Two days, four bowls of Thai chicken soup, twenty hours of sleep, and a singing cab driver later, I’m finally emerging from the nightmare that flu is.

Only to let you know, I loved all of your ideas. Some made me laugh, some made me think.

The secret ingredient was beetroot.

And believe me, this cake has become a number one favourite.

You see, when I first made it, I wanted to try two new things – because, after all, this little journal here is made for things that I can’t experiment with at work.

A beetroot cake.
And this lovely sprinkle and bonbons frosting.

I had more eggs, butter, flour and sugar in my cupboard that I can admit; a couple of raw organic beets sitting in the fridge. And a major disappointment: every recipe I’d found called for cooked beetroots.

Now, I’m not saying I didn’t want to spend three hours waiting by the oven for the precious little rubies to become soft and sweet, but I knew – deep-inside – I could just grate them finely.

So I did.

Gâteau à la betterave

This recipe is a keeper. The texture is out of this world and the cake will keep moist for days. Here I made two small cakes, one for now, and one kept – tightly wrapped in clingfilm – in the freezer, for later.

But really you could bake it in a 24cm pan or in a loaf tin. Just make sure you adjust the baking time accordingly: a small knife, inserted in the middle of the cake should come out clean.

The fresh beets add so much more than just colour. They make the cake moist – the same way carrots do in a carrot cake – and bring a lovely yet subtle earthiness.

I’m giving you the recipe for the cream cheese frosting, because we all need a good reliable one in times of need. But keep in mind that the cake is equally delicious cold and frosted than it is slightly warm – from a short trip in the microwave from frozen – and naked.

And just for the record – and for your personal enjoyment (read: burst into laughs with tears and all), when I say stand-mixer, I really mean mixer standing on a loaf of sliced bread.

Please don’t try this at home!

As a child, I thought my dad was the coolest person to hang out with. And since he was – and still is – a work at home dad, I did get to spend a lot of time with him.

He would take me to his tennis tournaments, for tea at Rohr, to some fishing parties, or on the chantier [building site] he was working on.

And in between all of these, we would unconditionally stop at a café or a bistrot where he would get me a lait fraise [strawberry milk].

A couple of days ago, as I landed on the French soil again after a night made of blur and tears, he greeted me with a roadtrip to St Tropez and a somewhat obvious – and quite providential to tell the truth – halt at a bar.

This time, lait fraise wasn’t ordered, but a glass of white wine felt like the perfect fit.

And just being there, sitting in the sun on a less-comfortable-to-admit-it designer chair, sipping through some golden drink-me potion, and maybe more importantly, spending time with the right people, everything fell into place.

Sometimes, it does take longer than you’d think to find out that what you’re loosing might just have been what you – in fact – needed.

But it also takes some time to discover what opportunities the loss will bring.

And after a much essential grief state, it’s now the right moment to move on. Preferably under the sun, with a bottle or two of wine and the right people.

A slice of vanilla cheesecake served with the very first strawberries might also help.

Cheesecake à la vanille at aux fraises

Containing no flour, this cheesecake is all you would dream about. Thick, rich and creamy, it’s the closest I could get to the New York cheesecake I’ve never had.

I baked it in a classical 18 cm cake pan with a removable base lined with foil so the water from the bain-marie wouldn’t get in.
I chose to bake it at 140°C because my oven is fan-assisted and thus, feels really stronger than any other oven I’ve had in the past.

Whatever your oven is, just make sure you never bake it over 170°C.

As for the time, I would say around one hour, but make sure you check it every now and then after 45 minutes. It is baked when the centre is still a bit wobbly. Don’t worry it will set as it cools down.

I like to use whole-wheat digestive biscuits for the base as it gives a nice earthy contrast.

Whenever I’m stuck in a kitchen, where all I have on hands are a couple of Pyrex bowls, a hand-held mixer, and an oven; well, I must admit I feel a bit lost.

Now, this might be a common statement, but I haven’t spent much time in a home kitchen – let alone made pastries in a home kitchen – for the past eleven months.

It’s not that I don’t like pâtisserie anymore.

In fact, I’ve never been so smitten with it as I am right now. It’s just that I get to have my daily fix every day, at the pâtisserie Lac.

But when – the much needed – holidays came I, all of sudden, started to make things. Over and over. At home, or to be more accurate, at my grand-parents’ house.

