Let me tell you something guys. You are so sweet. I mean, I don’t post for a few days and instead of the hatred words I was expecting, all I get are sweet notes and emails. One of you even sent the comforting recipe for his favourite cookies – thank you Chris.

You – or more exactly some of you – are obviously concerned; and well, you’re just damn right. I first did not intend to share the following story with you; it just felt a little too personal. But since my closest friends know – and more importantly, since I consider you as friends; special friends that is, but friends nonetheless –, I thought I would let you know.

On my birthday, my dog – Chiffon – died. I hadn’t seen her for two months and wish I could have spent her last days with her, while I was just in Revel, not knowing what she was – and had been – going through.

You might probably not understand, let alone care about the following, but I want this to be a tribute to her. A place I’ll always be able to look at and help me not remember her. Not that I think I’ll actually forget; but I need to celebrate what a beautiful being she was.

I first met her when she was just a baby. It was some day around March 1996 – I’d say the 17th from memory, but can’t be sure about that.

My parents, sister and I were at that Spring party we used to attend every year; near St Tropez, in a wild yet gorgeous garden on the hills and a tepee as a main house.

As usual, the crowd was dense and cheerful. People from all over France – and the world. A couple from Paris. They had that tiny little dog. Beige with fluffy hair and the most adorable ears – yes, ears – you could ever think of.

I waited for my parents to get tipsy – but don’t tell them I told you – , and asked – well, begged – if that fluffy little person could be mine. If we could take her back home.

As you might have guessed, we did. She slept during the whole journey, comfortably snuggled in the small gap between my two legs.

And she grew up with me. Or maybe, I was the one to grow up with her. You would always find us together, either playing, reading or dancing. I’m not senseless; I just was crazy about her. As with most of my friends, she had her own special nickname; seasonal. La petite chinoise – for her pretty almond shaped eyes. Boubinou. Chérie. Boops. Loulou. Cacahuète. You name it.

She was always so happy. Unless Pirate – our turkey-look-alike cat – ate her food or got a little too much attention. Unless she had some kind of branches stuck in her messy hair; in which case, she would totally stop moving and look at me so I could understand how uncomfortable she was and how she needed me – well, my hands – to remove the spiky stuff.

She had her favourite soft-toy, which we would refer to as her bébé. And although she sometimes forgot it around the garden or in one of the house’s room; she would always find it for some cuddling or playing.

But is there is one thing I’ll always laugh at when remembering her, it has to be her love for anything crispy. As soon as she heard one of us eating something with crunchy noise, she had to have it. She would first approach the table, then put her head on your lap, moving her nose in what we used to call a piggy fashion – son petit nez de cochon. Adorable.

Whether the chomp came from a carrot, biscotti, raw vegetable sticks, or nuts, she needed it. So I always used to get her to try what she saw as yummy – even if truly, she might have preferred a thick slice of meat, at least gastronomically speaking.

At first, she moved towards the food, smelt it and gently took it away from my hand with her teeth. She would then start chewing, in a very delicate way. Sometimes, when she would like it, it would disappear in a matter of second; other times, she would put it on the floor and look at me. Those times, I would encourage her to taste again, and in the end, she just seemed to like everything and beg for more, with one or two paws. The rare times when she didn’t actually like what I gave her, she would slowly move to the door, get outside, find a quiet place and burrow the piece of food in a small hole dug with her museau, which would inevitably end up covered with earth.

The one thing she loved were nuts, or more accurately, almonds. She even used to sneak into the kitchen and reach the basket into which my mum places the almonds she picks from our tree. Whole almonds, with the shell. Using her sharp teeth, she would open them and eat the soft yet crisp inners.

So when I made those calissons last week, on the day I learnt she had had surgery – to remove tumors on her spleen – fifteen days earlier, I couldn’t help but think about her. I was in shock. She had been sick and didn’t even know about it; I guess my parents thought it was the right thing to do and I do think it was. Yet, it made me realise how fragile she was and made me want to spend as many hours in her company as I could. Since I would see my family on the following week end, I already saw myself taking thousands of pictures of her, so I would always have her near me.

