If at times, nature compels us to slow down, I must admit I was slightly surprised when I saw the first lemons on my parents’ tree.

Lemons in september feels like eating strawberries around Christmas time for me.

But well, the little guys were hanging out in the tree and my sister’s favourite dessert in the whole entire huge universe is lemon meringue tart.

So I took this as an opportunity to remind you how lovely Pierre Hermé’s recipe is. This time around I just changed the crust for my new go-to recipe which seems to be easier to work with – which in my world means no shrinkage during baking (the one thing I dread the most in pastry).

Basically, you can make the dough and lemon crémeux a day – or three – in advance, and when you’re ready for THE tart, simply bake blind the shell and fill it with the smooth and tangy cream.

Whip up a nice and soft meringue italienne, pile it on the tart and burn with a châlumeau [blow-torch] or failing that the grill of your oven (something I’ve realised I’m not good with, burnt tart anyone?).

And trust me when I tell you I’m doing you a favour by writing down the ingredient list so you can just print it, go shopping and come back at home only to make the most delicious lemon tart you could ever dream of.

When it comes to the dough, the process is exactly the same as the one I described over there. Except thet ingredient list is different: less butter, more almonds and a tad more icing sugar make for the most perfect dough ever. Easy to work with, it will have a very deep aroma when baked. Just make sure you don’t get it out from the oven before it has the nicest shade of golden-brown.

As with most doughs, this recipe will yield to more than what you actually need for one tart. But I suggest you divide it into 3 to 4 pieces and wrap them in clingfilm. Then you can freeze them for as long as a month or two, and go back to your freezer every time you will need some.

Quite evidently, we also made cake. This cake to be precise. Because it is the best lemon cake. Because it’s soft and fragrant. Because it will keep for days. And mostly, because we need no excuse to make – and more generally, eat – cake.

This time, I used T110, which is a fine semi-whole wheat flour. I’m not sure it’s widely available outside of France, but I suggest you try making a tant-pour-tant using plain and whole-wheat flours.
What I love about this flour is the lovely aromas – deep and hearthy – that balances the tanginess of the cake and the sweetness of the soaking syrup.

As a matter of fact, I first intended to top the cake with a thick citrus and earl grey glaze, but ran out of icing sugar so syrup it became.
Whether you want to go for a glaze or a syrup, you simply need to heat the lemon juice to 70°C, infuse it with the tea for two or three minutes, then pour onto the icing sugar slowly.

I drenched the cake with it as soon as I got it out of its tin and it created the most perfect layer of fresh lemon flavour.

And since this post is too long already, maybe I should add a couple of things.

ONE. I would love to hear your suggestions for upcoming articles.
What would you like to see on foodbeam? Is there a specific French technique you would love to learn?

TWO. I’m thinking of putting a F.A.Q. post together. I find them so fun to do. So anything you’d like to ask!

THREE. I hope you don’t mind my current REmakes of old recipes. To be honest, I really enjoy writing them (and photographing them with my pentax ME). To me, it’s all about: 1) highlighting some of the very best pastries around and 2) showing you new techniques/ingredients.

OK, I’m done now. So do ask your questions in the comments below and tell me what you want to see here! x

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.

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.

I had planned to write about Easter. How happy it makes me; and I swear it’s not just the chocolate profusion. In my family, Easter revolves around love and quite evidently, around food. I realise I might sound like a broken record – and I’m pretty sure I actually do – but there isn’t a thing I like more than having the chance to spend time with the people I care the most about and a delicious finger-licking meal. This past week-end was just like that. And it was fantastic. My grand parents rock, so does what they cook.

See, this is what I had planned to talk about. But right now, I need to share what I refer to as the most bestest thing ever. Yeah, the thing I could almost give my whole family for. Harsh, isn’t it? Well, you might now hate me. And that’s fine: more jonchée for me.

The jonchée is something I’ve already – somewhat briefly – talked about before. It’s a sort of fresh cow-milk cheese, which shape is due to the jonce [reed grass] mat they’re encased in. Although its manufacturing process relies on ferments and rennet, it hardly resembles cheese.
The texture is unique: the soft and melt-in-your mouth inners are enclosed in a firm shell. And the taste. No words for it. The whey the jonchées bathe in is flavoured with natural almond extract.