Read: I cut out the bottoms of metal cans to make cercles. I used baking paper instead of rhodoid. I whipped cream with a hand-held mixer. And I probably did many more unusual – at least for the pâtissière I’ve become – things I couldn’t even describe.

By the end of the week, I had a nice collection of homemade pastries: a fondant au chocolat, strawberry meringues, a tiramisu, fruit focaccias, and a raspberry charlotte.

Charlottes are one of those desserts I will never get tired of.

Think of it. Their endless customisation make them the most versatile entremets you could dream of.

The one I made during my off-time certainly don’t look perfect. Store-bought biscuits cuillère, and visible mousse. There, I’ve said enough.

FAIL.

In fact, a proper berry charlotte should: 1. use homemade biscuits, and 2. have plenty of fruits piled on top.

A little like the charlotte below that I made a couple of weeks ago, on the same day my camera decided to fall in love with error 99, and thus, let me down.

Hence the nasty pictures. Oh, I did cry on that day.

And then, I escaped to Fouras.

With its many flowers, endless bike promenades and a garden office (more appropriately, a table, a chair and a huge umbrella, right at the end of the garden = the only place I could access the internet from).

There, the neighbour was sweet enough to let my sister and I pick raspberries from the bushes she grows.

As soon as I graced ny lips with one of those plump berries, I felt like I had never tasted a real raspberry before.

Juicy. Sweet. Flavoursome.

And made a charlotte aux framboises with them. 

So simple it hurts. So good it hurts too. I have to confess that it’s sometimes nice to feel hurt, doesn’t it?

Charlotte aux framboises et au fromage blanc
This is a slightly more elaborate version of the charlotte that is part of one of my earliest food memories. I love to make this during summer while plenty of berries are available, but it also make a good winter dessert. Think pears.

If fromage blanc isn’t available where you live, just use plain live yoghurt instead.

It all started with the crazy cool idea of making my own coconut extract. Something I had been dreaming about for years without thinking I would actually one day get rid of the horrid fake-tasting stuff my cupboard is full of (I tend to stock it every time I visit Jane Asher’s shop because it tends to disappear quite quickly).

Now it’s done. Delicious coconut extract, which also happens to make delicious vodka shots.

Trust me (however, I’m strongly against drinking while baking, dangerous things can happen in one tiny kitchen).

The next step was quite obviously the coconut cupcake. A delicate-crumbed cake, subtly flavoured with our extract, the water from the coconut itself, and some homemade coconut milk. Smooth ricotta as a frosting. And a pile of fluffy grated fresh coconut.

Of course, since I intended to serve this for breakfast, I had a light hand on the frosting; but if you’re feeling sweeter than me, please make an Italian meringue and pile it on your little cupcakes.
I hope a bite at those will encourage you to participate to September’s Sugar High Friday. Please. Pretty please.

Fresh coconut cupcakes with ricotta frosting
Adapted from Alton Brown.

I love this cake. The crumb is so fine it’s divine. It will melt in your mouth as it hits your tongue.
Of course, it will taste better if you make your own extract, however, if you don’t have the time or will, I recommend you just skip it. No fake stuff, please.

You can also turn this into a layer cake, as Alton does, but I think cupcakes work nicely here, because you get an even part of caramelised crust and soft inner, all at the same time.

Since we’re going to work with fresh coconut here, I think it’s time I share my secret about how to open a coconut when you’re a girl.
Preheat the oven to 180°C. Place the coconut onto a folded towel set down in a large bowl. Using a screwdriver, hammer holes into the eyes of the coconut. Turn the coconut upside down over a container and drain the water from the coconut. Store the water in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week. Place the coconut onto a baking sheet and bake in the oven for 15 minutes or until cracked. Place the pieces into a bowl of iced water and when cool enough to handle, separate the flesh from the husk. Wrap as is, or grate it; and store in the fridge.

And don’t forget. Sugar High Friday is running until the 26th of September. So put your aprons on. Get your wooden spoon and whisk. And make cupcakes!

Believe it or not, but I’ve made pâte à choux twice in the past couple of days; and nope, no flat little choux buns were involved. This might not sound special; but trust me – if you’re unaware of my choux-bun-helplessness – it is.

Choux pastry is something I love to make. I mean don’t you dream about not feeling your own arm anymore, because you’ve just beaten three whole eggs into a thickish dough, which tends to split as you do so? Come on! Admit it, you love it too.
Well, I do. But choux buns. Oh no; these definitely don’t love me back. They probably even hate me; and that’s a massive understatement.

