It was a day before the winter solstice. The service finished late. But we quickly threw our whites to the piling laundry, only to venture into the real white.

The wild white.

Many glasses of champagne later, we went home. I slipped twice. He couldn’t stop laughing. He slipped once. I burst into tears; of the happy kind.

Warm and scarfless. He took my hat off. My hair was electric.

We had a couple of peanut butter fudges. And had a race to bed. I won, because he always lets me to. We fell asleep without brushing our teeth.

And somehow, I’m still amazed about how it’s sometimes the smallest details that matter the most.

Those fudge squares, even if they’ve already been made three of four times in the past, will – from now on – remind me about that night. The night when autumn turned into winter. And the snow into rain.

And rather evidently, the night I forgot about my advent calendar. Blame the champagne for this.

But I’m making up for this. Today. With little squares so good that lovers would choose to eat them before they even got a chance to kiss.

Fudge au beurre de cacahuètes
Adapted from Sophie Dahl.

Those are sweet. Too sweet for some, perfect for the rest of us. I like to use crunchy peanut butter for the texture. And I’m almost certain they would make a lovely gift, if wrapped into pretty paper.

I cut mine into 4×4cm squares, but you could as well make smaller cubes for an guiltless treat.

I wish I could talk about how much I love recreating classics or old favourites. I find it’s the perfect way to highlight the beauty of what was once created and eaten with great joy.

It’s a bit like being in love. For real. You get both the comfort of having someone so close and the excitement of discovering him everyday under a new light, which you happen to be completely crazy about.

Oh yeah, I wish I had the time to develop. But right now, my alarm is set in just a little over five hours. So it’s going to be brief.

An awaken dream before the actual ones start to take over.

An idea. Just because I could have made it perfect, but was once again short of time, short of a good pecan pie recipe, and slightly short of rational thoughts after the bottles of wine we’d shared before I started plating the dessert for our very own little party.

Just the two of us.

But this version tasted delicious. The creaminess and subtle floral flavour of the bavaroise stood against the sweet crunch of the nuts rather beautifully.

Tarte aux noix de pécans

I can’t really call this a recipe, but more a guideline to follow. I have no records of the proportions. But I can only urge you to try.

Or even better, come up with your very own twist on a favourite. Because, pastry should be fun and fearless.

And please, someone give me your absolute go-to pecan pie recipe. Please, please, please!
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I believe in traditions. Mostly, when the air starts to get crisp and the sunsets early.

We have breakfast for dinner. We take pictures out of the doors. We continue knitting a scarf, which was first started a couple of years ago. We roast pumpkins. We have hot chocolate on the patio, cosily wrapped in a blanket. We read written words.

And we make apple strudel.

I believe in traditions that will make our hearts warmer when the temperatures go down.
They surround us with comfort and love.

And this is why I love autumn and winter so much. However, it’s been slightly harder for me this year to find my way through golden leaves and acorns on the pavement.

But as a reminder of why things have to be as such, Anna-Sarah came over and we made a delicious apple, cinnamon and walnut strudel.

Just like we did the year before.

And quite instantly, the whole process of peeling apples, sprinkling them over the stretched dough followed by generous handfuls of cinnamon and walnuts tamed my fear of cold nights.

This time, the cake that so gloriously calls for frosty winds and an amber-brown cup of tea was ready just before the sun went down. And made the perfect end to an otherwise delicious dinner.

A couple of days later, I travelled from one home to another. Landing in London was tougher than I expected. If autumn was just on its way back in France, here things were somewhat different.

And by different, I really mean one thing: rain.

So I decided to make it happen. Armed with a thick wool-scarf and some mitten, I made a pact with myself.

A pact that smelled like grass after a misty day.
A pact that smelled like a piping-hot latte by the Serpentine.

Apple, cinnamon and walnut strudel
Adapted from Claire Clark’s Indulge.

I remember the first time we made this recipe. A perfect day for baking, with rain, wind and even a power-cut.
A year later, it has become our love letter to autumn.

And honestly, who could blame us? Warm and deeply-flavoured, this cake makes for the most comforting thing to eat, let alone to make.
The process involves a lot of dough-stretching, which should not scare you as Claire’s dough is a delight to work with. We always do this in a four-hand style, but I’m pretty confident you could pull this off with just a pair.

That night, we served it with a slightly salty caramel sauce. This one. And it worked perfectly as the filling is not too sweet .

In my world, nothing matches the happiness of being in love. As a matter of fact, I love being in love. The goosebumps, the thrill, the excitement.

Nothing. Except, perhaps, the development process of a new pâtisserie. It starts with an idea, jotted down in a small notebook. Always the same black leather bound. Always the same felt tip pen.

And then, I get dirty. Taste. And adjust.

Most of the times, it’s far from perfect. But despite being the entremet girl that I am, I still feel that rush whenever I manage to come up with something that doesn’t look like a stack of sponge, mousse and intérieur.

