To me, the last hours of a year are always filled with expectations, excitement, and dreams.

As a matter of fact, I have been dreaming a lot lately. Possibly because my 9am/11pm day life is quite very busy with mise en place, desserts à l’assiette, afternoon teas, foams, and many more exciting things.

Thus, at night I dream that:
1. I spend a weekly day off with my boyfriend.
2. my hair is not that messy.
3. I become a better pâtissière.
4. I see more daylight.
5. I take the time to capture moments through photographs.
6. our Christmas tree lasts forever.
7. I make beautiful pastries at home.
8. Polaroid film hits the shops again.
9. I have leopard leggings in every possible colour.
10. I take the time to write in my new Moleskine diary.

Oh, and while I’m at it, I should admit that I dream of a puppy dog quite often too. I can’t tell you how happy I would be if only one of those dreams would come true during 2010.

Bring it on!

As for today, I’m afraid it’s nothing near dreamy. But you have to remember that we basically have one wisk, a couple of baking sheets, and that-is-pretty-much-it in our tiny London kitchen.

I did my best to recreate the lovely banana cream pie I had in mind, and trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to see the kitchen after two of those small tarts were made.

Pulling isomalt without a Silpat is hard. Smoothing whipped cream without a spatula is harder. Piping without a bag is the hardest.

At least, we had a good laugh and a satisfied tummy. Despite the evident lack of sophistication, this tart – or pie – is delicious.

The perfect end to our marathon Christmas lunch.

Banana cream pie with a chocolate mousse quenelle
My secret to this flavourful banana cream pie is to roast the banana in its own skin before mashing it very slightly, and spreading it at the bottom of a crisp tart shell.

Then comes the confiture de lait. You can either make your own by boiling some milk and sugar together to a thick consistency and golden colour, or boil an unopened can of sweetened condensed milk for hours, or even get the ready-made kind.
I must admit I went for a jar of dulce de leche found at Whole Foods since I didn’t really have the required motivation/energy to make it at home. Sometimes, the easy path feels the best.

Since confiture de lait is quite sweet, I prefer to use plain whipped cream to top my pie instead of chantilly.

And before I forget about it: HAPPY NEW YEAR. x

Since I started my apprentissage at Nice best pâtisserie (and no, I’m not saying this just because it’s the place I’m spending the best year of my entire life at), I’ve been talking a lot about Pascal and the chef and the cool people I get to work with.

Quite coincidentally, one of them seems to be my Brazilian counterpart. Amanda. She’s perhaps just as silly as me, and certainly, just as crazy in love with life and pâtisserie.

And just like me she’s a food tasting and photography fanatic. A perfect match.

A couple of weeks ago we decided to venture off from our Nice headquarters, and headed to Cannes. More specifically, to Jean-Luc Pelé’s Atelier.

Located on the tiny rue Meynadier, a parallel of the famous Croisette and its not so pretty marches [steps], it makes an adorable chic-black boutique. And although I must admit I chose not to work there after I met Pascal and the huuuuuge laboratoire, I have to confess that the Atelier it is indeed adorable, and probably more importantly, a good pâtisserie.

You know me. I took tons of pictures, tasted a couple triple of entremets, and a good dozen of macarons. So I figured it would be more appropriate to write about the place in episodes.

Tambours. [Drumrolls].

Let me introduce l’Atelier. And the pâtisseries that you can find there. Simple. No tasting involved here (don’t worry, the entremets will follow; and so will the macarons (delicious by the way)).

As you enter the black-walled shop, you’ll probably like the panoramic view of the chocolaterie just as much as I did. But keep an eye on the pâtisseries because they’re pretty pretty, and definitely worth more than just an over-look.

Sure I did not taste them all, but it occurred to me you might like a little food sexiness around here.

La verrine exotique
Did I ever mentioned how addicted I am to food served in glasses? And when it’s pink, and has berries in it, and litchi. Verrine exotique, I’m all yours.

