Some things should be taken for granted.

A delicious afternoon tea is served with freshly baked scones. A boyfriend comes with amazing pastry skills, a lovely smile, and a happy heart. This pastry blog should be updated more often, yet I spent lots of time documenting my life in my journal. A night out genuinely can’t be called one unless spicy bloody mary is involved.

And: I am not good with emails.

So not good in fact, that I started using formspring to answer all your questions. I’ve even placed a little box on the side bar right here, so please my favourite little bunnies, don’t be shy and ask me.

About whatever you like. Pastry or not. I’ll make y best to answer and my email inbox will be happy not to have so many read – yet unanswered – emails.

I find this – not so – new app (why am I always way behind?) quite useful to implement a sort of FAQ. I mean, you might find the one thing you’re looking for by reading through the answers.

However, I want you to promise me you’ll still be comfortable sending me emails if you feel like it. I love them. Each and everyone one of them holds a special place in my heart.

PS. I might end up getting tired of it, but really want to give it a try. Come what may!

As I was diligently peeling a stampede of organic lemons to turn them into neat candied squares – a pretty lengthy task if you consider all the steps involved – the pungent scent brought down memories of a now long-gone day.

Rewind.

As Guillaume wakes up – or more accurately, as I push the snooze button of our alarm clock every two minutes, giving him a repeat-hug to gently get him to emerge from his dreamless sleep – I suddenly realise that today is my much-longed-for day-off.

After more minutes that I will dare to divulge, Guillaume slowly walks to the bathroom, and I can’t resist to fall back asleep with the soothing sound of falling waters tickling my ears.

It’s now almost eleven aye-emm, and after a quick bath – my very own luxury – I hop onto the bus towards High Street Kensington. Read: towards Whole Foods.

On my way back, white flakes begin to fill the skies. By the time I reach the door to our flat, the streets, trees, and sadly for my tendency not to resist to any slippery surface, the sidewalks are coated with thick snow.

It’s damn cold outside, and the heat I find at home feels unbearable.

Until I look through the window only to mentally record the image I see. A white cocoon surrounded my fog clouds.

It’s pretty much one of the most comforting sensation ever. As if I was contemplating my own daily world from above; except it’s now all-quiet, almost like a nature morte.

With such an astounding cosiness, a couple of things were bound to happen. A feel-happy movie, a trip to my very favourite blogs, a nap – taken from the warmth of my thick couette.

The last thing involved flour, baking powder, eggs, sugar, a good dose of lemon, butter, and cream. Also known as cake weekend, this loaf will keep – in the fridge, well-wrapped in cling film – for days.

Oh, and did I mention how easy it is to put together, how pretty it is to look at, and how down-to-the-last-crumb delicious it is to eat?

It is also a damn good reason to use my absolute pâtisserie tour-de-main [process] crush. The one trick you won’t be able to live without.
If you want a life lived in the shadows of neatly cracked cakes, please avoid eye contact with the following lines.

The secret is to pipe a line of butter on the top of your unbaked loaf. Simply cream a couple of tablespoons of butter, and using a piping bag – or as I do, a paper cornet (another playground love, which I should definitely make you discover laterish) – pipe a thin line across the length of the cake.

Bake and allow your eyes to sparkle.

But more than this, this promenade into the past allowed me to discover what pushes me to make a recipe in particular.
I think it says a lot about the pastry chef – not to mention the person – you are. The way you combine coincidences, accidents, facts into a delicious pâtisserie.

And I strongly hope my recipes come across just how people see me. Refreshing, sophisticated yet with an edge, and fun.
This means a lot to me since I have just realised that I am now ready to write a pastry book. It’s always been a dream, a long-term goal, and possibly the one thing – except for my passion – that got me into those not-so-hot pieds-de-poules pants.

Until today, I had never felt the need to write a cookbook. I kept telling myself I had to wait until I would master an actual knowledge on French pâtisserie, and also, until I had a good unexplored book material.