I like to call it minimalism. When in fact, it’s just the result of my inability to decompose and arrange on a plate.

The latest victim was a lovely white chocolate and honey sponge with poached apricots and a quenelle of pistachio ice-cream. And trust me, it tasted pretty damn fine.

So I plan to share the recipe. And rant about how I wish I was better at making desserts look pretty. As soon as I will have caught up with my bed. I miss it. So.

Do you remember when, a couple of days ago, I told you that 1) I had no recipe to share, and 2) Jamie’s chicken is the base of our food diet?

(I made sure to quote the two facts above so it’s really clear in your heads right now.)

Well, I have to confess that I lied. The evidence being the absolutely gorgeous maple, pecan and banana granola we eat daily with a good dollop of yoghurt for me, and a dash of milk for Guillaume.

I didn’t mean to hide this from you. In fact, I even took one picture with my favourite film camera (adequately called Pentax ME Super) thinking I would have time to take cleaner pictures with my digital Canon.

The jar containing our granola got a little emptier every day. But nobody in the house seemed to notice.

And then it happened.

One day, between the third and fourth of December, I woke up to an empty jar.

This means: 1) no pretty picture, and 2) that this granola is the best ever. I mean, one-plus kilogram of cereals, nuts and dried fruits; ten days, two people.

Yes, it’s evident that we had it for breakfast every single day, looking down on the usual favourite: fried bacon and toast.
And this comes from two people, who has much as they love pâtisserie, would rather eat a whole camembert than a chocolate bar.

* This is a French song children use to tease each others when they find out one of them is in love. It’s highly possible that this is now too 80s for those who are now seven-ish and already playing with iPhones (gosh, I do sound like an old lady, SCARY) though.

Pecan, maple, and banana granola
As with most granolas, this recipe is quite versatile. You can add more nuts, or some dried fruits; if your feeling decadent, fold in chopped chocolate in your cooled granola is always comforting. Or perhaps, switch the maple syrup for honey.

In fact, I must admit we also love a version made with sunflower seeds, honey, and dried apricots. The only thing is that we like to keep it simple. Three flavours: one type of nut, one type of liquid sweetening, and one type of dried fruit.
But really, make it your own by all means, and you’ll have a ready-to-eat breakfast for at least one week or two.

Regarding the process, things couldn’t get easier. You have the dried ingredients and the wet ones. Just combine everything. Bake until crisp, then mix in you dried fruits.

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.

Do you remember that time when cream pies were being thrown at foodbeam? Well, this would be so very appropriate. Again.

The thing is that, aside from the long overdue bûches de Noël manifesto and the launch of la moustache, I’ve made a promise to Tony. A promise about something very exciting.

A taste of Mediterranean. Seven months, seven countries, seven co-hosts, seven prizes. January is all about France. And being the damn-busy-blogger-which-never-actually-posts French girl that I am, Tony asked me to join the team.
We both agreed that tarts would be a pretty sweet theme. Traditional yet versatile. And the very essence of French pâtisserie.

So no cream pies for today; hopefully you’ll like the tarte bourdaloue just as much.

As with many of the pastries I make at home, this tart has its own story. You see, I had to make it. To get ready for my first exam as a pâtisserie apprentie. Yes, you read right. A pastry exam. How terrific does that sound to you?
I must admit, I felt that way too.

A French classic. Crisp and sweet pâte sucrée, rich crème d’amandes, and delicate poached pears. I’m not certain about it, but from memory, I’d say it was named after the street on which it was first created. La rue Bourdaloue.
And, take my words for granted, this tart alone make me wish I had made a little détour by that street.

The recipe, which was handed me down by the school, is too easy to follow to be true. A dream. The pâte sucrée – made of flour, butter, sugar and eggs – gives a sweet shortbread-like dough. Effortless yet one of the best pâtes sucrées I’ve ever made. It’s a treat to work with, making the whole rolling and draping process a matter of seconds. And promise, it won’t shrink in the oven!
The crème d’amandes is a creamy (pleonasm alert!) tart filling made of butter and ground almonds, with a hint of vanilla, and a little flour to bind it all.
The poached pears bring some nice texture, and since they’re not poached in syrup but in water (with many split vanilla beans) they tend to cut the sweetness.

Hopefully, this will have gotten you inspired and you’ll come up with a pretty pretty version of what you perceive as the ultimate French tart. But mostly, have fun and create. And you might end up winning a fifty-dollar gift certificate.

As a side-note, I shall tell you the exam went really well. And yes, I’ll share the actual recipe for this tart soon, but well I’m in London right now with no access to my favourite recipe binder.

Coming up next (for good), she who felt like she lived in a forest made of golden plastic trees where the snow would be chocolate mousse.