Les éclairs au chocolat
The éclairs – pâte à choux [choux pastry] filled with a bittersweet chocolate crème pâtissière [pastry cream] – clearly weren’t as lovely with their hazardous icing.

Le sablé breton aux framboises
This is something I quite liked. First, the square sablé got me. Then, the neatly arranged raspberries.

La mousse au chocolat
Rather straightforward. In every way.

Le macara
I’m not so addicted to the glaçage marbré. Or the chocolate and raspberry combination. Overdone.

Le millefeuilles
Another of my crushes. No old-fashionned icing. Sweet crème pâtissière that looks like a pearl necklace. Need I say more?

La verrine fleur de sel
A beautiful verrine in in my opinion. Layers of milk chocolate, caramel, and saltiness can do you no harm, trust me. Although, I must recognise I still do not get the chocolate tribal figurine. Any hints?

La tarte aux fruits rouges
Again. Berries. Square tart. A match made in heaven. This is definitely something I’ll think about for my own pâtisserie. My doodled-over Moleskine proves it.

La crème brûlée au chocolat
And something cute to end up with. A chocolate crème brûlée. And it’s over-the-top bitten miniature chocolate bar.

See you soon for the tasting! On the menu: verrine exotique, tarte aux fruits rouges and verrine fleur de sel.

If you’re anything like me, you might have already experienced that subtle feeling of awkwardness which precedes the very first kiss you’re about to give to this new someone you quite like. And quite obviously, you can never forget the right-after-feeling as well.

Exciting. Electrifying. Paralysing.

I must confess I feel the exact same way when I come up with a new pâtisserie. A couple of Mondays ago, I explored the realm of tarts (oh yes, here they come again; somehow, I seem to think I’m no tart-lover and yet I find myself making tarts after tarts with just the right amount of anticipation and happiness).

At first, I wanted a milk chocolate ganache encased in a delicate pâte sucrée shell, and topped with caramelised pecan.

Real bad.

But apparently my need faded when I saw the 3.50€ price-tag for a small bag of less than two hundred grams of the much-adored pecans.

Peanuts felt like a not-so-bad idea. So did caramel. And more evidently, milk chocolate. But as delicious as it sounded, it seemed too easy.

Vanilla bean mini-marshmallows. Consistent. And downright perfect. For everything. This tart being no exception.

So here came the now famous tarte aux cacahuètes, caramel et chocolat au lait; as in, caramel and milk chocolate peanut tarts.

ps. I was quite thrilled when I found out that Pierre Hermé made a similar tart for a class he gave at Ferrandi.

Tarte aux cacahuètes, caramel et chocolat au lait

I’m not sure what I love most about this tart. The crisp peanut pâte sucrée. The melt-in-your-mouth caramel crème brulée. The crunchy and slightly salty peanuts. The smooth milk chocolate ganache. Or the fluffly vanilla marshmallows.

I guess, I’m really happy with how those five components turned out together.

The pâte sucrée has a delicate taste of peanuts, and the necessary crispness. I chose to rolled it finely and bake it until it turned into a golden brown hue, because I loved the aroma of roasted peanuts; and this smells just like them.

I added peanuts to the caramel crème brulée to make things super*peanuty, plus to add some crunch.

As for the ganache and marshmallows. Well, I suppose you all know how heavenly they are.

When I look back, I realise that most of my days were spent lightly, even jokingly, complaining about how I never have enough time to turn all my ideas into real projects, how I’m always lacking that precious extra second.

All of a sudden, confronted with the unconfrontable, I didn’t have the choice but grasp the full measure of this situation, and the light and joking part of it disappeared.

Though hours, days and even months.

How in the world hadn’t I found the time – for those past twenty-three years – to make crème caramel?

I mean, my favourite dessert. And no time to make it.

These were totally impossible circumstances.

Sure, I was fed on my mother’s crème aux oeufs. Sure, I always ordered crème caramel when dining out. Sure, I make the most insanely delicious crème renversée au chocolat.

