; threw in a spoonful of salted butter (25g); pour some cream (120g) onto the bubbling mixture; melted two soaked gelatine leaves with a little milk, which I added to the caramel sauce with some more milk (200g) and divided into two ramekins.
You can try. At your own risks though. I never got the same wonderful result. Actually, that’d be great if you tried, because I’ve run out of cream, which makes my quest even more difficult.

At least, I have precious memories so that I remember. The boy. And the jelly. Just like I would never know again the things that I’ve already missed.

* Yeah, Dr Seuss totally is my heroe.

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.

Before I can start with this, I need you to complete a little homework. Basically, I want you to rush to the nearest French supermarket (never told you it was going to be easy) with a spoon in your hand and a thick scarf in your bag. Once you’ve arrived, try to locate the yogurt aisle. It will get colder and colder as you move forwards. It’s time to use your scarf – how handy is that? Roll it around your neck and stop for a second to experience a feeling of intense cosiness.
Ok, by now you should have reached what appears to be meters of yogurts and other yummy things. Find the Marronsuiss’. Tear one pot apart, open it and dig your spoon into it. Make sure you notice how fluffy it is. Let it melt in your mouth.

I really can’t believe I asked you to eat processed food. Me. The, ahem, organic-agriculture-fanatic-and-animal-supporter. But well, that was necessary. I needed you to taste Marronsuiss’ before you start judging me about what follow.

See, when we were younger, my little sister and I used to fight for Marronsuiss’. It was nasty. Bites, hair pulling, among other too-cruel-to-tell-you-about things.
It’s crazy how such a feathery and chestnut-flavoured mousse can generate so much conflicts? However, knowing that you’ve done your homework, I have the feeling that you understand.

Here, I whipped up the harder-better-faster-stronger* version of Marronsuiss’.
* It just means terrific, really.

Mousse aux châtaignes
Adapted from Saveur magazine.

This delicate chestnut mousse, while tasting pretty much the same than its industrial twin, has the advantage that it doesn’t contain stabiliser and other creepy ingredients that the food industry likes to put in our plates from timt to time.
It’s texture is airy and it has a lovely chestnut flavour. Perfect for holidays, or in my opinion, for everyday.

Remember that gelatine has to be soaked for at least 20 minutes in cold water before being used.
You can fold in some roughly chopped candied chestnuts, just make sure you decrease the sugar quantity accordingly.

Shortly after I received an email from Anna - the girl who used to bake all the viennoiseries, tart crusts and cannelés, and turned out to be a lovely friend -, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic about the overwhelming ten weeks I spent at Pierre Hermé Paris.
This is the place I want to be right now. The place I miss the most I the entire world (hopefully, I might be able to go back; cross your fingers for me).

I’m afraid you won’t hear more for today. Just my endless love for pâtisserie, and more specifically Pierre Hermé’s. It’s funny how, more than two months after it finished, I still have some automated reactions:
- I tend to use vous a lot, even when talking to people my age
- I shout chaud! when walking behind someone
- I hate it when my flatmates put knives in the sink. “Didn’t you learn that any sharp tool should be washed immediately to avoid unnecessary cuts?”
The list could just go on and on, but well, I need some sleep. And just to tease you: what baked good exactly weighs 180g before going into the oven? Hmmmm hint hint. The next Pierre Hermé write-up totally will be about that.

Sometimes, our lives get so busy that we forget about how beautiful it is to live; and we can’t even see the lovely things that surround us.
Call it the side effect of our super-exciting way-of-life full of crazy experiments and adventures; I just think it’s sad and find necessary to take a break from time to time to admire all the random petites choses that I usually disregard. It is a fantastic feeling when you realise how so little can make you so happy.

Today, I didn’t have one – but three – of these wonderful moments. The ones that truly matter.
The first one occurred around 4.38am. As I was quietly sleeping, I started hearing what is, to me, a divine sound. Raindrops were softly hitting my window, making for the most superb orchestra concert you could ever dream of. Covered with a huge pile of fluffy duvet covers, I coudn’t imagine a more beautiful place to be.

Then, around 7.50am, as I opened my mailbox, I found a package. It came from my favourite girl. Ever. She’s been my friend for years, introduced me to plastic-bottle-biting and tiny fake pastries. Une fille en forme de fée. She made a small felt pochette [pouch] with apparent stitches. And when I finally got the chance to tell her how happy it made me, we couldn’t help but talk about food. I’m sure they’ll be some good times ahead. I just can’t wait to see her and organise a chic dinner for New Year’s eve. Je t’aime fort mon petit pasteis.