We all know how the story ends. On a random day, I decide to overcome this feeling, persuading myself that choux buns do actually love me. After all, there just made of flour, milk, water, salt, butter and – breathe – eggs.
So, yes, I make pâte à choux. It looks sleek and pretty, and has the most wonderful smell. I gently pipe it onto a lovely baking sheet. And bake. And cry.

During my whole life, I might have gotten choux buns right once or not twice. Not a single time more. So well, after giving up for a year, I made it again. Thanks to the NY Times magazine – yeah, finally a two-way relationship!

When I spotted the recipe for herbed fritters, my heart felt quite excited. How could fromage blanc and chives folded into pâte à choux then fried could taste bad? And, perhaps more importantly, how could I possibly failed that?
Frying. This is like totally different from baking. Three different letters, and a couple of litres of oil later, I found myself dropping little balls of the most beautiful dough ever into some bubbling greasiness. It felt good. Quite dangerous –yes – but I’m wild and fearless, so that doesn’t count.

Anyway, since I got such terrific results, I decided to love the NY Times even more. And even got the idea to make one recipe from it every week. Oh, I know, those don’t looks as yummy as the frosted cake and luscious tart I got you used to; but well, they pretty much have the same calorie content!

Choux croustimoelleux au fromage blanc et à la ciboulette
Adapted from the NY Times.

This is quite straightforward a recipe. If you know how to make pâte à choux, then you’re done. And it happens to actually be true as well if you don’t know a thing about choux.

You first make the pâte à choux. Heat the milk, water and butter together, then throw in the flour and salt in one go. Now using a wooden spoon, mix the dough like mad until it forms a ball. Finally mix in the eggs, one at a time. Here I have a couple of things to add: 1) you needn’t a stand mixer, keep using your wooden spoon. And 2) you might not need the entire third egg, so what I advise you to do is to crack it into a small bowl, mix it with a fork until smooth and slowly pour half ot it onto the dough. If it feels right, add more. If not, throw the remaining egg mixture away.

Once the dough is made, it should be used immediately, so I can only recommend heating the oil before you even start making the dough.
Making the fritters is just a matter of folding: some fromage blanc – which you can substitute with ricotta, a handful of chopped chives, and freshly ground pepper.

Then comes the frying. Be careful. I decided to pipe the dough into the hot*hot oil. Basically, I filled my piping bags with the dough, squeezed it over the oil and cut it – using my tiny pair of scissors – to form little balls.
Oh and yes, while I’m at it. I don’t own a thermometer that goes high enough in temperature, so I just rely to the dip-it test; i.e. spoon a little of the dough and se it it pops up and float. If it does, the oil is hot enough; falling that just wait for an extra couple of minutes before trying again.

Before I start I should warn you. When I’m sick, I love to complain. And well, as my body temperature has now reached 39.7°C, I guess I wouldn’t be wrong if I said I am indeed ill. For the third time in less than a month.
I’m really starting to wonder where the heck my lucky-start has gone.
Note: you, yes you know who you are, who have stolen *my* star. Please bring it back. Right now.

Does anyone care about the fact that I’m so sick I can’t move from my bed (only slightly exaggerating here)? Hmmm not really. I know you want sophisticated desserts. And eye-catching entremets. And sweet tarts. And fluffy cakes. And trust me, I want them too. But right now only soups and savoury comfort food seem to be right. Foodbeam might turn into soupbeam. How yummy is that?

Today, while the pain killers were slowly making their job – giving me a couple of hours of relied, I made what appeared to be the best for me. Something with honey. To soothe my sore throat, you know. Something with rosemary. Known, along with thyme, as being a natural anti-bacterial agent. Something with cheese. Just because I love cheese.
It was good. And I’m sure that if I could smell, I would have referred to it as great. I might have to taste it again later during the week, when I’ll finally be better (although, I’m so pessimist right now that I feel like it’s never going to end – never).

By chance, the cake – or loaf cake, in correct English – was a doodle to make. The egg whites are whipped. The egg yolks, honey, butter, rosemary and flour are mixed. The egg whites are folded in. The cheese is eaten and what remains is incorporated into the batter. The loaf is baked and left to cool. The loaf is good.

Cake au miel, romarin et gorgonzola
Adapted from Elle à table.