I usually start by sprinkling some unrefined cane sugar onto the drained jonchées. Then spoon some whey over.

And eat.

As I spent the last two days trying to survive without the internet, I discovered there were other many means to maintain my high-procrastination policy. The 614 tv-channels clearly weren’t enough and I found myself confronted with my laptop, finally looking at all the pictures that needed to be classified. Far too many, trust me.

That’s when I suddenly – and providentially – stumbled upon a folder containing exactly two hundred photos (notice how obsessed I am with numbers), which were taken during the one-week holidays I spent with my family.

It’s amazing how places like les Alpilles can be such an inspiration: the landscapes, the food, the farmer’s market, the light… Everything just fitted.

We started our journey in Eygalières, a small village located just a few kilometres away from St Rémy, which is known for it’s gorgeous Wednesday morning market.
However, things didn’t go as smoothly as that; on the way to Eygalière, one of the tires of our 1977-camper van (number alert!) exploded, which forced us to stay of the side of the road for more than two hours. Luckily, forecasting that trouble-free holidays weren’t an option in my family, I had packed Heidi’s lovely courgette loaf cake with us.

As expected, the market was beautiful; definitely comforting after everything that had happened.

While we were staying at Eygalière, we did a one-day escapade to les Baux en Provence; certainly touristy, nonetheless gorgeous.

We, then, headed towards Nyons, where we had an olive oil tasting. Nyons, is a small town, mainly known because it’s where the only AOC olive oil is produced (*edit* – thanks to Rosa, I now know that Nice also has its own AOC olive oil; can’t believe I see myself as the ultimate french riviera girl and didn’t even know this).

Next town was Forcalquier where we found lovely brocanteurs and farmer’s market. I had a coup de foudre for a set of porcelaine measuring cups, which sadly happened to be far too expensive – I still think about them and wish I had gotten them.
ps. My totally adorable sister Aïda is the one who took the gorgeous cloche [bell] picture; new packed-with-talent girl on her way!

And well, she already hates loves salad (ever heard about how salad likeness affects a person’s photography skills?)…

Cake sucré et moelleux aux courgettes et au ras-el-hanout
Adapted from Heidi’s 101 cookbooks.

I remember the first time I came across a recipe for courgette cake – it was in Nigella’s How to be a domestic goddess. I could even tell you the exact name of the cake: Flora’s courgette cake, and give an outline of Nigella’s write up about it. I wasn’t shocked, but my interest was definitely tingled.
Then, I stopped thinking about it…only until I discovered Heidi’s version of it.

Rich with nuts and deeply aromatic with the use of ras-el-hanout, this cake was lovely.
Funnily enough, in France, un cake is a cake (English word this time) cooked in a loaf pan – is that what the Americans call bread? Oh well, I’ll just stick to the French I learnt; so sweetly old-fashioned.

I made the cake using white flour only, and leaving out the poppy seeds and ginger. As for the spicy touch, I used one tablespoon of ras-el-hanout, which gave the cake a great depth. Hmmm ras-el-hanout in cakes!

Sometimes seducing a guy is a very easy task: you think, you wink, you double blink – dans la poche [easy peasy].
And other times it just isn’t; no matter how hard a girl tries, nothing happens.Back in 1998, I remember this boy in my class whose hair definitely recalled Son Gohan’s (as a Super Saiyan – c’est evident).
It seemed he fancied anything but me; well he must have changed his mind.
Two years later, when I brought him a jar of some marmalade I had made I saw sparkles in his eyes.
I will never forget that day, the day he fell in love with me.
See! All it needs to win a guy’s heart is a jar of marmalade.

That day was now more than six years ago; though, whenever I try to play the lovely-and-adoring-girlfriend and bring breakfast to bed, I can get two different faces: either the as – grumpy – as – usual or the I – love – you marmalade – so – much.
You’ll guess the latter is only found when a fat pot of marmalade is sitting on the tray.
Hopefully I can never run out of it. Indeed I’m a very lucky girl and have a beautiful bitter orange tree in my garden, which gives dozens of oranges every other year.

Bitter oranges
The oranges from my garden are slightly smaller than regular oranges and thus are perfect for jam making as the pith isn’t too big.
If making marmalade, you must use organic non treated oranges.
Even though my oranges are 100% organic I wash them to get rid of bugs or earth/sand traces.

