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.

Run to the downstairs kitchen. Tell Elliot – the pastry commis – to put a prune tart into the oven. Grab a large rectangle plate. Pipe a thin line of wine reduction. Drain a prune marinated in spiced wine. Place it on the plate. Take the roasted nibbed almonds box. Sprinkle a couple of them onto the plate for the Armagnac ice cream to sit on them later. Wait for the prune tart to be fully baked.

And observe the guys around. One is plating some salmon. Another is deep frying. Another is making soup. Another is cleaning the edges of a shiny white plate. The chef is checking the plates before they are sent.

Service please!

Elliot brings the soufflé tart. It looks like a golden cloud. I sprinkle one of its halves with icing sugar, then carefully place it on the far-left of the prepared plated. A quenelle of Armagnac ice cream, and a loud:

Service please! Table ten.

At the Capital Hotel, the downstairs kitchen could be described in a few words: hot, skilled and vibrant.
Plates are coming from the different sections on a matter of seconds. Waiters keep popping to call for starters, mains and desserts.

But as much as I love the excitement and rush, I must admit, I have a crush for those three-nights-a-week that I spent in the upstairs kitchen.

Up there, things are different. Quiet and slow.

Even when there is a party to be sent, we always do it in a restricted team. Three chefs, and one pastry chef.
All of a sudden, the usually-still room turns into a miniature version of the downstairs kitchen. We clear the central work plan, arrange plates, get that burner working, close the doors for maximum heat so the plates won’t go cold.

Then I hear a: desserts in ten minutes!

I have all the components for the prune tart ready. Red wine reduction, marinated prunes, isomalt sugar, Armagnac ice-cream.

The tarts themselves are in the oven. It’s time for some plating action. I un-clingfilm the pile of plates that have been prepared for me and start drawing lines of reduction across all of them.

You know the rest already…

PS. The pictures were taken with my film Pentax ME Super, which seems to be my camera of choice for the restaurant.

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

For the first time in many months, it’s been sunny for more than two days in a row. And when I say sunny it’s a definite understatement – it’s actually been damn hot, like ice-cream hot (more about ice-cream to come later this week).

But well, you see, my immune system decided not to cooperate. There was no way it would have allowed me to enjoy those beautiful days. Hence the strep throat as a result.

After two days spent in bed, I found the courage to hit the farmer’s market this morning. Since I was already awake by seven am, the place felt quiet and relaxing; and I took the time to have a chat with each producer I bought things from. So very nice.

I got courgettes and courgette flowers – ten of them for less than a euro; definitely one of the best surprises ever. Gorgeous little cantaloupe melons; didn’t you know you can tell when a melon is ripe from its peduncle? And more accurately, by the detachment of the peduncle. When the melon is ready for harvest, you can see little cracks around its peduncle.
I also picked lovely white peaches, which got crushed at the bottom of my basket; fresh pasta; organic home-cured ham; fragrant butter; young onions and the first tomatoes.
As well as the last cherries of the year. Gines, I’m told they’re called. To be honest I had never heard about such a variety before; they seem to be very close to griottes [sour cherries] – only slightly sweeter since it’s the end of the season.

And by the way, happy midsummer to you and your loved ones!

It all happens on purpose. A few months ago, I came across a couple of old notebooks. Notebooks I once valued as precious. Notebooks I wouldn’t go anywhere without. Notebooks I recorded my food-related ideas into. Notebooks that I thought would turn into a book.

Then, I suddenly realised how unrealistic all this was. By then, I was only nineteen and seriously believed I could publish my very own cookbook in a matter of seconds and if not seconds, minutes. So I eventually forgot about those notebooks, assuming the recipes I had created were meaningless.

And now, almost exactly four years later, as I opened the notebooks and decoded the writing, I couldn’t help but have this weird feeling that those words weren’t mine. They were better than mine.
Apparently, what I considered pointless a couple of years ago didn’t seem that bad. Although my way of cooking and more importantly, my penchant for la pâtisserie, have changed dramatically, this episode had a huge impact on my cookbook craving.

And then, I found that great self-publishing website, which sounded nice. So there I am, busiest than ever, wanting to write a cookbook for the people I love.

Oh I certainly know I’m supposedly opening an Etsy shop and adjusting the biscuit recipes of the company I’m an intern at and actively trying to be a daring baker and struggling to post regularly on foodbeam.