This loaf is moist and flavourful. Egg whites, baking powder and baking soda are used as leaveners. But its fluffiness mostly comes from the egg whites, so you should take care to whip them until they for firm peaks.
The recipe calls for gorgonzola, but I decided to use gorgonzola-mascarpone cheese since that’s what I had in my fridge. But to be honest, I do think it added pleasing creaminess without cutting too much on the flavour.
The honey isn’t too noticeable. Just enough to bring a great contrast with the saltiness of the cheese.
As you can see from the picture, my loaf quickly became dark on top. SO do not hesitate to cover it with foil after 30 minutes.

There must be something wrong about me people. I mean, something really wrong. I wouldn’t be lying if I said that I love to spend days making the finest entremets. That’s not a problem though. However, what’s concerning is the fact that I also find pleasure in combining a couple of ingredients to produce flavourful dishes.
Looks like a bipolar syndrome to me. Yes, it’s that bad.

I mean, I can certainly understand why, when you put a lot of efforts into a dish it turns out great. What I can’t figure out is how one or two ingredients, when nicely arranged, can yield to eye-catching and mouth-watering results. Totally magic. And addictive. And convenient. Especially when you have to make one recipe a day, because you’re slightly insane, remember?

At first, it got me excited. Alors ça peut être facile et bon?
Now, it’s another story. It seems I just can’t help it. Whenever I spot a simple recipe that sounds nice, I have to make it.

When I received my copy of Vogue E + T, which happens to be my favourite magazine by the way (you can so totally renew my subscription for the sake of pâtisserie, if you wish to), and saw that gorgeous apple, vanilla and goat’s cheese crostata on the cover, I knew I would make it.
A little sugar and butter, some good apples, a hint of vanilla and some goat’s cheese. Can it get simpler than that?

As usual, the result was beyond my expectations. Not so good for the bipolar syndrome I’m trying to get rid of though. But who cares, honestly? Just get yourself a nice plate, a spoon and a slice of that beautiful crostata, and trust me, you won’t care at all.

Short note: yeah, this is totally your birthday cake. Thanks for being there for me, and happy birthday. I *heart* you.

Apple, vanilla and goat’s cheese crostata
Adapted from Vogue Entertaining and Travel.

Yes, it’s a tart. Again. But well – how can I say it without sounding bossy – you have to make it.
A thin layer of puff pastry (wish I had had the time to make my own) is covered with apples and creamy goat cheese.
The apples, which are rapidly cooked in a mix of butter, sugar, and vanilla, with a hint of vinegar, are soft and sweet but still retain their shapes.
The goat’s cheese adds a wonderful richness to the tart, along with a pleasing saltiness that perfectly balances the sweetness of the apples.

It all starts with a failure. I am there, standing in the kitchen. My mouth is full of chocolate, my left arm dusted with flour and the fork I am holding is still carrying a bitten piece of oozing chocolate cake.
Oh and before I forget: I also have a gorgeous dark-brown stroke left by the cake batter of my forehead.

Once again, I managed to produce the most perfect fondant au chocolat ever. The only problem being that I initially intended to make brownies, not a chocolate fondant.
Maybe David is right. I am just not American enough to make brownies.

I know how you’re feeling right now; slightly confused. How can she pretend she cannot make brownies when I can clearly see that picture above – yes, you know, the one with the gorgeous crusty yet moist and intensely chocolaty brownies?
Notes:
- a little self-persuasion can do no harm, ahem, right?
- abusive use of adjectives – oh my… foodbeam will so never be popular; I am dying.

Clearly, I overcame my lack of American-ism and made actual brownies-like brownies.
This is the result of years of labour though, and quite obviously I haven’t completely become an American (hint: just check the way I wrote labour; oh my… again).
However, as a French girl I tend to be stubborn. Ok, well, I’ll admit it: it might just be me.
So yeah, I had to become as American as possible. I tried. Hard.
I was even ready to catch that weird pronunciation thing that only American (and Canadian, to be accurate) have – like replacing Ts with Ds. The most difficult word definitely was liddle instead of my usual little.
I also had to forget some of my old-life words – aluminium (did I ever mention that I’m currently writing a thesis on the impact of aluminium icing sugar on cupcake frostings), football, pernickety (anyone knows what it means by the way). Oh, yes, these totally are the three words I use the most when I talk.
Once the brain reprogramming was completed, the next step was the use of (please, you sensitive British people who are reading this, it is now time to close your eyes and put your iPod on): cups and spoons. Now, that was violent.
Eventually, and despite the fact that I still can’t get myself to write colour like color or centre like center, I managed to make delicious brownies, which I’m sure David would rave about.
It took me quite a long time to come up with the perfect egg to flour to butter to chocolate to sugar ratios, but I made it.
I think the fact that I wanted to be a professional baseball player when I was younger might have helped and not just slightly helped. I mean, one has to know how to handle a baseball bat to make brownies.

