With no rational reason except that those brioches looked terribly good, I decided to venture into the realm of feuilletage.

Once again. Although, this time, my kitchen did not come with a rolling pin.

I could have bought one on my recent visit to Pages. I almost did in fact. But eventually got out from the shop carrying many cercles [rings], a couple of knives, a sugar thermometer, and some ramekins.

Quite providentially, my kitchen did come with too many empty wine bottles to admit it; let’s be honest, I had five of them sitting on the counter.

In my defence, I must tell you they have been there for weeks, not just since the last waste removal day, which was – let me think – this morning.

Armed with the one bottle that seemed fit for the occasion – read perfectly cylindrical, label removed – I went straight for the recipe. And then realised the folding instructions were in Japanese.

Now, why my kitchen did not come with full wine bottles? At that point, I could have used a glass.

Instead, I started doodling, only to realise my panic attack was pointless. A simple tour double.
Just like for puff pastry.

I made the dough. Left it to rise. Made the matcha filling. Chilled it. Then, I started rolling and folding, and rolling and folding.

Somehow, my dreamlike vision of the use of wine bottles as rolling pins vanished when the filling started leaking and the dough stuck to the bottle.

My counter ended up green, so did my fingers.

But that’s okay.

First, because I like green. And second, because I see no problem whatsoever in licking green fingers when they taste like matcha.

One lesson I have learnt from this experience: get yourself a decent rolling pin girl.

If unlike me – and probably not unlike every person around the world – you own a rolling pin, then I urge you to make these brioches. With green tea, or if you’re feeling a little more subversive, with cocoa powder.

Brioches marbrées au thé matcha
Adapted from Les carnets d’une connasse parisienne.

Don’t be scared with all the rolling pin action here. These brioches are very easy to make, and a teart to eat.

If you’re going to use cocoa powder instead of matcha, go for 20g of powder. And then proceed as follow.

It would probably be an understatement to say that I am messy.

For years, my absolutely organised mum fought with me, not understanding why I had to keep pretty much all of my belongings on my desk, or at worst, around my bed.

For years, I did not understand how – despite being raised by someone so tidy – I would always end up with so much stuff lying on the floor. And then, it struck me. I simply like to have my most cherished possessions close to me. I like to be able to see them at any given time. I like to nest in my own comforting world.

This eureka-moment had no effect on my paradoxical messiness. In fact, as I’m writing this, I’m surrounded by two cameras, a photo album, a bowl of edamame beans, and a neat pile of notebooks.

Yes, neat.

As messy as I can be, I have this strange thing with notebooks.
It started at school, where I would always have the prettiest ones; colour-coded, written using the exact same pen, and no ratures. I’ve even been spotted copying out one of my biology class notebooks because it didn’t feel prefect enough.
Then came pâtisserie kitchens and moleskines stained with chocolate. And yet, when you open them, overlooking the smears, you’ll notice only that one felt tip pen touched the pages (ask the guys at the hotel and they will tell you how angry I get if my pen gets stolen).

Now turn the pages, and see that drawing of a square tart filled with a liquorish-like treacle flan, topped with grenadine-marinated oranges and a square of white chocolate.

It’s the starting point of an endless excitement. Making pastries all day is a favourite. Creating pastries all day is the most favourite.

Right now, I’m developing some very fine French pâtisseries for the book I’m working on. But I’m also playing around in the kitchen just for foodbeam. And it feels so nice.
I can’t promise daily recipes here, although I will make my best to come up with new exciting things if I’m not spending my days off exploring London for the best places to eat, or have a bubble tea, or some macarons.

Yes, I’m totally keeping tracks of my London favourites there. It’s – almost – all film pretty (I love London, and I love my Pentax ME Super even more).

Treacle tart et oranges sanguines à la grenadine

I’m calling this treacle tart although it’s really not a genuine treacle tart, but more of a treacle syrup flan encased in a tart shell.

Just so you know, I used small square rings (6,5cm-wide) which are quite high (3cm) so I could get more filling than crust. If you’re going to use regular tart rings, you’ll have enough flan to fill four tarts shells. Just adjust the quantity of pâte sucrée (around 300g), marinated oranges, and white chocolate squares (or in this case, circles).

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.