Does it seem reasonable then?

It definitely does not, but well, although I wish I actually had the time to do all those things, I’m just too excited about them not to try my best at making them come real.

While I always happen not to have as much time as necessary, I’m lucky enough to be able to take a breather now and then. This past week end at my grand-parents’ house just was the bol d’air I needed.

Some utterly vital hours spent indulging myself with all things beautiful, hoping for happy accidents and, as you may have guessed, baking. Just so I can feel reposed and inspired again.

Le clafoutis de ma grand-mère

I can’t talk about this without an unsubtle hint of delight in my voice. This, people, is one of my favourite recipes ever. The kind of recipes I wrote down on a post-it back when I could barely write my name right and have since kept in a secret notebook.

I like to eat clafoutis at any time of the day, even fridge-cold for breakfast. But it does actually make a nice dinner dessert when served with some sharp yoghurt ice-cream, or failing that, a dollop of sour cream.

La coupe glacée: pétale de rose et lychee with gaspacho de framboises.

I could share with you my foolproof recipe for a perfect tarte au citron meringuée [lemon meringue tart], my new exciting idea, the lovely places I discovered during my one-week road trip around les Alpilles, the best risotto ever to be made or even my method for flawless pâte sucrée. Yep, I could, but instead I’m spending my mornings at Pierre Hermé’s pastry shop – making pâtes, viennoiseries, sablés and brioches -, and my afternoon wandering around Paris.

Yesterday, I had lunch at Le café La Jatte – a lovely place located on the Jatte Island in Neuilly.
The food was simple yet elegant, with clean and fresh flavours: just the way I love it on a daily basis.

I started with a tartare de saumon d’Ecosse. The salmon was deliciously accompanied with a tangy fennel salad – a perfect match.

The chèvre frais moulé à la cuillère with concombre émincé and pamplemousse à la menthe fraîche was a hit too – ideal for a hot summer day.

Then I had wonderful lasagnes vegetariennes; these vegetarian lasagne had a great smoky flavour (brought by roasting the vegetables, I guess) that balanced the creaminess of the ricotta cheese.
My fellow lunch-er picked the daurade royale grillée, beurre citron-poivre,
pommes de terre roseval, which although scary-looking (am I the only one to find whole fish on the creepy-side?) was utterly delicious.

As a I-want-to-be-a-pastry-chef person, I had to have dessert – to taste, you know.
I chose a very aromatic pêche rôtie served with glace à la vanille Bourbon and amandes caramélisées. The peach, which is roasted, has a delightfully soft and sweet flesh.

The coupe glacée * : pétale de rose et lychee with gaspacho de framboises was fresh and as you can guess, inspired by Pierre Hermé’s signature entremet: Ispahan.
* I just love the old-fashioned connotation of the words! (I know, I know, useless note, but I had to say it).

As you may imagine, the lunch was seamless. But the day was about to become even better. As I was riding my bike home, I made a détour and stopped by Galignani – a great English bookshop where I bought the Rose bakery cookbook and Skye Gyngell’s book (blame Keiko and all her wonderful articles about the Pertersham Nurseries for that one).
As I was craving to read them, I crossed the Seine to visit le Café de Flore – a favourite for citron pressé, café glace and Mariages Frères teas.
There I had my regular citron pressé, which is basically freshly squeezed lemon juice served with a grande carafe d’eau and some sugar – sooo refreshing.

Now, if everyday resembles that one, how am I going to share with you my foolproof recipe for a perfect tarte au citron meringue [lemon meringue tart], my new exciting idea, the lovely places I discovered during my one-week road trip around les Alpilles, the best risotto ever to be made or even my method for flawless pâte sucrée?
Moreover, I still have an awfully insane number of things to do in Paris. Here is the liste officielle (the real one if much too long for me to tell you; I’m way too ashamed of it):
- buy weird Asian ingredients at chez Tang Frères
- have tea or lunch or brunch at Rose bakery
- buy the most wonderful organic vegetables at marché Raspail
- eat more prawn and chicken Chinese wontons from la Grande Epicerie (and while I’m at it, buy Jean-Yves Bordier’s butter)
- have some falafel at l’As du Falafel
- try Berthillon ice-creams
- go and see Rachel at La Cocotte
- visit La librairie gourmande
- try anything from Sadaharu Aoki
- buy Pierre Hermé’s croissants, croissants aux amandes, brioches… for the upcoming write-up about the two weeks I spent au tour (the post where doughs are made)
And many many many more… Any ideas?