So when the idea came to me on my way to work, I was thrilled.

A book I would have loved to read a couple of years earlier, when I hadn’t yet entered a professional pastry kitchen. And actually, a book I would still love to read now.

It’s still the very beginning of the process, and even though I keep my fingers crossed to the point my joints hurt, the book will possibly never be printed. But I like to challenge myself.

So well, let’s forget about this all, and please go make a cup of your favourite tea – although I couldn’t recommend anything more than a delicate cup of green tea – to sip through the savouring of a thick slice of weekend lemon cake topped with a large spoonful of clementine confit and a dollop of crème fraiche.

Cake weekend au citron et confit de clémentines à la vanille
I feel like I’ve already talked way too much today, so I will now simply urge you to make this. Weekend or not.

Just make sure you fold the flour very delicately into the batter, not to loose any of the air (incorporated in the eggs right at the beginning by much whipping) that gives the loaf cake such a light texture.
Same goes for the fats (both cream and butter; that’s actually the difference between a cake and a weekend cake).

What I usually do is to incorporate vigorously a small amount of batter (around one cup) into the melted – yet not hot – fats, then pour this mixture back into the batter, folding very gently.

As for the confit, you simply need to briefly blanch the whole clémentines a couple of times, before cooling them in ice-cold water. This allows to 1) get rid of the skin’s bitterness, and 2) keep the bright orange colour.
Then proceed as detailed below!

You can certainly make it in advance as it will keep for 5 days in the frigde.

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

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

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

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

Bring it on!

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

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

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

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

The perfect end to our marathon Christmas lunch.

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

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

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

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

It all started this past Wednesday. My first day off in a while.

And quite coincidentally, the day before Christmas Eve.

And quite coincidentally, I didn’t realise this until I spotted the big 23 on my wall clock as I woke up seconds before noon.

Lunch on granola. Quickest shower. Legging, sweater and UGG boots on. Brisk walk to High Street Kensington through Holland Park. Whole Foods.

There I got everything we needed to celebrate Christmas in the most proper way.

Here is our menu for Christmas day:
- homemade blinis with crème fraiche and Scottish salmon
- honey and wholegrain mustard roast pork with crisp potatoes
- selection of French cheeses with homemade focaccia
- banana cream pie with a chocolate mousse quenelle

And, lots of Champagne!

We’re going to party like there is no tomorrow since it’s the first time – for the both of us – that we are away from our families during the holidays.

If things go well, expect to see a small banana cream pie around over the next few days.

Happy Christmas. All my love. x fanny.

Sometimes, things can’t wait. Not for a week, a day, an hour, a second, or even a minute. Things like… SNOW.

In fact, ever since I spotted the first snowflakes almost five hours ago, I’ve seemed to have a canon 400D glued to my right hand.

And damn, this is a useful new organ, acting as an extension of my eyes. I think beauty surgeon should consider reconversion as camera-stickers in the most serious way.

Silly stories apart, snowflakes make the prettiest things to photograph. So much that I actually jumped onto the bed to reach my laptop and tell you about this. Then, I second-thought, and realised that as lovely they might be, they are not considered pâtisserie.

Oh yes, I could have written a recipe for snow granita, which in my humble opinion taste best with a dash of lemon juice and some vodka (this is off records, right), but it didn’t quite fall in what I consider shareable.

Those petits gâteaux aux cranberries I made a couple of days ago do.

Well, let me check. Delicious: yes. Seasonal: yes. Moist: yes. Flavourful: yes. Pretty: not so much, but you have to realise we don’t even own a muffin pan yet, so they’re a little free-form.

Quite evidently, things couldn’t be as smooth. I could certainly post the recipe, but a picture? By night?

Trust me, at this point I was more than desperate; not to mention exhausted from a never-ending sore-throat and looong hours of work at the Capital Hotel (yes, I know, this is – another – new thing in my life: two star restaurant!).
And then, I grabbed a binder, a cookbook, and a pastry chef jacket, and created this lightbox.