I realise I said the next pâtisserie Lac update would be about how I almost took part to a pastry challenge. To make one long story short, I had made an interesting entremet – hazelnut dacquoise, cream cheese mousse, pumpkin crème brulée, and roast-slash-confit pumpkin – in the aim to submit it to a panel of experienced pâtissiers. But, after a couple of month without hearing from the school, I was called and told I’d start the classes on the exact same week the challenge was hold; read, with less than twenty-four hours of notice.
Not the right time, but definitely the right entremet. That’s why I so intended to share it with you. Sadly, it got eaten quickly and I haven’t found the time to re-make it yet. Soon (as usual).

Short story turned rather longish, and as you might guess, things are pretty busy at the pâtisserie at this time of the year. With more than a thousand of bûches to make, trust me when I say I feel slightly tired; although damn happy would qualify as well.

This Christmas is nothing like I’ve ever had. And totally feels like a new experience, which – needless to say – gets me pretty excited. Imagine how electrifying it is to see Christmas under a new light. Like the new kid on the block. Well, yes, that’s right; I’m that new kid and really enjoy it.

Plus, I’ve finally revealed my true identity – aka, crazily random person who talks way too much (this, they already know about), and takes pictures of the food she makes and writes about it on the internet (the – no-longer – secret) – so I got to photograph every single of the bûches (eight of them, write-up coming as soon as I’ll have found my mental sanity) and a couple of other things. Including those pretty chocolate sapins [Christmas trees] the chocolatiers made.

I also have pictures of the chocolatiers themselves, but you don’t want to see that since they can’t help making funny faces in front of a camera (at least I now have a way to blackmail them if necessary!).

Hopefully, you won’t mind about how random this post is. I’ve barely slept for the past couple of days (hence the don’t-make-sense factor), but I so wanted to give you a glimpse of what actually happens at the pâtisserie these days. And, perhaps most importantly, I wanted to show you how gorgeous nuts, dried fruits and chocolate are when they combine their forces. Delicious too, but I think it’s barely necessary to mention this.

Anyway, I might take a nap now and come back later with a bûches de Noël manifesto.

Coming up next, she who felt like she lived in a forest made of golden plastic trees where the snow would be chocolate mousse (this was clearly written under the influence – of sleep-lack, bûches-making and evident randomness, the title might change or not).

This is how we love Christmas cake around here.

No, we’re not going insane. We just like how versatile it can be over the years. Never the same, yet not entirely different either.

This year, I’ve decided to combine our favourites from the past to create a unique and delicate cake. Most definitely number one of the Christmas cake hall of fame.
Picture plump and fragrant dried and glacé fruits, and whole almonds, held together in the shape of a cake thanks to a rich and moist batter.

Do make it now and you’ll have a lovely cake to devour on the twenty-fifth.

To make this cake you’ll need:
250g raisins
125g sultanans
300g dates, pitted
250g dried apricots
50g glacé cherries
1 candied mandarine
1 andied slice of lemon
3 vanilla beans
250g boiling water
250g whole almonds

Finely dice the candied mandarine and lemon slice.

Place all the fruits into a glasse bowl.

Using a sharp knife, cut the vanilla beans open, and scrape the seeds out. Add both to the fruit mixture.

Pour the boiling water over the fruits.

Cover tightly with cling film and allow to rest for a couple of hours, or until the water has been absorbed.

Do not forget to give it a gentle shake every now and then.

Meanwhile, toast the almonds. Heat a large frying pan and place the almonds in there. Cook over medium heat, shaking as you do so, until you can smell a definite almond aroma. Take care not to burn them, a couple of minutes should be enough to get the best from them.
I love how toasted almonds have that slight savouriness due to the smoky flavour. Try not to munch on them because they do add a nice crunch to the cake.

And get on with the batter:
170g butter, at room temperature
170g light brown sugar
200g flour
175g ground almonds
4 eggs
3 tbsp golden syrup
2 small apples

As usual, make sure you have all the ingredients ready: weighed and measured.

Start by creaming the butter. If you’re anything like me, you’ll never think of getting the butter to room temperature before making the cake. Luckily, I’ve developped a foolproof method. Place the cold diced butter into a heat-safe bowl and heat until half the butter is melted. Then quickly turn onto you’re stand mixer, which will do the remaining job.

Mix in the sugar.

And golden syrup.

Now, you need to peel and grate the apples. Discard the peels and cores. All you keep is the juicy flesh.
I don’t know about you but I love that first picture and totally think about printing, framing and hanging it onto my kitchen wall. Naked apples look good.

Mix in the flour and ground almonds, then the grated apples. It’s totally normal for the batter to look lumpy.

Finally fold in both the toasted almonds and plump fruits.

Preheat the oven to 140°C.

Fill two tins: one 16cm and one 18cm. As you can see from the picture above, I decided to go for a 18cm plus a thin 16cm and a tiny loaf. But really, do as you wish.

Bake the cakes for 1h30 or until firm to the touch. Allow to cool slightly before removing from the tins.

Wrap in parchment paper, and foil. And keep until ready to decorate.

Hopefully, I’ll see you again next week for an update on marzipan and fondant. In the meantime, I wish you all the best for the holidays – and the year to come. xx

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!