Saying that my dad talks a lot would be an understatement; he always has something to say. Whether it’s about our new neighbour or a beautiful bug he saw earlier in our garden. Always. A lot.
If you can’t tell straight away that he has some Italian roots you can definitely tell that he’s got Mediterranean blood running in his veins.
Sadly, this doesn’t prevent him from talking the weirdest Italian I’ve ever heard – a mix of actual Italian, Piemontese dialect and patois Niçois. I say ’sadly’ because whenever we go to Italy he has to talk with everyone. And my mum, sister and I just have to restrain ourselves from laughing because nobody can really understand what he says (Dad if you read this you should know that I am slightly exaggerating as usual).

However, I don’t really mind my dad’s random ramblings because, from time to time, he tells us the most beautiful stories.
I have the most wonderful recollections of my dad telling me about his dad who escaped the Nazis by wearing a lady outfit and taking the train all the way from Germany to the south of France; or his maternal grand-father who sold ice-cream – including the cherished tutti-frutti flavour – in Cannes.
But one of my favourite memories is about his paternal grand-father. My great grand-father.
Tranquillo Zanotti.
Just his name always made me dream. Tranquillo. Calm.
He embodied what we call in French une force tranquille – a massive and robust yet kind man.

He owned a trattoria around Verbania where dozens of people came daily for his cipolle ripiene, fungi porcini gnocchi, cima di vitello and torta di nocciole. I wish I could have tasted his food because, I don’t know about you, but to me all this sounds like heaven in a plate.
The food he made, with love and passion, was the reason of the success of his trattoria.
But being popular in Italy in the late 20’s wasn’t the best thing that could happen to you. A cugina [cousin], who also had a trattoria (it goes without saying that hers was less liked), motivated by jealousy, gave Tranquillo to Mussolini.
One summer night, a dozen of Mussolini’s personal carabinieri broke into Tranquillo’s trattoria and destroyed everything in the main room. Then they went down to the cave – where all the homemade wine was kept – and pierced the barrels, flooding the entire room. My great grand-father was devastated yet decided to persist. Making wine and food was his passion and nothing would stop him, not even Mussolini.
Eventually, he had to stop for a couple of years when he was sent up North to build protective walls because of the upcoming war.
But as soon as the war was finished he moved to France and opened a small restaurant in Le Cannet. It was called Le Lion D’Or [the golden lion].
Now whenever I think about him, one image immediately comes in my mind: a lion with a golden heart – a strong man with the kindest heart ever.

Pesche al vino con vanilla, panna and sablé breton
Inspired by Faith Heller Willinger’s Adventures of an Italian Food Lover

As I was reading my way through Faith’s amazing book: Adventures of an Italian food lover, I spotted this recipe which instantly reminded me of Tranquillo’s story.
Not only he was a great cook and wine maker, but he also grew pesche di vigna [peach trees that grow near wines].

The original recipe uses red wine but I am a rosé-wine lover so I just couldn’t help and had to switch the red for a lighter and fruitier rosé.
I also added a touch of vanilla to complement the sweetness of both the wine and peaches.
Lastly, I used flat peaches because they are sweeter and juicier than normal peaches; and given that, in this recipe, the peaches aren’t cooked I thought that using the best peaches available would yield to amazing flavours.
In the end, the recipe is somewhat different than Faith’s but the end result is – I’m sure – just as delicious.

I arrived at the Vaugirard shop, well in advance, around 1.30pm to try my best at doing a good first impression.
I did the usual routine – outfit (self-note: I do look hot in my outfit; well I’m just trying to convince myself and eventually that will happen – ok I’m not kidding anyone: this will never happen but you know, one has to make concessions in order to reach one’s dreams), aprons, hand washing, hand-shaking… And then, I entered the macaron universe.

