Bordelais Shaping Guidelines

First things first!

- Mise en place: Have the following ready to go before you start preshaping. This will make it more efficient for you to launch into final shaping.

* 2 covered proofing racks - one to place all preshaped rounds, one to place all final shaped loaves

* Proofing boards

* Bench flour (Special)

* Rice/Special flour combo, for flouring brotforms

* Seeded mix for coating

* Small oval brotforms, large round brotforms

* Couches

* Spray bottle

* Pullman pans, for Plain and Seeded

* Sheet tray(s) with silicone parchment, for Banana

* Canola spray

- All bordelais should be preshaped into lightly rounded shapes, even what will become Pullman loaves. Your goal is merely to introduce the structure to come!

- Preshaped rounds should be placed seam side up on a lightly floured proofing board. The exception to this are loaves that won't maintain a seam, that might look like its guts are spilling out, like the Banana or Olive (Fougasse). In this case, preshape round then place them on the board seam side down.

- When dividing portions, it is better that a loaf is composed of as few pieces as possible. One piece is ideal, or one piece with small bits placed on top for proper weight to be contained is much preferable to a loaf that is "Frankenstein-ed" together from a bunch of random pieces. This is especially important for the Banana, as getting proper tension on the surface requires a significant amount of surface to begin with!

- In general, you want to final shape doughs in the order that you have preshaped them. However, the seeded tend to relax really quickly and become messier to work with. In this case, preshape them towards the end, but final shape them towards the beginning.

- When placing shaped loaves on a couche, it is important that the couche acts as support for these expanding loaves. Therefore, the couche folds should be nestled thightly right up against the sides of the loaf, versus loosely and widely spaced out across the proofing board. Use the placement and couche folds to reinforce the desired shape. For example, in the case of the seeded bordelais and oval petite boules, you'll want to stagger the loaves in a 2-1-2 or 3-2-3 placement, so that the loaves proof fatter in the middle and narrower at the ends. In the case of the rye bordelais, nestle loaves against each other so they proof into relatively long, even sided shapes.

The procedures that follow are to be followed after the preshaped rounds have adequately relaxed for final shaping.

Pain Au Levain 6 Cereales - Seeded Bordelais

Procedure: 

For Seeded Loaves (500 g)

1. Place a round in front of you on a lightly floured surface, seam side up, in a vertical orientation (egg shape: wider in the middle, narrower up top).

2. Pat out excess air and to even out shape.

3. Fold the narrow top to the center, then fold two corresponding corners created by that fold to the center.

4. Turn dough upside down, and repeat step 3. You should now have a smaller, tighter reinforcement of this egg shape. The package should be even and relatively flattened - not uneven or with deep pockets or crevices.

5. Fold top to the half point to create tension - it now should look like a coffee bean. Next, while "hiding and chasing the thumb", create a seal starting from the right side headed to the left. Seal the top lip to the bottom lip of the dough against the table using the heel of your hand. Besides sealing the dough, you want to expel that tunnel of air you have created with the thumb without flattening your shape. After sealing you should have something that looks like a fat empanada or a bean.

6. Turn the loaf seam side down and onto a couche next to a pile of seeded mix. Using a spray bottle or a wet towel, moisten the surface lightly, then lift the couche to flip over the loaf onto the pile of seeds and press gently. The seeds will have adhered to the moistened surface.

7. When using the small oval brotform (basket), place the seeded loaf seam side up. This is because they will be flipped upside down directly onto the peel to be loaded. When placing on a couche, it should be seam side down.

For Seeded Pullman (1500 g)

1. Prepare the Pullman pans by lightly spraying with Canola oil.

2. Place large round on lightly floured surface, seam side up. Pat out dough into a rectangle in a horizontal orientation (like you would baguette dough).

3. Fold top portion of the dough to the middle. Flip upside down, and fold the new top portion to the center. You now have a reinforced, narrower version of your rectangle.

4. Fold the top of the dough to about 1" from the bottom, creating tension to make smooth large and even tube, with a thinner tube on the bottom that will eventually form part of the seal.