I guess we should just all focus for a moment and imagine how good the brownies made by Coco Crisp (for those of you, who so unlike me, don’t know a thing about baseball, Coco Crisp, whose name is pretty sweet, is a great outfielder for the Boston Red Sox) must be.

Totally coco crisp(y) ricotta and brownies torte
Ricotta cheesecake adapted from the Rose Bakery cookbook.

These brownies are totally coco crispy. If you’re not familiar with my own personal language coco means absolutely fantastic.
The brownies part, which took me so long to come up with, is moist with a thin crackled top and a fudgy chocolate centre.
It does qualify, in my opinion, as proper delicious brownies. At least, I hope so; and actually, if it’s not the case, these brownies totally do it for me and the people (including friends from the US) who tasted them.

The ricotta cheesecake part is fluffy and creamy, and packed with vanilla seeds for both taste (now, that is tasty) and look (who doesn’t love a feathery white batter speckled with tiny vanilla seeds?).

I usually make the brownies alone, but when I saw Pauline’s ricotta marbled brownies, I had to make some. Basically, I just took my basic and reliable brownies recipe to which I added the ricotta cheesecake marbles.
If you want plain brownies, leave the ricotta cheesecake part out and prepare yourself to dig into the most delicious brownies ever.

When I just make regular brownies, I love to use salted butter, which gives a nice contrasting touch. If you choose to do so, please use high-quality salted butter (I just recently became aware that the salted butter sold in the US is very different from the one I get in France. As usual, if you have any doubts about the ingredients you should use, just email me.

Honestly, I don’t know many cooks who don’t mind when they fail in the kitchen. But somehow, I think that every single person has une bête noire – something they don’t succeed in every time when cooking.
Well, I might just assume this because I have my own anathema. Indeed, it seems I can never find the right balance of texture for a number of batters. It tends to always be on the too-runny side; always!
When I whip egg whites, I get so panicked by the thought of a grainy mass (indicating that the egg whites have been overwhipped), that I just stop too early. And although, I am fully aware of this fact, it remains exactly the same, time after time. As you can imagine, this is a huge problem when making meringues, pavlova, tiramisu or macarons. Luckily, after a quick stay in an egg-whites rehab – otherwise known as Cloud-like Paradise -, I managed to overcome my fears and whipped up egg whites to perfection.
Still, the problem wasn’t solved as the pâte à choux-dilemma was still is the way. And to tell the truth, I had no intention whatsoever to beat that phobia. Having tried and failed in the past, I just decided that choux were simply not for me; I would say to people: ‘Oh you know, we don’t get along very well, that’s life’.

However, when I received a copy of Leçon de cuisine about pâte à choux, I took it as a sign, and decided to make some gougères.
Gougères are a classique in the French cook’s repertoire (seems I was/am the only person not to be able to make them – I was jinxed at my birth, I tell you). They are small savoury choux; usually flavoured with gruyère.

Do you have any bête noire in your kitchen? Please, say yes so I don’t feel lonely ;)

Gougères au piment de Cayenne et au parmesan
Inspired by Sébastien Serveau’s Leçon de cuisine – pâte à choux

These chilli pepper and parmesan gougères make for a somewhat original nibble and are delicious served with Champagne.
I did twist the recipe a little; first, I preheated my oven to 200°C instead of the suggested 150°C (never seen choux pastry baked at such a low temperature), then I incorporated some parmesan into the dough to give more flavour and added some Cayenne pepper flakes to give a spicy kick.
The end-result was more than satisfactory with the fifty puffs disappearing in less than five minutes (only four people involved there ;))

While I can’t say that I totally master the pâte à choux process, I am proud to have faced this fear. Well, as you can see, the choux are rather flat and not very puffy – maybe I should try using only water next time (although I heard Pierre Hermé saying that it’s the combination of milk and water that gives the best results) as I’ve seen some beautiful choux there and the recipe doesn’t call for milk. Any advice?