How does marmalade solidify? – Pip is the word
What I really like about this marmalade is that you don’t have to use any extra pectin as the pips provide enough of this gelling substance.
Pectin is a molecule made of different groupings of polysaccharides (complex sugars) and allows the formation of a gel.
There are two types of pectins: HM and LM which indicates the degree of etherification of the molecule. The higher the etherification, the faster the gel will set.Bitter orange’s pectin and more generally, citrus fruits’ pectin, is HM (High Methoxyl) and can only form a gel in presence of acid (orange) and sugar. What a lucky (and delicious) coincidence!

Here we enclose the pips in muslin bags and soak them in the orange/water mixture so they release their pectin.

Bitter orange marmalade

This is not really a recipe as the quantities of water and sugar are utterly dependent upon how many oranges you have.
What you have to remember is that you’ll need:
1,8kg of water for each kg of orange
1,3kg of caster sugar for each kg of the orange/water mixture
Then you all you have to do is follow the steps. Easy!

Note – the marmalade will look runny at first but will solidify when resting.
It’s quite unusual to let the jars sit, open until the jam is set, but it allows the gel to form evenly.

Note bis – I just love this marmalade spread on hot crusty bread!Note ter – Take in consideration the fact that this marmalade is made over three consecutive days.

It happens once a week, sometimes even twice.
While I’m drinking my ever-favourite matcha soy latte on the stairs just in front of the main door of my house, I spot a paper bag, hanging on the gate.I remember the first time; me, leaving the cup of tea on the higher step and walking down – slightly hesitant. I grab the vintage brown paper bag suspended on the faded gold gate.
The corners of the bag are stained.
I carefully open it while going up the stairs and to my greatest delight I discover its content: bright-orange carrots, gorgeous potimarron, shiny shallots and delicious coings [quinces].

Then I see a small paper – maintained pleated by a fine raffia ribbon – at the bottom of the bag. I carefully untie the bow and read the sweet note:
‘J’espère que ça vous plaira, ce ne sont que de modestes légumes de mon jardin mais qui sentent délicieusement bon l’automne.
Si vous avez un peu de temps, je serai ravi de vous faire visiter mon potager.
Fernand’
[I hope you’ll like it. Only humble vegetables from my garden, but they deliciously smell like autumn.
If you’ve got a little spare time, I’ll be glad to show you my kitchen garden.]

What a kind person! From then, I’ve been waiting for that old paper bag and literally craving for it.
And when it’s finally time for the sweet delivery I can’t refrain that smile on my face.

I smile. Sheer joy. But also because I can’t help but imagine Fernand picking his most beautiful vegetables, packing them with love and quietly hanging the bag on the gate without I even notice.

Pumpkin pie

Pumpkin pie has always been on of my favourites. It reminds me of the warmth and treasures of autumn.
I remember making this exact pumpkin pie years ago and I sincerely can’t remember who gave me the recipe. All I know is that’s it’s both a keeper and a crowd-pleaser.
ps.
I’m not giving exact cooking times because I didn’t write them down.
As you can see on the picture the edges of the pie crust are slightly burnt: I tried to bake blind the pastry first and then bake the whole pie, which obviously didn’t turn out as expected. Thus I can only advise you to check the pie now and then.
It is cooked when set but still a little soft in the centre.

Apricots… What to say about apricots?
A golden velvety skin.
A sweet tender flesh.
Really you must love them!

I’m lucky to have an apricot tree in the back of my garden and though the tree is really old, it still produces the best apricots one can have. Juicy, sweet and soft… In one word: the perfect apricot.

It seems the combinations are endless. But with apricots i usually prefer to keep it simple.
Bite in a luscious apricot just picked from the tree.
Or cook them into a compote.
Or mix them with ice, as below, to get a fresh summer drink.
Or slice them finely and sprinkle over a goat’s milk faiselle with a drizzle of honey.Today i’d like to discover something new and i am interested in the ways YOU use apricots.
Do you have a favourite recipe using apricots?
I am looking for a sophisticated dessert that highlights the freshness of apricots.
Any suggestion welcomed!

Summer apricot iced drink

This drink embodies the fruit at its purest form. No added sugar, just ice and water.
It is very refreshing, as you may have already guessed.
I love to have this after a hot summer day or even in the morning, for breakfast.