5. Starting from the left side of the loaf, use your left fingers to pull the large tube over the smaller tube, while nestling your thumb in the inner seam. Now, hiding and chasing down the thumb, proceed to seal the outer seam with the heel your hand. The left hand acts to create tension in the surface while straightening and somewhat stretching the loaf to its desired length. The right hand hand seals the seam and reinforces the tension, while expelling the air caused by the fold. Think about it: you don't want a gaping tunnel in your sandwich bread, right?

6. Cover surface with seeded mix following Step 6 from above.

7. Carefully place the long seeded loaf (scrunching it only to carry it) into the coated Pullman pan. Pat it out so that it evenly fills the loaf plan. Place Pullmans on the top of covered rack, with the lids next to it.

Rye Bordelais

Procedure:

Steps 1 - 4: Same as Seeded Bordelais

5. Similar to Seeded, fold the top portion of the (egg-shaped) dough towards the center to create tension. Then, fold again towards the center - this creates a narrowing of the oval shape. Then, hiding the thumb, seal the seam from left to right with the heel of your right hand while expelling the air tunnel without flattening your loaf. You should have a slightly longer, even sided shape, compared to the rounded fat oval shape of the Seeded.

6. Place the loaf on a lightly floured couche seam side down. Nestle them tightly next to each other, separated and supported by the couche folds, so that the proof long and narrow. Do not stagger these loaves.

Plain Bordelais

Procedure:

Oval petite boules: Shape as you would the Seeded Bordelais. Place on couche seam side down, or in small oval brotform seam side up if you aren't using it for Seeded. Stagger them on a couche so that they proof into fat loaves versus long like the rye. Long skinny loaves are hard to stencil!

Round petite boules: Reinforce the preshaped rounds into tight final rounds, then place them seam side down on the couche. Place couche folds against the rounds as tightly as possible to preserve the boule shape during the proof. 

Large boules: Reinforce the preshaped rounds into tight final rounds, then place them seam side up in a lightly floured round brotform. Use the rice flour + Special flour mixture to dust the brotforms lightly. You do not want to leave flour marks on the boule as they will be stenciled, but you want to make sure that they don't stick to the brotform either.

Plain Pullmans: Follow the procedure for Seeded Pullmans, minus the seed coat.

Olive Bordelais (Fougasse)

Procedure: 

Final shape them by reinforcing the preshaped rounds. It is not necessary to tighten them as much as you would the Plain because they will not become boules. Place them apart, seam side down, on a lightly floured board. No more than 9 rounds to a proofing board unless absolutely necessary - this constitutes a full oven's worth. Be sure space them sufficiently apart so they do not adhere to each other.

Banana Bordelais

Procedure:

1. Using the bench knife, lift/scrape the banana off the proofing board and place onto a floured surface, seam side (guts) up.
2. Gently pull the underside of the dough over the guts to encase them. Rotate the pouch 90º degrees, and continue to create tension on the dough surface. Repeat a third time if possible.
3. If necessary, use the friction of the table and the bench knife to guide the Banana boule into as tight a round as possible. You must be gentle enough not to rip the surface, but the guts of the loaf should be contained for best volume.
4. Place seam side down on a sheet pan with silicone parchment. Silicone is important! Do not use plain parchment or the banana will stick to it completely during the bake.
5. No more than 6 Bananas per full sized sheet pan, no more than 3 for each half sheet size. This is important for the boules to bake evenly.

Rack Placement Guidelines

- For placement of the final loaves, please find a covered rack that is in the most pristine condition possible. Intact zippers, no gaping holes for drafts to come through. A frosty draft in the fridge is detrimental to the doughs. Keep this in mind when prepping the croissant rack as well.

-Place sheet pans with soaking wet towels on the top rack and bottom rack. This will help to keep proper moisture.

- Doughs that are the same or meant to be baked in the same oven should be placed on levels closest to each other. You may follow this order, top-down, consolidating as necessary to make sure they all fit.