I didn’t get the chance to. On the next day, she died. She just stopped breathing. There is nothing my parents could have done. She didn’t get over the surgery. Things could have turned to be different and she might have lived for a couple more years. But here she was. Dying on my birthday. Clearly, I didn’t want to celebrate. And didn’t really; or in a very restrained way.

I love her and miss her more every second. I feel numb. Torn. My whole body stopped working altogether. I was all tears. Cry and scream.

Today, I’m just starting have feelings again. Slowly getting conscious that life isn’t over. Yet.

It just hurts to know I’ll never get the chance to feel her, smell her again.

Now, only memories remain. Like when she thought my dad couldn’t see her when she was hiding under the kitchen table with her tail evidently banging on the floor. We were certain she thought she was perfectly hidden, just because she couldn’t see him.

Or when she was sleeping on my bed, while I was reading some book, and she heard my mum’s steps approaching. She would wake up, and gently shake her head, but wouldn’t move a paw. But if she recognised my dad’s steps, you can be sure she would jump straight to the floor.

She truly was the sweetest dog ever and will be remembered as such. We all miss her. Luckily, we shared so many moments with her that we have no regrets; just happy memories. And trust me, those memories, I’m not going to allow them to disappear. Secured. Preciously. Like little grains of sands. Or – more appropriately – like small almonds in a tree.

Calissons maison comme des vrais

Calissons are a French specialty from Provence – and more precisely – Aix en Provence, where they’re so dearly-loved that they’re mass produced. Originally made with almonds and fruits confits [candied fruits], I took the easy way and made some with almonds mixed with a little icing sugar, homemade apricot jam, natural almond extract and orange blossom flower water, to a smooth and fragrant paste.

Here I used ground almonds, but you could obviously use blanch almonds, which you grind yourself. However, I’m not good at lying and honestly – and as much as I love anything homemade – I’m glad with how those calissons turn out and don’t get the point about trying hard when you can get terrific results with bought – but high-quality – ground almonds.

Croissants aux amandes for breakfast. Rhubarb tart for lunch. Gianduja brioche for quatre-heures. Fruit cake for dinner.
This is probably what you think as my daily fare; and I won’t blame you. I mean, I bake cake, whip up entremets, assemble tarts, cut cookies out, proof bread doughs, make chocolate truffles, fill macarons, and put cupcakes together.

However, when it comes to my everyday life, I would most definitely choose a piece of warm crusty bread dipped in homemade guacamole, over a slice of the most decadent chocolate cake.
See, breakfast means for me: a cup of green tea with a dash of soy milk. Lunch is certainly composed of vegetables, eaten raw. Quatre-heures might include a piece of cheese and some kind of fruits. And dinner. Oh dinner! Legumes and cooked greens, and yes, something sweet.

Where do all the pastries end then? I think I owe you a couple of explanations.
Firstly, I rarely make full recipes, but instead, divide the proportions so they yield to a single tiny cake/tart/entremet. Those totally feed my post-dinner sweet cravings.
Secondly, I make my neighbours and co-workers (hmm, if you guys happen to read this, I promise I’ll bring something over soon) happy.

This only applies to the special pastries though. Not to the totally easy-to-make-and-healthy desserts I make for myself when I am in that indulge mood I love so much.
Whenever I feel like having something sweet, yet wholesome, I usually throw together a couple of natural and healthful ingredients, and the result is always eaten quickly, without the least guilt.

That last part – yes, the one about eating quickly – is the reason why I almost never share with you my much treasured recipes. That; and the fact I mostly make them at night, when it’s too dark outside to take decent pictures.

Today, however, I’m going to tell you about one of my favourite variations of the dessert I make the most: agar jelly. Chocolate agar jelly, that is.

I love agar – a seaweed galactose polymer – for many reasons. The first being its vegetal nature, which is great for people like me who try not to eat animals or animal products. The second reason is related to his high gelling properties, which make for a fast-setting jelly. And the third – and somewhat less explored – reason is its ability to form a gel that holds its shape even at high temperature (imagine jelly ribbons in a cake).

Some people argue against agar by bringing up the different mouth-feel and texture of agar jellies. While I do agree on that, I’ve made the choice not to consider agar as a replacement for gelatine, but as an ingredient of its own kind.