No crème caramel to be seen – or perhaps more appropriately – devoured.

You see, this is how I had first thought of introducing you this luscious crème caramel, inspired by Neil Perry but also by Linda.

And then came that show on much disregarded france 3.

Yes, that show about women in the fine food industry: somelières, cuisinières, maîtres d’hôtel or pâtissières. Seeing them being excited about what they do made my knees weaken, my stomach tear and my head spin.

And just as I’m writing this – live, really – I’m overwhelmed with an intense feeling of happiness, and the most definite anticipation.

While I used to count seconds backwards – wishing for extra hours to make my dreams come true – I’m now living them, and truly looking forward next semester during which I’ll finally start my pâtisserie training.

I am thrilled. Unstoppable. With joy-induced tears filling my eyes (who knew contact lenses could survive to such floods?).

Crème caramel toute simple
Inspired by Neil Perry’s The food I love.

This might be the simplest thing to make and yet it is one of my favourite dessert. I do seriously think I’ll choose crème caramel over any other fondants au chocolat or ice creams.

As you’ll see from the recipe, the baking time is quite loose as it really depends on your oven. I baked mine for 40 minutes and they turned out perfect.

The only thing that went wrong is the lack of runny caramel – but this is entirely my fault. I should have leaft the crèmes to chill overnight and not for just a couple of hours. Oh well, not too bad for a first time anyway.

Before I start blabbering about those beautiful caramels and also about one of the books I’ve recently read, let me stop you right away. I do not know a thing about Martha Stewart. Never seen her show. Never read her books. Never made a single of her recipes.
The closest I’ve gotten to Martha is the 2006 Christmas issue of Living. From the cover showing a beautiful rainbow of old-fashion Christmas ornaments to the hand-made parcel labels on page 58, I loved it. Simply gorgeous. And thoughtful too.

So I might be completely wrong, but as I was reading about Gus – Kate Jacobs’ Comfort Food central character – I couldn’t help but feel like I was in fact getting a grasp of Martha’s life (may it be my very own special Martha).

Gus is that woman I suspect many of you want to be. She can cook superbly. She has two beautiful daughters. And a very dear friend. She owns a lovely 7-bedroom mansion. And quite obviously, she has her own TV show and the appropriate books that go along with it.
Her only downside being the loss of her husband. And perhaps Carmen. You know, that younger and once Miss Spain woman the producers want on your show – yours and hers, that is.

And well, I loved reading about how Gus – who terrified to appear less than perfect, holds it all together – reacts; and how this situation affects her family dynamics. I’m sure you will love it as well. But given I’m terrible at book reviews, I can only suggest you buy the book. Read it. Then make the caramels au beurre salé I wanted to talk about in the first place.

Those things. They’re lovely. And totally make you feel like Gus, or Martha. Even our national domestic goddess – Nigella will do. This is all about instant gratification. Something that is easy to make, delicious to eat and wonderful to offer as a present.

And if you’re lucky enough to have your own show and doesn’t want that 30-something to, damn, co-host it; may I advise you to hand a little basket – adorned with a pretty ribbon if you feel like it – full of homemade soft caramels to your producer, who will love them and might hopefully die from suffocation after trying to swallow too many at a time.

Délicieux caramels au beurre salé

Caramels are one of those things that look very pretty – and happen to taste damn good, but that’s another story – but are somewhat messy to make.

First, when you add the butter and cream the mixture will seize. Don’t worry, just keep beating the hell out of it, and it will eventually turn into a sleek, glossy amber mixture. Then, when you slowly bring it to the appropriate temperature, it will form bubbles that will explode, looking like what I call the multi-mouths monster. And it just keeps getting worse and worse as it reaches 120°C.

Luckily, the finished products look neat. And yes, is totally to die for.