First, we start by making the ganaches and to tell the truth, I was desperate because, by the time I had finished my one and only ganache – Jasmin, all the other team members had already made at least two different batches.
It is now time to sort the baked coques [literally shells, standing for the shell of the macaron] – all the broken ones are put into a bucket, the baking papers are inverted onto racks and the coques are aligned: 12 in the length and 8 in the width. This might sound easy, but it is quite tiring. After a few hours, I felt like I was a macaron-sorting-machine; I couldn’t even tell the differences of size between the different macarons. So weird to see what strange sensations a tired brain can generate!

Then it’s all about the filling and closing. One – or two – pâtissiers pipe the luscious ganaches onto the arranged coques and it’s my job to close them right after the ganache has been piped. Indeed, ganaches tend to solidify quite quickly (except when the oven gets the room so hot that the ganaches are melting – I have a lovely souvenir of a melting olive ganache and me trying to close the macaron; a disaster, I tell you), thus it’s best to close the macarons quickly so the ganache forms a nice little belly. At this point, it was my favourite part. But then came the Ispahan macarons – read: not only you have to close the macaron but you have to place small sticky squares of homemade raspberry gellant (it’s a kind of fruit jelly that relies on agar agar instead of gelatine or pectin as a solidifying agent) on every single coque before you can actually start to close them. The result is beautiful though. Indeed when you bite into the perfectly round and shiny macaron (and gosh knows how much I loooove to do this) you discover a raspberry-ish surprise.

The addition of little hidden things in the hearts of macarons is Pierre Hermé’s signature: olive oil and vanilla (with two pieces of green olive), Ispahan (raspberry gellant), Mosaic (two griotte halves – hint: this is my personal favourite) and white truffle and hazelnuts (three crushed hazelnuts) just to cite a few. This is, in my opinion a wonderful invention – it places Pierre Hermé’s macarons to another level, a level no one can outdo. While I’m talking about what I love about these macarons I have to tell you that the amount of ganache in each macaron is insane (in a good way) and shows that, here, the focus is on flavours.
Well, it seems I’m (slightly and only slighty) starting to digress, so please let’s go back to the récit of my first day.
Basically when we finished closing the last few macarons (out of approximately 6000-8000) it was already 11pm and I thought I was about to go home. I was wrong; yep, totally wrong – time to clean the laboratoire. This was actually quite enjoyable because I got to clean the fridge and the fact that it didn’t feel that cold in it made me realise how hot I was. Who said making macarons wasn’t a sport?
Speaking of sport (and yes I’m digressing again), if macaron throwing was an Olympic discipline, I would be a serious challenger for the gold medal. Indeed, I did throw macarons all the time during this first day and every time it was totally unwanted. I would bump in the echelle [metallic shelves on which you put the racks of sorted macarons] and a couple of coques would fall on the floor. Alternatively, while throwing the not-perfect coques into the buckets I would send them overboard and they would fall on Loïc (who seems to always be in front of me; and no – sorry – I’m not trying to blame someone else!).
So this was my first day and although it is all true (well slightly exaggerated sometimes, but you know I come from the south of France and we do tend to exaggerate things) I was wrong.
Totally wrong!

Quickly, as I became faster and better, I started enjoying it a lot. And the days after the first one were really far from what I had imagined them to be.
I got to make so many different ganaches, close so many macarons and discover the sweetest people ever, that eventually, when it was time for me to say goodbye I almost cried (hint hint – I am exaggerating but the feelings were there). The whole week seemed like it only lasted a minute and gave me the opportunity to learn how to work fast.
Although I can’t say I am the best macaron maker in the world I did notice an improvement – my moves are now quicker and more confident.

So, yes, you understand I had to reward myself for all the hard work. And what’s better that a selection of the current macaron collection. Hmmm ten different pieces of what is probably referred to as ‘heaven on earth’.
Please do not worry for my stomach – I did not eat them all in one day (though three were enough to finish the gorgeous box). By the way, when you buy the macaron they look far more perfect than the ones below but something unexpected happened in the metro – I dropped my Pierre Hermé bag. I know you’re certainly gasping right now: how could she drop the beautiful laced bag? But sadly it happened and the macarons definitely suffered. They were just as good though ;)

Chocolat amer [bitter chocolate]
Chocolate macaron (the batter contains actual chocolate not cocoa powder) with dark chocolate ganache

This is always the first sort we make – I guess it’s because of the ganache. Indeed, given that it is made with 70% chocolate that contains a great part of coca butter, the amer ganache tends to solidify really quickly and thus, we need to use it before it’s too hard to pipe.
Tasting notes: at first, you get the intense chocolate taste which is then balanced by the slight bitterness.