What I like about gelatine is how softly it melts in your mouth. With agar, a whole new array of sensations appears. The jelly has more bite and holds better. And it has that pleasing cold feeling; ‘cold’ having nothing to do with temperature, more with creaminess. The colder in mouth, the less creamy and the sleeker it feels.

* By the way, it’s totally my birthday today; so guys, I’m off to see my family for the week end. Hope you all have a lovely time around while I’m not here!

Gelée agar intense au chocolat noir, sans sucre

As said above, this chocolate sugar-free agar jelly is one of my favourites. I love how quick it is to prepare and how fast it sets into an intense chocolate glossiness.If you’re using agar for the first time, no need to be afraid, really. It’s very simple and you’re totally unlikely to mess up. Just sprinkle the agar over the tepid liquid and bring to the boil for one minute (or two if you’re feeling insecure). The resulting mixture will still be fluid and will set as it cools down.

Nonetheless, I’ve noticed that different brands of agar powder can yield to subtle differences in textures; so I strongly advise you test you agar powder. If it’s a little too firm today, reduce the amount you add the next time. I’ve found I need to use between 1.6 and 2.1 grams, depending on the brand I use.

The differences might also be explained by how difficult it is to accurately measure such small quantities. Even my kitchen scales show some troubles doing so.
Therefore, I generally use half a teaspoon (2.5ml) of loose agar powder and get great results.

And just in case you’re wondering, one serving contains less than a hundred kcal.

Comme vous avez peut-être pu le constater, je publie maintenant les recettes à la fois en anglais et en français. L’explication est simple: je reçois plus de dix-huit emails tous les jours à ce sujet.
J’ai donc décidé de mettre en ligne une traduction des recettes après plusieurs mois d’hésitation. J’espère que cela vous fera plaisir.
Amusez-vous bien !

There are other cities. And I was even gifted with the right to live in some of them. Ask me about Antibes, Cannes, Nice or Monaco; even Toulouse.

But Paris? I go there a couple of times a year, generally for no more than a few days spent doing the compulsory shopping, dining out and partying, with very little time left for pâtisserie-scouting. What about the time when I actually lived in Paris for ten whole weeks. Now you bring this, I must say, that back then, I was in a pâtisserie, not visiting pâtisseries, and that well, thank you for reminding me I didn’t have enough time to complete the pastry-tasting I had initially planned.

But because I love you and will do anything to make you happy, I’m going to share with you a few of my favourite places around Paris. Since I proclaim any good pâtisserie or food store a favourite; the list could probably narrow down to two or three hundreds spots; but here, I’ll make sure to keep it brief and delicious, and will only feature the places I find myself visiting on a regular basis.

If you’re looking for a absolute guide to Paris pâtisseries, I suggest you get yourself a copy of The pâtisseries of Paris – Jamie Cahill’s latest book, so beautiful you could read it anytime of the year, but which could become quite handy if you’re planning to visit Paris.

Before I tell you more about my hand-picked list, I’ll clarify a few points on books.

Please welcome warmly my eight favourite places around Paris. As you’ll notice most of them are in the first, second and sixth arrondissements. No wonder here. When I’m in Paris, I live right in the heart of the first arrondissement so, ahem, I tend to have a routine which consists in walking or velib’ing from my flat to the sixth – almost always through the pont neuf – for a latte or citron pressé at Café Flore; then cross the Seine again, landing at the Louvre carousel and later on, in the second arrondissement.

However, since I used to work in the fifteenth, I have my favourites over there as well, which include – as you might have guessed – Pierre Hermé.

Angelina
226 rue de Rivoli - first arrondissement

Okay, so this might not be a surprise, but Angelina is my favourite place for cold afternoons, when all I crave is good winter food; during those days, only a hot chocolat africain and a mont blanc will do.
They’re out of this world. Really.
I usually spend a good couple of hours there, sipping through the incredibly thick hot chocolate and reading the latest issue of Thuries magazine.

Pierre Hermé (closed on Mondays)
85 rue de Vaugirard - fifteenth arrondissement

Most of you know how fond I am of Pierre’s pastries. I do have favourites though. The collections I love the most are Mosaic – pistachio and cherry, and Infiniment Vanille – Mexican, Tahitian and Madagascar vanillas. Please make yourself happy and have a millefeuilles Mosaic or a tarte Infiniment Vanille or both.
Amongst the macarons, I must admit I’m partial to Mogador, Mosaic (again) and balsamic vinegar.
I do also advise you taste the cannelés and croissants – the best around town.