TOP: Pullman loaves
|    Seeded Bordelais
|    Rye
|    Petite Boules
|    Banana Boules
|    Olive
BOTTOM: Large Plain Bordelais

- At this time, we are placing the Brioche loaves on the same rack to proof, so please find them a spot.

- Make sure zippers are fully closed and the rack is secure. Roll immediately into walk-in.

Party in De Gâteau

To all my loyal readers out there – yes, both of you – I apologize sincerely for not having updated dos cucharas in such a long time. Life has gotten progressively more hectic, what with adult responsibilities like having a j-o-b. Also, a certain darling husband of mine’s (!) is refusing to let me back out of running the marathon I had signed up for while languishing in leisure. Thus, I have been compelled to put baking, and consequently writing, on the backburner while scrambling to train seriously for running the body-and-spirit-breaking distance of 26.2 miles in less than a month. (T minus 17 days!)

It was my day off yesterday and a lovely time for an early morning run. Except that I couldn’t get out until almost 10:30AM and by the time I returned from an 8- mile run, I developed a mild case of heat stroke and, worse yet, an unsightly racer-back and running shorts tan. The blazing sun effectively dried up my motivation for anything ambitious for the rest of the day, or so I thought.

As I ate my lunch, I decided to flip through Greg Patent’s A Baker’s Odyssey, a compilation of recipes from immigrant bakers. It has been out of rotation from my reading list as of recent, but I’ve made some truly wonderful things from the book (like piroshki and pastéis de nata). Because I currently work at a French boulangerie that dabbles in the patisserie arena, I sought out what Mr. Patent offers in the name of France, and that’s how I came across this recipe for gâteau Basque.

Gâteau Basque is “a tender, sweet, cookie-like dough [that] encloses a thick pastry cream flavored with vanilla”. Not sure I’ve ever seen it before, but that’s why the World Wide Internets is such a fabulous thing. A quick scan of the ingredients and procedure: okay, got most of the ingredients… pastry cream, that’s not too bad… well, I have to go to the supermarket to get some eggs…

What was supposed to be a leisurely afternoon spent recovering quickly and surreptitiously spiraled into a major cooking event. Major, at least, for two people on a random Tuesday. Spicy guacamole, grilled shrimp and endives on the barbie (pronounced bahh-bee for authenticity), super-garlicky mofongo, and a homemade dessert to boot.

The cake itself was no piece of, well, cake, with the trickiest part being this delicate, high-fat-high-sugar dough. But the challenge of learning is usually fun (as long as it doesn’t result in outright failure), and from the look and taste of the finished product my first attempt is definitely in the right direction. We didn’t know it before we started eating, but that small cookie-cake-tart didn’t stand a chance.

It doesn’t seem like a dessert that would blow anyone’s socks off, but it can be just right for when one wants something sweet, but not too sweet… substantial, but not too heavy… perhaps, enjoyed with a glass of Armagnac or Izarra, a sweet liqueur made in French Basque country.

Maybe further investigation is warranted… how much are roundtrip tickets to France these days?

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Recipe: Gâteau Basque

Adapted from A Baker’s Odyssey by Greg Patent

There are at least two lovely virtues about this particular recipe. One, there are no strange ingredients. Chances are you’ll have everything you need in house even if you’re a casual baker. If you’re an avid baker, chances are you’ll have to make a trip to the nearest Shoprite because you’ve used up the last of your eggs making the third batch of brioche in a week. There, you’ll rationalize the purchase of a flat of eggs – that’s 2 ½ dozen huevos for the uninitiated – although the egg container in your fridge holds a measly dozen, especially since food cost is 24.5% lower when buying bulk…

Um, where was I?

Oh, right. Virtue number two: Keeping quality is admirable. According to Mr. Patent, gâteau Basque stays perfectly fresh in the refrigerator for 3 or 4 days”, which I interpret to mean, it should still be pretty edible even after a week and a half. I appreciate desserts lend itself to longevity/leftovers; it’s kind of frustrating to spend a lot of time and effort on something that has an expiration date measured in hours rather than days. But that’s just me.