Mogador
Macaron with milk chocolate and passion fruit ganache

Then we make these, also because of the higher coca butter content of the ganache.
Tasting notes: when I first tried it, I was a bit dubious. But then, it quickly became addictive. Now, the Mogador macaron is probably my favourite. The combination of milk chocolate and passion fruit is simply outstanding – I love how the tanginess of the passion fruit enhances the milk chocolate.

Ispahan
Macaron with rose and litchi ganache and squares of raspberry gellant

Tasting notes: I know most of you won’t believe what I am about to say, but I’m not the biggest fan of the rose and litchi ganache. However, I just love this macaron – maybe not as much as the entremet though; I think the acidic touch brought by the raspberry gellant makes for a perfectly balanced macaron.

Arabesque
Macaron (sprinkled with pistachio) with apricot ganache and a square of pistachio praline

The apricot ganache, which is the one I made the most, is thickened with dried apricots and contains no cream – a pure delight. And let me say one word about the pistachio praline – it is out of this world. I could eat the whole box of it.
Tasting notes: apricot and praline might sound like an unusual combination but it works. The ganache is thick and creamy yet sharp and the chocolate part of the praline round up the flavours nicely.

Café fort [strong coffee]
Macaron with strong coffee ganache

Tasting notes: this macaron looks so pretty. I just love the different tones of brown – c’est chic! The flavour is clean and perfectly balanced. A favourite.

Thé au jasmin [jasmine tea]
Macaron with jasmine tea ganache

Tasting notes: this macaron is very floral and has a distinctive jasmine tea taste.

Caramel au beurre sale [salted caramel]
Macaron with salted caramel crème au beurre [buttercream]

Tasting notes: one word – delicious! Just the thought of the rich caramely crème au beurre makes me drool.

Rose
Macaron with rose crème au beurre

Tasting notes: yummy in pink. This macaron is really fragrant and delicate.

Mosaic
Macaron with pistachio and cinnamon ganache, and two griotte halves

Tasting notes: this is one of my favourites. First it looks pretty. Second it tastes fabulous. The ganache is terrific: I love the hint off cinnamon that enhances the warmth of the pistachio flavour. And the griottes (small cherries) add a balancing sourness.

Olive oil et vanille
Macaron with olive oil and vanilla ganache and two pieces of green olive

Tasting notes: I am a big fan of the olive oil and vanilla combination, and I’m sure that if you still have some doubts about it this macaron will convince you. I love the roundness of the ganache – slightly bitter because of the olive oil yet sweet.

Next week: Let’s go back, back to… the morning team!

Once this first step is checked and I’ve understood how pointless it is to look at myself in the mirror, I can actually go upstairs and meet the chefs. Before that, I have to put an apron – well two actually: a cotton one and a plastic one; but this is only an anticipatory action as I know I tend to get quite dirty (and this is a total euphemism) when I cook.
Then I arrive in the laboratoire, wash my hands and shake everyone’s hands. At this point, I am completely lost. Who is who? Hmmm names, so many different names. Luckily, I’m quite good with names so after a few minutes I am familiar with everyone just like we’ve known each others for years. That’s totally not true though, and the use of vous is here to remind it.

Indeed saying vous instead of tu is like the first basic rule in the pastry shop survival guide.

The second one being to say chaud [litteraly: hot] whenever you’re carrying something (usually really heavy) and not necessarily hot, as the term suggests, and you don’t want anyone to get in the way. Basically, chefs say chaud not to be gross and say ‘dégage’ although the meanings of both words are really close. Once this rule is mastered, you have to start applying it. And believe me it feels quite weird to yell chaud every other minute. Though, it appears to be quite useful because you don’t want to spill 118°C sugar syrup on your boss, do you? Well some of you might – sometimes, but please before doing so you should strongly consider a career change and/or an escape from your country, a face makeover and a name change.

By now it’s just after 6am and I am awake (holly jetlag). Like not just awake – I am widely concentrated on everyone’s moves and there are many many moves. In the morning team, everyone is here to produce all the cakes, entremets, emotions, yeasty treats… with the most dedicated passion.
The variety of tasks makes for the most interesting job. While every member of the team is responsible of a specific area, I wander from poste to poste to help the chef do the tasks they can’t do because of their super-extra-busy schedules.