Des gâteaux et du pain
63 boulevard Pasteur - fifteenth arrondissement

This is where we – the pâtissiers at Pierre Hermé’s – used to get baguettes for our breakfast break. And trust me, good levain baguette it was. The crust is crisp and golden, while the crumb is uneven – with large air pocket – and slightly chewy.
Most definitely the best baguette I have ever had. The pastries are also fantastic looking and equally good.

G. Detou (closed on Sundays)
58 rue Tiquetonne - second arrondissement

This is where I go when I need hard-to-find ingredients. Liquid glucose, cocoa butter, pistachio paste… just to name a few.
I also recommend the cheap yet great vanilla beans, which are sold by fifty.
The staff is cheery and helpful, so do not hesitate to ask for help.

Stohrer
51 rue Montorgueil - second arrondissement

Being a one-minute-walk away from my flat, you’re likely to find me shopping at Stohrer – one of the oldest patisseries in Paris – on Sunday mornings.
Although all the pastries look refreshingly old-fashionned, I always end up buying a puit d’amour: a crisp puff pastry shell encloses a fragrant vanilla crème topped with a brittle caramel.

Sadaharu Aoki
35 rue Vaugirard - sixth arrondissement

Being the matcha green tea lover I am, I can’t help but drop by Sada’s pâtisserie, where I will only take two millefeuilles. One for instant gratification. One I’ll save for later – probably breakfast.

La grande épicerie (closed on Sundays)
38 rue de Sèvre - seventh arrondissement

My friends always tease me because I go grocery shopping at la Grande Epicerie which they see as one of the most expensive supermarkets around. Although, this statement is somewhat close to reality, I prefer to disagree claiming that Monoprix is much more expensive (ahem, right).
Don’t discuss, go there, buy Jean-Yves Bordier butter and spread it thickly onto a slice of baguette.

Patrick Roger (closed on Sundays and Mondays)
108 boulevard St Germain - sixth arrondissement

Call me superficial, but I could go to Patrick’s chocolaterie just for the perfect bondi-blue boxes. Quite evidently I have other reasons; like: chocolates.
Awarded Meilleur Ouvrier de France, Patrick creates simple yet delicious chocolats. I am known to always purchase the almonds, dipped in caramel and covered with a thin layer of dark chocolate. The oat ganache chocolate also holds a special place in my heart and I hope it will in yours too.

Now I’m curious… What are your favourites?

It’s not a secret to anyone. I could kill for cheesecake. Great cheesecake, that is.
Quite evidently, I was thrilled when I found out about this month’s daring bakers challenge. Cheesecake. Lollipops.

Those are basically two of my favourite things ever. Combined. I mean, the branding for my name even features lollipops.
My warmest thanks go to Deborah and Elle for this great pick.

The experiment:
- a creamy vanilla cheesecake
- dipped into tempered milk chocolate

As with most cheesecake batter, you start by creaming the cream cheese along with the sugar and seeds from one vanilla pod. Then go in the eggs and here, a little flour and an extra egg yolk are added, which I guess helps the cake hold its shape when rolled into balls later on.

I baked the cake into a 18cm wide pyrex dish, and in a water-bath, at 150°C for a little less than 45 minutes. However, given I used a more-than-halved recipe, I suggest to adapt the baking time and temperature if making a full recipe.
The cheesecake should look slightly swollen and should feel firm but still somewhat wobbly in the centre. And the edges might have a light golden colour.

I allowed the cheesecake to cool at room temperature, before wrapping it tightly with cling film, and left it in the fridge overnight.

The next day, I delicately peeled off the thin ‘crust’ and scooped walnut-size balls, which I rolled using wet hands, then placed onto a baking sheet lined with cling film.
Since I don’t own a freezer, I just chilled the balls for a couple of hours before inserting lollipop sticks into the cold and firm cheesecake spheres.

I tempered some milk chocolate – if yours doesn’t feel thin enough, you can mix in a little cocoa butter. Then poured the tempered chocolate into a smallish container, got the pops out of the fridge and dipped them. Because the spheres were so cold, the chocolate tended to set quickly, so I had to work quickly so the sprinkles would stick to the chocolate coating.