Getting down to business: I scaled out my ingredients to make the pastry shell. In a large bowl, I sifted together 2 ½ cups of AP flour, 1 tablespoon of baking powder, and about ¾ cup of granulated sugar. The recipe gives a range of ¾ cup to 1 cup of sugar, but warns that the more sugar you use the harder it will be to work with the dough. I cut up two sticks of butter from the fridge into tablespoon sized pieces and allowed it to soften a bit while I prepared the rest of the ingredients.

Next, I grated the zest of 1 orange (you can also use a lemon instead) and then measured out two large eggs and two large egg yolks into a cup, breaking them up with a fork to combine. (I always save the egg whites in a separate container, just in case I feel like rustling up a batch of macarons or meringues in the not-to-distant future.) Finally, I measured out a tablespoon of dark rum for flavoring, although it calls for only 1 teaspoon of pure almond extract or dark rum. Whoops! Was it another typical dos cucharas mishap or just wishful thinking? Either way, it seemed to no real detriment or effect, and I would probably choose to go with the almond extract in the next round.

With the ingredients scaled out, it was time to make the dough. I pinched the butter pieces into the flour, fluffing up the mixture frequently, with the goal of breaking the butter up into little flakes. According to the recipe, this step would take no more than 3 minutes. No difficult feat, but I imagine if you were so inclined you can just as easily place the flour and cut up butter into a KitchenAid mixer fitted with a paddle a similar result. 

Next, I made a well in the flour and butter mixture, into which I added the zest, eggs and yolks, and rum. I began to incorporate the dry into the wet using a fork but it quickly became tedious what with all the sticking. I switched to a spatula and continued to press the dry ingredients into the moist ball that was forming until I had a soft, shaggy but fairly cohesive dough.

I sprinkled half of the remaining ½ cup of flour on counter, nudged the dough onto the center, and sprinkled the rest of the flour over it. I kneaded the flour into ball with the help of a bowl scraper as it seemed to have high messiness potential, and it came together quite easily. 

The recipe then states to “flour a dinner plate, shape the dough into a disk, and set it on a plate.” Not to be content with one large gâteau, I sectioned the dough to make a medium sized cake and a small tart-sized serving. (Because two is better than one, right?) I covered the disks – 4 in total to form tops and bottoms – with plastic wrap and refrigerated it for approximately three hours. (At least 1 hour and up to 3 is called for in the recipe.)

After schlepping to the store for the aforementioned flat of eggs, I assembled the ingredients to make the pastry cream filling. Making pastry cream is an essential basic that continues to confound and intimidate some people. I’m no expert (obviously) but I’ve learned a little preparation and patience goes a long way. My procedure varies only slightly from the recipe but I haven’t gone wrong with it yet…

I rinsed the inside of a medium saucepan with cold water before pouring in 2 cups of whole milk. I don’t remember where I learned that trick but once you forget and end up scraping scorched milk from the bottom of a pot, you never forget again. As it’s coming to a near boil over medium heat, I am whisking 5 large egg yolks with ¾ cup of granulated sugar in a medium bowl. (To clarify, I am not walking away from a warming pot of milk to separate eggs and mise out sugar – no! I have already gathered everything and it’s all within reach. That milk is literally waiting for me to turn my back so that it can boil over.)  To the sugared egg yolks, I whisked 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract and ½ cup of AP flour until the whole mixture has lightened in color and is smooth and thick.

When the milk became hot (I could see steam rising and little bubbles have formed along the edge), I took it off the heat and tempered the eggs by ladling one scoop of hot milk gradually into the egg mixture while whisking constantly. The thick egg mixture loosens up considerably and I continued to add the milk ladle by ladle. After I have added a third of the milk’s total to the egg, I slowly poured the egg-milk mixture into the saucepan, again all the while whisking, and returned the saucepan to medium heat. 

The mixture eventually thickened and I switched to a heatproof rubber spatula to scrape the sides and bottom of the pan. When I noticed a few bubbles popping at the surface, I took the pastry cream off the heat and carefully strained it over an ice bath. Straining removes the lumps (if any) and the ice bath arrests the cooking process, as my intention is to make cream and not flan. I stirred and folded it gently in the cold bowl until it stopped steaming, pressed a piece of plastic film onto the surface to prevent a skin from forming, and let cool to room temperature.