That last *blissful*moment* is happening right now: a laptop on my legs and a chocolate malted whooper drop in my hand.
When I made Dorie’s recipe, I knew it would be good. I mean, have you ever found Dorie’s recipe to be lacking of anything? I haven’t, and suspect that nobody ever has. She is one of those people who make you feel instantly cosy, whether you’re having tea with her or just reading of her books. That’s why everyone loves her. But more than that, her recipes are terrific and always work. Thank you Dorie for making my day special.

Cookies au chocolat et aux maltesers
Adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: from my home to yours.

Maltesers are the European version of Whoopers and trust me, they’re very yummy. So imagine how wonderful they are when combined with a moist malted chocolate cookie dough and chunks of milk chocolate.

These are some great cookies – or as Dorie calls them -, drops and will make everyone happy. The maltesers had some crunch to an otherwise smooth and fudgy biscuit.
The dough almost has the same texture than frosting and to make things easy, you just have to spoon and drop it onto your lined baking sheet.

I decided to slightly underbake my cookies (10 minutes instead of the suggested 12). Well, the girl likes her dough raw.

If you’re anything like me, you love chocolate. You also love to make chocolates. But knowing how your kitchen, clothes and state of mind will be at the end of the process, you put that chocolate thermometer back in the cupboard and while you’re at it, grab that box full of chocolates from Pierre Hermé Paris.
This is what happens when I, ahem, make chocolates.

Although, given that just the thought of tempering chocolate or precoating ganache slabs, makes you smile from happiness, you find that your way of making chocolates is somewhat frustrating. And you definitely don’t enjoy those delicious Pierre Hermé’s truffles as much as you should.
So, you end up buying tons of books on confections and chocolates; and read them, on your favourite couch with your favourite box of store-bought petits chocolats. At that exact moment, you feel a little better – the 100g of magnesium you’ve just had is starting to do wonders on your mind, and you’re no longer frustrated (just so you remember: you got frustrated in first instance, because the chocolates you’re eating aren’t yours; and by yours, I mean homemade).

Beware though. As soon as the soothing effect of the magnesium wears off, you’ll undergo severe disappointment.
Luckily for you, my years of chocolate-eating experience have taught me a lot about chocolate making. And I have the perfect recipe for the messy and lazy chocolatiers you – ahem, we – are: firm gianduja.

Gianduja, pronounced jeeon-doo-ya, originates in Italy and more specifically, in Piemonte; which is the place where most of my paternal family comes from.
It is basically a mixture of ground nuts, icing sugar and chocolate. While the usual ratio is 1:1:1, you can tweak it without danger as it’s unlikely to separate or get spoiled. Thank the fat system for that; gianduja is indeed almost entirely made of fat (and sugar) and thus, can’t be referred to as an emulsion. Just pure fat. Who would ever thought that fat could look so sexy?

At this point, you might not see how gianduja can solve all – I do really mean, all – your problems.
Well, if you only gave me the time to explain. Have a chocolate and stop being rude.
Gianduja is yummy. How could nuts, sugar and chocolate, all mixed together, not be yummy? It’s pretty. And chocolaty. But more than that, it’s so easy to make that it’s almost instant reward with no kitchen-cleaning involved.

Petits carrés de gianduja aux trois chocolats
Adapted from Peter Greweling’s chocolates and confections.

I love to serve these with coffee. They seem to disappear in a matter of seconds.
They’re sweet with a pleasant nutty flavour. But what I always crave about is their melt-in-your-mouth texture.

The process is very simple:
1. you first roast the nuts and grind them with little sugar so they for a paste
2. you mix in the remaining sugar and melted chocolate

Depending on the power of your processor, you might not be able to get a nut paste, but do not worry. Just continue processing until the nuts are very finely ground and have the same appearance as icing sugar. When you’ll add the melted chocolate, it will just form a ‘dough’ that certainly won’t be as smooth as gianduja made with nut paste, but nonetheless delicious.

Thanks to a very low water content, these will keep for months – just put them in an airtight container and refrigerate.

Most of my friends spend their weekends partying at night and sleeping during the day. This doesn’t seem to be valid for me though. While I do party with them, I love to wake up early, grab my bike, go to the farmers market, rush back to my apartment and bake like crazy until it’s dark outside.

Trust me, my flatmates love me. On Monday, we celebrated autumn with yummy butternut squash muffins with a frosty top. On Tuesday, a spicy yet comforting black pepper and honey apple tart warmed our days. On Wednesday, I kept complaining about how boring it is to have a cold but still enjoyed a lovely honey, rosemary and gorgonzola loaf cake. On Thursday, we all went out to celebrate the launch of Beaujolais nouveau with some shallot and parsley small bread rolls, which I posted about on Friday. On Saturday, I shared a piece of my memories – and more importantly – some moist coconut balls that look like snow balls. On Sunday, well, I’m going to ask you a favour.