Soooo…
Those cheesecake lollipops were a hit. Even though I found the cheesecake part slightly too sweet, I have to say the texture was perfect and easy to handle. Firm yet creamy.
The vanilla seeds brought a lovely aroma, which combined with the egg and cream flavours certainly make you think about vanilla ice-cream.

They would make a great present. However, everyone seemed to be begging for more. I guess walnut-size is not enough; ice-cream-lollies-shaped cheesecake pops would definitely be more appropriate. They could then be called, vanilla ice-cream cheesecake lollipops. Yes, vanilla. Ice-cream. Cheesecake. Lollipops. Yum!

This past Monday. Yesterday, in fact. I made a choice. One of the most critical choices I’ve ever been confronted to. The kind of choices that leaves you in an uncanny state of uncertainty; but definitely one that makes you happy, one that you can’t help but think about – days and nights and every second in between -, one that comes with a CAP (Certificat d’Aptitude Professionelle) pâtissier, chocolatier et glacier.

Yes, my dearest friends, you read it well. From next September, I’ll officially start studying pâtisserie and might even pass the final exam (cross your fingers and you friends’ as well, for me).

Little happy dance and song. Champagne, ahem, not quite yet. I need to find a place (either a pâtisserie or restaurant) to be an apprentie at. And trust me, this doesn’t seem to be easy a task.
Since I’m wanting to stay on the Côte, I’m scouting places like renowned hotels and restaurants, and great pâtisseries. So if you happen to know anyone around, let me know and I’ll make sure to send you a box of macarons!

And this is the appropriate moment to thank you who support me, give me fantastic-est advices and help me to find my way. You know who you are and I’m immensely grateful to count you as friends.

Bring. It. On.

The tart. What can I say? An insanely delicious passion fruit ganache encased in a crisp pâte sucrée shell and topped with syrupy pineapple dices.

One of the best desserts I’ve ever made. The flavours interact. The textures oppose. My mouth loves it. Yours will too.

Tarte chocolat au lait et fruit de la passion, ananas rôti
Inspired by Pierre Hermé.

A quick look at the long list of ingredients and steps might – but shouldn’t – lead you to think that this is a long and complicated recipe. It isn’t. Don’t get me wrong, it is quite time-consuming, but if you plan things well ahead, then all is a left is the final and rewarding assembly job.

This tart is inspired by Pierre Hermé’s collection Mogador. Inspired. I’m eternally grateful for his pâte sucrée and for the impossibly luscious roast pineapple – I could and do eat this with my fingers as soon as the syrup isn’t hot enough to burn me to the bone.
The ganache is slightly different. Pierre relies on passion fruit, while I use both passion fruit and cream. Better stability, no splitting. Pretty decent, really.

As you might notice from the picture, my ganache is on the soft side. I like it better that way since I love that melt in your mouth feeling.
It will, however, get firmer if you leave it in the fridge for too long.

They asked me to tell you guys - Jen (love you girl), Hélène and Hannah, Anita, Peabody, Ivonne, Lisa and Mary - that they arrived, safe and sound.

Here is their story.

Picture a chair. One covered with some kind of pushy-pink fabric. Well, now imagine yourself getting that exact chair for your birthday – or Christmas, I’m not picky. Thrilled, aren’t you?

The state you would be in is probably as exciting as my current social life. You see, ever since I’ve moved to Revel for my stage de fin d’études, I didn’t really get the chance to connect, or even talk to people my age.
It certainly is a nice little town, with a pretty market and an ice-cold wind; but as the high-protein biscuit machine I turned into, I had little time to do other things than making biscuits, let alone party.

But tonight, people; tonight I‘m invited to a birthday party. And before you start thinking I’m an unsocial geek – which trust me, I am not – you should try and understand. One month. Without. Partying.
Okay, now we’re on the same length, I can introduce you to the most decadent dessert ever. Cake that is.

Or baked chocolate mousse, as Claire Clark calls it. A rich chocolate mousse, baked until just cooked, chilled until hard then left at room temperature until soft.
This is the kind of desserts that tend to melt in your mouth living an ephemeral chocolate sensation.

Gâteau fondant au chocolat
Adapted from Claire Clark’s Indulge.