Pâte feuilletée [puff pastry] is one of those things that people don’t make, ahem, very often. You might, which you should be blessed for; but so far, I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t rely on store-bought puff pastry. I guess this is okay for most of us; I have to admit that whenever I have a tart craving and no time to make puff pastry, I prefer to quickly put a simple pâte brisée together and get on with the filling comme si de rien était.

However, come over on a Sunday morning and you’re likely to find me making pâte feuilletée. I just love to make puff pastry, see the beautiful cream-white layers come to life, fold the smooth dough. Oh yeah, this is good people and you should try. But if I’m being totally honest, the best thing I like about making puff pastry is to eat what I make with the scraps. You know, those little ribbons of dough that get cut during the making process: after the dough has been rolled and before folding, I trim the far ends of the dough so it looks like a proper rectangle.

Oh I know what you’re thinking. Those little buggers look totally unpretentious. Sure they have that lovely golden-brown colour, that endearing caramel aroma, but well, in the end they’re simply bâtonnets of puff pastry. But you’re oh so wrong.

Those people, are the unfussy* version of the fancy palmiers. Think crispy layers of sweet and caramelised puff pastry, which rank them quite high amongst my favourites. High enough for me to forget about my original tart cravings, which slowly morphes into roches carbonatées caramelisées du Carbonifère cravings as I roll and fold.
And in case you didn’t get it, I did name them caramelised Carboniferous carbonate rocks, for they look nowhere near a palm tree, but marine limestone beds, well, that will do. Quite obviously their name comes from the day I spent studying, or more accurately: procrastinating, for the oral de géologie I was supposed to take the next day by making pâte feuilletée and the so-called, feuilletés comme des roches carbonatées du Carbonifère.

* not that palmiers are difficult to make. They actually take the same time to be shaped, but just look different. Plus, since the folding is done in a different way, the palmier tend to expand horizontally; while those presque-palmiers grow vertically, which I really like.

Since those cookies are made from the scraps, this is anything but a recipe; more a sort of guideline to follow. Simply use plety of sugar and make sure the scraps of dough you start with are fridge-cold before beginning.

You preheat the oven to 240°C and line a baking sheet with baking paper.
You then dust your work plan with a good handful of golden sugar, pile the cold scraps of pâte feuilletée and finely roll them out. Dust the dough with more sugar and fold into three – just like you would do with a business letter. Roll out again, dust with sugar and fold.
You finally roll the dough into a half a centimetre thick* rectangle that’s about 10cm-wide and slice this into 1.5cm bâtonnets. Reduce the oven temperature to 190°C and bake until well puffed and golden, I’d say around 15-20 minutes.* if using proper finished puff pastry instead of scraps, roll the pastry way thinner, like 1 or 2 mm thick, or your presque-palmiers will grow tall then fall on the side in a twisted-style.

If after reading this you don’t need to make pâte feuilletée – that is just for having the chance to bite into one of those -, then I would suggest you pay your doctor a visit. By the way, this is totally a teaser for the pâte feuilletée 101 that will come later this week.

To me, nothing feels as comforting as the perfumes that always filled my great grandmother’s house. That slight musky scent from the thin layer of dust, which used to cover the bibelots that sat on the wooden shelves. Those green, almost lemongrass-like, notes – most certainly la verveine [verbena herbal-tea] she had before going to bed every night after a perfectly cooked meal washed down with a glass of red wine and some squares of bitter chocolate.
We used to get on so well. Me, the 8 year-old and her, still glowing after 85 years of a forceful life. I miss her. And her fragrance; at least, the fragrance I think about whenever Mémé comes to my mind. A pungent aroma; a combination of caramel, floral honey and almonds. Les florentins.

I loved to spend the day with her. I would watch her knitting or stitching the beautiful table cloth she later offered to my mum. After lunch, she would start making some sweet treats for le goûter; whether it was some gauffres, crêpes or sablés. But, really, nothing could beat her florentins.
She always started by making a caramel with sugar and honey, then deglazing it with full-fat cream. She would toast some roughly chopped blanched almonds, add them to the golden-brown caramel, and pour this over a thin layer of pâte sablée. I can remember the countless times when I burnt myself by trying to pick some of the piping hot almond and caramel mixture with my fingers. Patience has never been one of my virtues; definitely never.