Thus in one week I got to do many different things: from sorting almonds to prepare candied lemon peels.

I started by weighing the ingredients for the crème onctueuse au chocolat. This was straightforward and was the perfect task to give me confidence on the first day.
However, I was quite – and happily – surprised when the manager told me to go with Simon to decorate the Ispahan entremets.
The Ispahan entremets are definitely one of the it-pastries at Pierre Hermé, so I was really excited to know that I was about to decorate them.
This part was overwhelming – first I had to arrange raspberries on the rose-flavoured buttercream, fill with chopped and fragrant litchis, and then decorate the top macaron by piping a drop of glucose on rose petals and then sticking them, along with some raspberries, on the macaron.

Assembling the Emotions was also a great job. Emotions are Pierre Hermé’s signature desserts presented in glasses and eaten with a spoon – well unless you like to lick your fingers!
I had the chance to make both Emotions Mosaic (griotte jelly, pistachio jelly, pistachio mascarpone cream) and Celeste (rhubarb compote, fresh strawberries, passion fruit and mascarpone mousse, passion fruit marshmallows).
These are entertaining to make (basically I piped a fixed quantity of jelly with a piston into glasses – see Sensations below for more details) and are really yummy. I must say I have a weak spot for the passion fruit guimauves, even though it was a really-teeny (don’t want to sound like I’m complaining because I am not) pain when I had to separate hundreds of them and roll them in icing sugar.

As you might imagine I was happy to get to make so many different things and I was really proud when they actually let me make a whole batch of Sensation Celeste. Sensations are glasses filled with different jellies and generally topped with a macaron.
First, I had to make the rhubarb compote: gelatine, rhubarb purée, lemon juice and sugar, pour a fixed quantity of it into small glasses with a piston, and allow to set before doing the same with both strawberry and passion fruit jellies.

On the same note, I also piped some banana and strawberry jelly into small round shapes for the entremet Désiré, which is totally delicious by the say.

However, I couldn’t do just what I had to and couldn’t restrain myself from peeking here and there. Anna, who I didn’t really get to work with, is responsible for all the treats that have to go through the oven step. Hence, she makes all the brioches, croissants and other yeasty treats. But she also makes the cannelés and millefeuilles.
The cannelés are probably the best ones I’ve ever had: fresh, soft and fragrant.

As for the millefeuille I picked a Mosaic millefeuille because I love the pistachio-cherry combination. This was a real winner: the slight tanginess of the griottes nicely balances the creaminess of the pistachio cream. I can’t wait to work in the dough team because their feuilletage is excellent! Hopefully in two weeks…

Next week: c’est la folie des macarons [it's all about macarons].

From Bill Granger’s Simply bill (page 221)

Remember, a few days ago I was wondering about how to use the tons of apricots from my backyard.
I got some lovely ideas from Joycelyn: slow roasted apricots in orange caramel; from Melissa: chilled apricot soup with Muscat and from Estelle: tarte renversée aux abricots et au sucre muscovado.
These recipes sound good for sure, but I didn’t have le coup de foudre you need to have when discovering a recipe for the first time.

Then I completely forgot about apricots and decided to just have them fresh from the tree or in a chilled drink.
That’s only when I started browsing for a pistachio cake recipe through my cookbooks that I found the best way to use these apricots for a sophisticated dessert – pistachio cake with orange blossom syrup.

The recipe originally calls for fresh figs. But figs aren’t available yet here. Though, I was determined to make this cake with or without the figs.

Aren’t pistachio and apricots known for being a winner combination? I had find: 1) a recipe to use the apricots I had been stocking and 2) a substitute for the figs.

Pistachio cake with orange blossom syrup
This cake reminds me of lazy afternoon spent on a charming terrace in Rabat, drinking delicious thé à la menthe and tons of homemade patisseries.
The breeze, the sea, the perfumes… are set back in my mind at each bite. These days are one of the best I’ve had and thus this cake is high-placed on my top-ten favourites.
It’s definitely airy and all the flavours go so well together: pistachio, apricot and orange blossom. In one word, the Moroccan essence!