There isn’t one day during which I don’t receive emails from you guys – totally *heart* you by the way. Whether you’re just saying hi, asking questions about a specific recipe/ingredient/pastry, wondering how I learnt to take pictures… These make me happy. I just love to know I’ve helped or inspired you in some ways.
Now it’s your turn to inspire me.

Is there anything that you would like to see on this blog?

May it be a recipe – one you’re too scared to try or one you dearly love and would want to share, a topic – like Erin who’d like to hear more about my culinary endeavours in France or food photography… Actually, anything will do. Just tell me what makes you happy, what inspires you, what your fears are. This way, you’ll contribute to foodbeam and I’ll be able to give you some of the tips I’ve learnt either from experience, my internship or my classes.
I so can’t wait to see what you come up with! This is going to be great fun.

It’s November 2. I’m behind the window, watching the rain that pours on my grandparents beautiful garden. Every drop that reaches the earth, bounces on the perfectly-red leaves, making a loud noise.
Rain makes me happy. I know I could be playing outdoor, but right now, nothing feels as comforting as being where I am. It’s still pretty early and my grand-mother is preparing the breakfast table while my grand-father has gone to the boulangerie to get une baguette bien cuite for lunch.
Today, I’m turning sept ans et demi [7 1/2]. Et ça c’est important.

As I’m lost in my thoughts, I realise that grand-mère has been calling me for the last couple of seconds. Time for breakfast.
I sit at the table facing my bowl of hot chocolate and a plate full of homemade bread pudding topped with a generous spoonful of yogurt. Both of my grand-parents sip their strong coffee and start spreading butter on their tartines.

Hmmm, ça sent bon. Je peux goûter [Hmmm, it smells lovely. Can I have a sip]?
Oui si tu veux, mais c’est assez fort [Yes sure. It's strong though].
She hands me her brown pyrex cup. Fais attention il est chaud [Watch out, it's hot]. It is indeed. Warm and strong. Baah, c’est amer [Baah, this is bitter].
I decide that coffee is not for me and that I shall never drink some again. I just stick to my sweet and milky hot chocolat chaud. The bread pudding is soft and melts like butter in my mouth. La bouche pleine.
Qu’est ce qu’on va faire aujourd’hui [What are we going to do today]? Rochefort. Youpi!

A couple of hours, after lunch, we all head to Rochefort. The rain is still pouring but jumping in water pools is just too funny. As we reach the place principale, I spot a lovely pâtisserie. In the beautifully decorated window, some bright white balls stand out. Boules de neige.

A little more than 15 years later, those memories feel real again. I am biting into some homemade coconut balls and they took me years behind. Funny how food can act as a time-travel machine.

Coconut balls
Adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s coconut domes.

When I read Dorie’s article on serious eats, I knew I had to try my hands at coconut domes – or more accurately in my case – balls.
Her description of those treats reminded me of the ones I had eaten I Rochefort. The exterior is slightly crunchy, but not browned; while the interior is moist.
The recipe, which originally comes from Pierre Hermé, insists on soaking the coconut into the milk mixture overnight. Please do not skip this step as it ensures soft and chewy bites of sweetness.

As you might have not guessed from yesterday non-post, I’m not ill anymore. I did spend most of the day sleeping, but the evening was put to use for some beaujolais nouveau celebration.
And what’s better with some really bad wine that some equally good bread.

I used my favourite bread recipe, which I tweaked in order to get some soft and flavourful small breads.

I divided the dough into 6 small balls, got on with one of them, while I put the other to rest, covered with a cloth.

The ball is then flattened with the palm of my hands. In the centre of that disk of lovely elastic dough, I placed a teaspoon of a mix of:
- butter
- cooked shallots
- chopped parsley
- salt and freshly ground white pepper

I really enjoyed closing the ball; it’s like a nest of pure yumminess.

There you go. I told you it was going to be quick and easy.

The final step consists in shaping the ball again so they’re all round and smooth. Proof the breads until they have doubled in size and bake as explained in the simple white bread recipe (just dust some flour on the breads before they go into the oven).

I definitely took the easy-way here, but please, people, I urge you to do the same. I know I’ve already praised Dan Lepard’s white bread last week. But well, it’s that good. And the addition of perfumed butter is fantastic. Fragrant, moist innards. Soft crumb. Crisp golden crust.
Be an easy rider. Make these petits pains.