This dead-easy cake tastes delicious and looks elegant. Perfect as a dinner party dessert, you can make it the day before and keep it in the fridge until four hours before you plan on starting your dinner.

Make sure the cake is very cold before trying to unmould it. But no need to panic, you’re your cake has rested long enough in the fridge and feels set, take your hairdryer out and gently heat the cake ring so the butter starts melting and you can easily release the cake from its tin.

I served mine with a dollop of tangy crème fraiche and it was a perfect match.

For those of you who don’t know it yet, pâte feuilletée [literally, layered dough] – pat fe-yeah-teh – is the French for puff pastry, a fine and versatile pastry used in many pâtisseries and baked good: from mille-feuilles to flans. It consists in a basic dough, the détrempe – deh-tramp – spread with a good share of beurre manié – bear man-yeah –, then successively folded and rolled out; hence the layer part of its French name.

There are many ways of making pâte feuilletée.
Some encase the détrempe into the beurre manié, just like Pierre Hermé does with his delicious pâte feuilletée inversée. Others make it old-school-style by encasing the butter into the détrempe.

Oh and obviously, there are many discussions on how to properly enfold the beurre manié (or détrempe, if using Pierre’s method). Should the détrempe fully encase the beurre or just be folded over it?

Here, I will show you my own method. I’m not saying it’s the best, but since it’s the one I used when I first made pâte feuilletée and that it proved to be excellent and most importantly, reliable, I’ve never given others methods a chance.
Sure, I did make pâte feuilletée inversée when I was an intern at Pierre Hermé, but didn’t try this at home and probably will when I’ll have some time on my hands.

However, those differing approaches all converge towards the same purpose: a flaky and puffy pastry.
If it’s commonsense that the flaky effect comes from the successive folds/rolls, where does the puffy factor comes from? It’s all very simple. Picture the détrempe. Made with flour, a little butter, and water, it is a moderately hydrated dough, which undergoes a basic modification during the baking process: water evaporation. So far, it’s old news. But what’s interesting here is that instead of leaking out of the dough, the steam gets trapped in between the hydrophobic layers of beurre manié, lifting them and forming water-rich air pockets. This phenomenon takes place until the starch seizes, which causes the end of the expansion and the beginning of the dehydration and colouration – through Maillard reaction.

Because I suspect that; at this point, some of you are remotely bored, I suggest we start making pâte feuilletée. As usual, I like to start with weighed and prepared ingredients; and needless to say, a sink full of hot soapy water. I know many of those who personally know the more-than-you-could-ever-think-messy person I am will laugh at the following, but I like things to be pretty clean and tidy in the kitchen.

To make enough puff pastry for three 23cm tarts or two 6-servings mille-feuilles or more accurately 900g, you’ll need:
150ml water
5g fleur de sel (one heaped teaspoon)
350g flour
110g butter, melted and cooled
for the détrempe, and:

375g butter
150g flour for the beurre manié.

Dissolve the fleur de sel into the water.

In the bowl of a stand-mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the flour and melted butter until just blended. If you’re making this by hand, use a wooden spoon or a fork.

Reduce the speed of the mixer and slowly pour in the salted water. You might not need it all, depending how the absorption coefficient of the flour you’re using – flours from different brands may not need the same amount of water, so act accordingly. Stop adding water when the dough feels soft, but not overly so. It shouldn’t, by any mean, be sticky. And will still be wet or dry at some spots.

Place the dough onto cling film and working quickly with the palm of your hands, form a rectangle approximately 20cm long, 15cm wide and 1cm thick. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate.

Once the détrempe is made, it’s time to start making the beurre manié. Simply cream the butter for a couple of minutes.

Then scrape the sides of the bowl, and tip in the flour and mix very briefly, until just combined.

Transfer onto cling film and working very quickly – the last thing to want is the butter to melt – form a rectangle as large as the one you just made with the détrempe. Wrap and chill for two hours.

After the two-hour chilling time, dust your workplan with flour and roll out the détrempe into a rectangle almost twice as long as its width (it should be around 40cm long, 15cm wide and 0.5cm thick).

Place the rectangle of beurre manié onto the lower part of the rolled détrempe and fold the upper part over it.

You should now have something that sort of looks like a book.