Next steps are to roll out the pastry shell, fill with the room temperature pastry cream, and bake. The recipe calls for an ungreased 9 x 1 ½” round cake pan, but I used a 7 x 3” springform pan and a 4” tart shell with removable bottom. I took my plate of dough disks out and let sit out for five minutes before going to town.

As I mentioned before, the recipe warns that the high sugar content of the dough makes it harder to work with. This is a bold understatement. Rolling out the dough into a 9” circle (it asked for an 11 to 12” circle for the 9 x 1 ½” pan) was a piece of cake (poor form on my part for using the same cliché twice!), but it simply adhered itself to the counter. I had to scrape off the dough in sections and patch it piece by piece onto the springform pan, so that it went up about two inches on the sides.

All the while I cursed this recipe and dreaded rolling out the next three disks. After I filled the shell with most of the pastry cream I stopped, took a deep breath, and asked myself “What the #&$(!@! am I going to do?” (It seems that at this time of the month my threshold for frustration is very low.)

Just then I had a stroke of inspiration to roll out the dough on a reusable baking liner. It worked perfectly! (You can probably use plain parchment or a Silpat as well.) Using the cake pan as a guide, I trimmed it to exact size by pressing lightly with a pizza cutter, peeled it off the liner, and nestled it on top of the pastry cream. 

I sealed the cake by overlapping the dough of the base over the top layer to create a lip around the edge. I repeated the procedure for filling the tartlet pan except that I used the pan itself to cut the top layer.

With the cakes assembled and the oven preheating at 350ºF, the finish line is in sight. All’s left is to decorate. Quickie Internet research led to me to understand that a cross-hatch pattern is traditional for a gâteau Basque filled with pastry cream, whereas one filled with preserved cherries (a local specialty of the Basque region) received a Basque cross. I brushed the tops with egg wash and then ran a fork over the tops to create a simple cross-hatch pattern. I spent about half a minute obsessing over the fact that one set of lines wasn’t quite parallel to the rest before forcing myself to surrender both cakes to the ovens.

The recipe states to “bake the gateau for 40 to 50 minutes, until it is well browned.” Just enough time to clean up the mess I’ve created and marvel at how big and beautiful the cakes rose as they baked. When the 50 minutes were up, I removed the cakes out of the oven and let them cool in their pan for 15 minutes.

Because the recipe had instructed for the cakes to be baked in a plain cake pan, they detail the procedure of how the cake should be removed, which involves banging the cake pan to release the cake and a series of precarious sounding inversions onto wire racks. Feeling quite self-satisfied for having the forethought to use a springform pan, I undid the latch to release the cake. Then I realized the bottom had embedded itself into the bottom of the cake, and would now have to jimmy it off with a paring knife and risk destroying my beautiful gâteau that I spent the better part of five hours making! Arrgh, why does this keep happening to me?! (Again, low threshold.)

Note to self: Always line springform pans with parchment paper!

Anyway, here they are on the cooling rack in all their magnificent glory. Well, I think they're fabulous. (Except for that not quite parallel stroke in the middle of the large gateau, dangit.) Mr. Patent writes that the gâteau can be served once it has cooled completely (3 to 4 hours) but that it is really best the day after. 

Ahh, but that’s why I made two. One to enjoy now, one to enjoy later (and again, and again.)

Bon appétit! 

Recipe: Green Tea Macarons with Chocolate Ganache Filling

There are several fabulous resources that do such a tremendous job on detailing the rights and wrongs of macarons and I implore you: if you are truly interested in making these macarons, visit the following sites:

You Can Do It...At Home! Sue from Melbourne, Australia appears to make some stunningly gorgeous macarons, plus plenty of other goodies I have yet to check out. I am also using the ratio and procedure for Italian meringue method macarons that I found on her lovely site.