She’s gone for seven years now and yet I hadn’t found the courage to make her florentins. But well, sometimes life pushes you and before you realise it you’re doing something you never thought yourself capable of.
One day, still an intern at Pierre Hermé Paris, as I arrived to the laboratoire, I was told by Guilhem ‘aujourd’hui, on fait les florentins‘ [today, we'll make florentins]. This was my fate after all. So I made florentins. And tasted them. The happy memories brought by the first bite made my day. I wasn’t sad. It just felt natural. As if I had been rewarded for those seven years of patience during which I didn’t make or eat florentins. Trust me, those were tough years. Make them and wonder how I managed to resist for so long. Mémé je t’aime fort.

Les florentins de mon arrière grand-mère
Adapted from Mémé’s recipe and inspired from Pierre Hermé’s process.

My great grandmother’s florentins’ recipe is quite close to Pierre Hermé (I’m just she would have jumped from joy if she knew it). However, she didn’t use orange peels and obviously didn’t need a thermometer, which I certainly couldn’t do without. But then, she could make candied chestnuts – something I tried and screwed during the holidays.
She also used coarsely chopped almonds while I decided to go for sliced almonds, just because they look pretty.

Regarding the steps, none of them is difficult. You simply have to make sure to spread the caramel and almond mixture quickly enough so it doesn’t get all sticky. The key is to work fast on a hot pastry crust. If this sounds intimidating to you, you can toast the almonds slightly before incorporating them to the caramel so its temperature doesn’t drop too much.

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.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I do feel like I’m getting insane. Wait, I am insane.
I just signed up for NaBloPoMo. Yes, I know, I’m five-day late. And yes, I know – or more accurately – I don’t know how the heck I am going to post every single day for the next thirty days.

Although there are chances that I’m not insane already, check back around the 5th of December and then, you shall find a haggard-looking-and-incoherent-talking me.
I warned you.

My insanity might sound exciting to you but to be honest, I’m quite not looking forward to it. Coincidentally, I also happen to be clever (and modest) and found the remedy to my expected breakdown: diversion.

It occurs every year. Sometime, between September and November, I re-discover how wonderful tarts are. Indeed, most of my tart-baking takes place during autumn, when leaves are bright red and winds become icy.

I have to admit though, that I do like a summer tarte aux fruits rouges et à la crème pâtissière; but warm, hearty tarts always feel perfect yet special. And it shows: apple tart, pumpkin pie, nutella tart, fig and almond crostata and tarte au citron meringuée are favourites in my house.
What is that thing that makes tarts so appropriate for autumn days?
I think they are the ideal way to celebrate autumn harvest. A simple crust makes for the most humble look and emphasises the quality of the produce.

When I spotted that beautiful walnut and honey tart in Skye Gyngell’s A year in my kitchen, I immediately liked it – the materialisation of my dream tart. Simply the best way to enjoy the delicious organic honey and the fresh walnuts my grand-mother gave me.

Is anyone still thinking about how insane I am? See, I’m that good at diversion.

Delicious honey and walnut tart
Adapted from Skye Gyngell’s A year in my kitchen

This tart is downright delicious. It is sweet, but the slight bitterness of the walnuts nicely balances the creamy honey flavour.
The pastry is a doodle to work with. Just mix everything until it comes together, chill and roll. It doesn’t shrink during cooking and yields to a crisp flaky crust.
The filling, a combination of walnuts (I used fresh ones – better enjoy them now as the season is really short) and honey butterscotch sauce, is yummy.
I served it with a dollop of good AOC Isigny crème fraiche to bring tanginess and a creamy texture.
Now, that’s comfort for a cold autumn day.
This tart will keep well for 3 to 4 days. So you really have no reasons not to make it.

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.