Place its spine on your left, and roll out until you get a 40cm long and 20 cm wide rectangle. The next step is called a tour double [literally, a double turn – read fold]. Brush the excess flour away and trim the ends so you have a neat rectangle*.

Visualise the middle axis of the rectangle, grab the lower end of the dough and fold it over so it meets the middle axis. Do the same with the upper end. I’ll call this an open book.

Finally, close the ‘book’ and wrap it in cling film.

* this is totally what I use to make the presque-palmiers below.

You see those two holes; they’re here to remind you that you’ve done two tours. This might not be helpful when you only make one batch, but trust me, when you have more than 50kg of puff pastry to roll, they come quite handy. Refrigerate for 1 hour.

Now, you’re going to make the second tour double.
Place the book look-alike dough in front of you, spine on the left and proceed as above.

At this point, the dough can be kept, well-wrapped, in the fridge for up to a week. However, once you give the dough its last final tour simple [simple fold], it should get used within 72 hours.

To give the dough its final tour, place the ‘book’ in front of you, spine on the left and roll it into a rectangle slightly larger than a sheet of A4 paper. Brush the excess flour away and fold in three, just like you would do with a business letter.

Divide into three 300g pâtons and use as you wish.

Pâte feuilletée [puff pastry] is one of those things that people don’t make, ahem, very often. You might, which you should be blessed for; but so far, I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t rely on store-bought puff pastry. I guess this is okay for most of us; I have to admit that whenever I have a tart craving and no time to make puff pastry, I prefer to quickly put a simple pâte brisée together and get on with the filling comme si de rien était.

However, come over on a Sunday morning and you’re likely to find me making pâte feuilletée. I just love to make puff pastry, see the beautiful cream-white layers come to life, fold the smooth dough. Oh yeah, this is good people and you should try. But if I’m being totally honest, the best thing I like about making puff pastry is to eat what I make with the scraps. You know, those little ribbons of dough that get cut during the making process: after the dough has been rolled and before folding, I trim the far ends of the dough so it looks like a proper rectangle.

Oh I know what you’re thinking. Those little buggers look totally unpretentious. Sure they have that lovely golden-brown colour, that endearing caramel aroma, but well, in the end they’re simply bâtonnets of puff pastry. But you’re oh so wrong.

Those people, are the unfussy* version of the fancy palmiers. Think crispy layers of sweet and caramelised puff pastry, which rank them quite high amongst my favourites. High enough for me to forget about my original tart cravings, which slowly morphes into roches carbonatées caramelisées du Carbonifère cravings as I roll and fold.
And in case you didn’t get it, I did name them caramelised Carboniferous carbonate rocks, for they look nowhere near a palm tree, but marine limestone beds, well, that will do. Quite obviously their name comes from the day I spent studying, or more accurately: procrastinating, for the oral de géologie I was supposed to take the next day by making pâte feuilletée and the so-called, feuilletés comme des roches carbonatées du Carbonifère.

* not that palmiers are difficult to make. They actually take the same time to be shaped, but just look different. Plus, since the folding is done in a different way, the palmier tend to expand horizontally; while those presque-palmiers grow vertically, which I really like.

Since those cookies are made from the scraps, this is anything but a recipe; more a sort of guideline to follow. Simply use plety of sugar and make sure the scraps of dough you start with are fridge-cold before beginning.

You preheat the oven to 240°C and line a baking sheet with baking paper.
You then dust your work plan with a good handful of golden sugar, pile the cold scraps of pâte feuilletée and finely roll them out. Dust the dough with more sugar and fold into three - just like you would do with a business letter. Roll out again, dust with sugar and fold.
You finally roll the dough into a half a centimetre thick* rectangle that’s about 10cm-wide and slice this into 1.5cm bâtonnets. Reduce the oven temperature to 190°C and bake until well puffed and golden, I’d say around 15-20 minutes.* if using proper finished puff pastry instead of scraps, roll the pastry way thinner, like 1 or 2 mm thick, or your presque-palmiers will grow tall then fall on the side in a twisted-style.

If after reading this you don’t need to make pâte feuilletée - that is just for having the chance to bite into one of those -, then I would suggest you pay your doctor a visit. By the way, this is totally a teaser for the pâte feuilletée 101 that will come later this week.