Please, close your eyes, unless you haven’t had a chance to get your advised dose of daily laughing; because, well, I’m sure THIS will make you giggle to the point when your cheek hurt and you start crying.

Now take a deep breath, notice how sore your ribs are after this unexpected whoop, take a piece of paper and a pen, and write that recipe down for instant Christmasness.

Petits gâteaux aux cranberries
There is something comforting about those small cakes. It might be the wonderful smell that fills the house, setting everyone into a Christmas mood; or maybe it’s their light texture.

If – unlike me – you use a muffin pan, your cake will rose higher and might require a couple extra minutes of baking. Just insert a knife into the centre of the cakes and as soon as it comes out clean, it means they’re ready.
Simply make sure you don’t overbake them, in which case they would turn out slightly dry instead of theire usual moistness.

You should also make sure your milk and egg aren’t too cold when you add them so the butter doesn’t set when you mix them in. If it does, don’t worry, the cakes will be lovely, just perhaps a tad smaller.

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.

I should probably warn you straight away: I don’t know where to start. Today, I have no glorious recipe to share, no amusing anecdote to tell, and no sweet place to show you.

And yet, I felt the need to write in my sugar-coated journal; yes, right here on foodbeam.

One simple reason: I’m thankful. For having you as friends. For calling London home. For having the most adorable job ever. For the small flat Guillaume and I lovingly share. For London’s treasures. For the Christmas tree that sits in our living room.

In fact, I’m thankful for life.

And for Jamie Oliver’s perfect roast chicken and vegetables. It’s the primary component of our food diet at the moment. And this time, Guillaume isn’t complaining (yes, I thought it was necessary to bring this up yet again: he does NOT like pumpkin pie; and yes, I also stopped breathing as I typed this, just as you probably did when reading this dreadful sentence).

I could possibly give you the recipe, but since it’s written in perfect words over on Jamie’s website, I highly suggest you rush to the butcher before it closes, get yourself a plump organic chicken and roast it along some roughly chopped onions, carrots, potatoes, mushrooms and mange-touts.

Or you could also gather all the polaroids you took and stick them on the wall behind your bed to form a lovely heart.

Another suggestion for a happier life, would be to buy some blue leopard leggings from hache and emm, and go for a walk through Holland park.
Make sure you have some warm UGG at your feet though.

Now, I realise I might be a week late for this, but what are you thankful for? It always makes me happy to know what makes other people happy.

It’s now time for me to stop writing, I seem to have become way too random. I promise foodbeam is a blog about pastry and it will remain as such. I do, on the other hand, hope you liked this little glimpse into my new world. Love x fanny.

Strangely enough, the past couple of days have – unlike the thousands that came before – felt soothing.

Almost like a slow motion picture.

In fact, this has sort of become a common fact. Every day spent in Entrevaux – a small village surrounded by mountains, and where wearing a Peruvian hat makes it to the local news (well, gossips) for at least a fortnight – seems to last forever.

Definitely a good thing in my book. Especially since Guillaume and I booked our plane tickets to a new life.

On the 7th of November, we’ll be landing in London, scouting for the cutest little flat, and more importantly to the sweetest little jobs as pastry cooks. Any hints are more than welcome!

A one-way ticket. And a promise of busy days ahead. Come what may.

Somehow, the Concorde seemed fit for the occasion. Even though I suspect its name comes from the Parisian place de la Concorde, I can’t help but remember that express Paris to NYC flight.

New and exiting. Just how I feel right now.

Concorde
Adapted from Pierre Hermé.

This entremet might be: 1. from Pierre Hermé, and 2. pretty delicious, it’s nonetheless very easy to make. Picture a simple chocolate mousse sandwiched between crisp yet soft (due to the freezing) chocolate meringue disks.