Syrup and Tang. Mr. Duncan Markham, also from Melbourne (apparently a hotbed of expert macaron making), presents a very intense series on the topic at hand called La Macaronicité. All the copyright warnings a bit off-putting so I dare not bother referring to it but his diligence in the study of macarons warrant serious attention.

Not So Humble Pie. Ms. Humble is a former biological anthropologist turned stay-at-home mom and brilliant baker-blogger. She combines scientific nerdiness with beautiful food photography and thoughtful writing, it inspires praise and envy in equal measure. 

Given the abundance of phenomenal resources already available, I hesitate to write this entry. "It's all been done before" rings in my mind, well, just about every entry that I've written so far. 

Nevertheless, making macarons is truly an individualized experience. As much as you can read and learn from external sources, success in your kitchen ultimately depends on a confluence of unique factors including, but not limited to, the idiosyncrasies of your particular oven, the humidity of your apartment, and your current position in the menstrual cycle. (Hint: Endeavoring to make macarons while suffering from PMS is not a good idea.)

So please permit me to tell you about that glorious time when the stars aligned and I made a beautiful batch of macarons…

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Recipe: Green tea Macarons with Chocolate Ganache

Basic Macaron Recipe (Italian meringue method), adapted from You Can Do It... At Home!

Ingredients	Baker's %	Metric
Egg white	100%	50 g
Confectioners' Sugar	125%	63 g
Almond flour	125%	63 g
Superfine sugar	125%	8 g
Water	34%	17 g

Getting my act together

First, I assembled my ingredients. As with many things in the baking sphere accuracy in measurement is key, and the best way to accomplish this is by using a scale. Fifty grams is a little less than the amount of egg whites from two large eggs. It doesn't sound like much but you'd be surprised how much this makes.

Flavoring and coloring the above recipe is less of an exact science but I imagine you want to add as little as possible to get the job done. To this batch I added about 1/4 tsp of matcha green tea for flavor, though in hindsight I should have probably added more, maybe 1/2 tsp. For color, I used two drops of Ateco "Leaf Green"gel food coloring. Gel coloring is potent stuff compared to the liquid food coloring I bought at Jack's 99 Cent Store on 32nd street, without the extra liquid that can screw up an already delicate balance. I don't have experience with powder food coloring but I hear this is a good option as well.

I sifted the dry ingredients together, that is, the confectioners' sugar, almond flour, and matcha powder. As finely ground as the almond meal/flour is from Bob's Red Mill claims to be, in sifting I remove lots of chunks that can be detrimental to the formation of a smooth surface. I could have put these chunks through a coffee grinder with a bit of sugar, but I opted to waste the 50 cents and spare my sanity. After, I placed half of the egg white (25 g) on top of the sifted dry along with the food coloring. The other half of egg whites gets whipped on the Kitchen Aid as I assemble the syrup ingredients. 

Now, the sugar syrup I am making will be gradually poured into the already whipping whites, thereby cooking and stabilizing it. This is the difference between the Italian meringue method versus the French meringue, and by most accounts it makes it more resistant to over-mixing and thus more (if only marginally) fool-proof. Having ruined many batches of macarons via the French meringue method, I can attest to this, but when I become a bit more proficient at this macaron business, I plan to give it another go. 

Over medium-high heat I stirred the water and sugar together until the sugar was fully dissolved. By now it had come to a boil and I dropped my thermometer in. When they syrup hit 244ºF (118ºC), I took it off the heat and let it cool a bit before pouring it into the whipping whites.

I noticed the egg whites at this time was more foamy than soft-peak stage, and with the pot of hot hot sugar cooling in my hand, I was racking my brain if I was supposed to let the egg whites develop more. Because I feared the sugar was cooling too much (Sue instructs to let it cool to 239ºF (115ºC) before pouring), I began to pour it down the sides of the bowl. 