Then comes the montage [assembling], which requires special care so you have a smooth entremet, reading for glazing. The secret lies in gently pressing down the disks of meringue into the mousse before piping some more mousse, just so that the mousse coats the edges of the disks and don’t form any air bubbles.

I won’t lie. There are many advantages to having a boyfriend who’s a pâtissier.

First, he loves 6pm slumbers parties à deux since he – like me – knows how a 3am wake-up feels like.

Second, he whips some pretty nice dinners in a matter of seconds, leaving the kitchen deliciously shiny even though he is – like me – one of the messiest people on earth.

Third, he tends to get as excited as I do when the following words are mentioned in no special order: AFTERNOON, PÂTISSERIE, NEW FLAVOUR COMBINATION.

It all seems quite logical. I mean, we met while working for Pascal Lac, so it’s the very essence of our daily – exciting and sweet – routine.

This past Sunday we hence decided to explore the autumnal classic: the pumpkin pie.

It’s a favourite of mine. But, well – let’s get it out straight away – not a favourite of Guillaume’s. Yes, you read right.

Guillaume. Does. Not. Like. Pumpkin pie.

I initially thought of finding another boyfriend, but I seem to be in like with him way too much to do so.

After a – not so – lond period of – not so – intense reflection, I went for the other option: eat a slice of tart by myself and bring the rest to my family.

I’m pretty glad I did.

Tarte à la citrouille
Indeed, this tart is perfect. Raw sugar and fresh pumpkin.

The raw sugar brings lovely caramel undertones, that in my opinion, brings out the earthy flavour of fresh pumpkin.

First you start by making your own purée, by roasting the pumpkin, then blending it. The roasting part of it helps to get rid of the moisture naturally present in pumpkin flesh, and thus, creates a smooth (bubble free) pumpkin flan.

In this recipe, I call for pâte sucrée which you can easily make in advance from the recipe here.

Before I started getting serious with pâtisserie – more clearly, before I started waking up at three am and actually enjoy it – I must confess I felt quite confident with many things. From making pâte feuilletee to piping meringues; from assembling a series of entremets to decorating a cake.

Those were the things I was comfortable with. However, it didn’t take long for me to realise that even with some of them, there would be some sort of hitches.

Read: glazing a mille-feuilles. Period.

The concept itself doesn’t seem delicate. I mean, it’s just a matter of fondant. First pour the white fondant, then pipe thin lines of chocolate fondant – made dark by the addition of cocoa powder -, and stripe using a knife.

However, the realisation recquires special care.

The fondants have to be tempered, and at same temperature for best results. The chocolate fondant lines have to be piped very quickly after the white fondant has been spread all over the feuilletage top. The stripes have to be made with the back of the knife, and quite obviously, this must happen fast, before the fondant gets a chance to set.

Definitely not undoable, yet definitely not doable without having seen it at least once.

So tonight, I thought I’d thank you all for your kindness by showing you how we – at pâtisserie Lac – glaze our mille-feuilles.

And to be honest, I really felt like sharing something new over here, but didn’t have the courage to write a long recipe down, especially knowing what a busy day tomorrow is going to be. The fact that today was lazily spent with my boyfriend, daydreaming, sleeping, cuddling, and contemplating the beauty of Autumn might play a role as well.

Please welcome this short animation – featuring the hands of my favourite person from Montpellier, namely Alexis – warmly.

PS. ‘raye, raye’ translates to ’stripe, stripe’. I, apparently, had a strong desire to express myself in French at the time I put this together.

Then, you just have to clean the sides by running a spatula around them when the fondant is set, and finally, slice the mille-feuilles using a sharp serrated knife.

That’s all for today me friends. I know, I know… But since you’re the most amazing readers ever, and I’m lucky enough to have you and some other supportive people around me, I shall share more and more recipes.

Good night. Don’t dream too much about mille-feuilles, although it seems very tempting!