I had a gnawing feeling that something was wrong and indeed, there was. After several minutes of whipping on high speed, the egg white-sugar mixture was disappointingly un-meringue like. No volume, no lift, just a swishing pool of sugared egg white soup. The dilemma soon bared itself to me: do I pour the inferior meringue-wanna-be into my bowl of expensive almond flour, or do I suffer now and attempt another meringue? Though it may seem like nothing, I consider it a supreme mark of maturity on my part to have decided (and rightly) to begin again. (What can I say? I'm usually very immature.)

I washed the pot and the bowl and measured out my ingredients again. Luckily, I've got a take-out container full of aging egg whites from which to draw. This time, I start them on medium (instead of low) as soon as I begin to heat the sugar-water mixture. By the time I hit 244ºF (118ºC), the egg whites are already soft-peak stage. I bumped it to high as I poured the sugar syrup along the side of the mixing bowl, and watched the egg whites transform into a true Italian meringue.

Amen!

Oh, no celebrating yet! The battle has just begun.

I took a dollop of the meringue (approximately 1/3 the amount) and, using a rubber spatula, I stirred it vigorously into the almond flour/unwhipped egg white mixture using a rubber spatula. By vigorously I mean I beat it like it stole something because at this point I needed to combine it as homogeneously as possible. By the time I'm done, I've got what appears to be a hospital cafeteria serving of pureed peas for those on restricted diets after colon surgery. (Thankfully this tastes a lot better.) 




The final two additions of meringue is where I utilize a delicate touch. I folded the meringue into the peas... I mean, the batter... with gentle but decisive motions, also trying not to incorporate any more air into the mixture. Once all the streaks of white had disappeared I began to assess the state of the batter critically as each stroke liquifies it further. 

The final batter is supposed to flow like "magma", but unless you've helicoptered to the top of a Hawaiian volcano or are extremely fond of National Geographic, how the heck are you supposed to know magma flows? (I guess you can Google it...cheater.) The most helpful description I've read is, if the batter falls off your spatula into a peak that then dissolves back into the whole in about ten seconds, then it's ready. This is the criteria I used, also having faith that using an Italian meringue lets me have a bit of a buffer from overmixing.

My second favorite use for this glass.

I poured half the batter into a large piping bag with a #804 tip, purposefully set up in a tall 24-oz souvenir glass from The Frog and Onion Pub in Bermuda. (Mmm... beer.) This allows for easier handling than trying to juggle the bowl, spatula, and bag. I removed air from the top and shook the bag in a downward motion (pinching the area before the tip closed) to remove additional bubbles. 

Ready to pipe? It's now or never.

For this batch I used my Silpats and a reusable baking liner called "Cook-Eze". Some people praise parchment paper for macaron baking, but in my experience using my unbleached, rolled-up parchment for this purpose is a real pain in the knickers. To paraphrase Ms. Humble, rolled-up parchment never really lay flat, and can make the cookies look like amoebas. Couldn't have said it better myself, so I didn't. 

Also, I used to be concerned about making them exactly even (they are sandwich cookies, after all), and contemplated drawing out the circles beforehand, but then I got a grip. Piping bag skills come with practice, and as long as they're piped approximately the same size-ish, you can find a suitable partner for each half. The real outliers, well, are just going to have to be "disposed of"somehow... catch my drift?

After the shells were piped, I tapped each tray on the counter to release the bubbles from the counter. I noticed a lot fewer bubbles than in my previous batches and I'm sure that's due to folding more carefully. I left the shells out to dry for about 40 minutes, when I noticed that the surface of the shells on the first piped tray were dry to soft touch. 


In the meantime, I had preheated the oven on the convection setting to 300ºF (149ºC) for about half an hour. As soon as I placed the first tray in (middle rack), I dropped the oven temp to 280ºF (138ºC) and baked the shells for 15 minutes.  


Now, this is the temperature and duration that I found works best for me. Ask me how I know? Well, I must've used a dozen temperature combinations (between the conventional and convection settings) on a dozen different websites and God help me nothing came out right. But I could have solved the problem two years ago had I kept careful notes instead of trying one new recipe after another. So, the last time I baked, I noticed that after 15 minutes on 300ºF convection my cookies had a bit too much color on them. I noted this to myself, and "Try next time -- 280ºF on the middle rack for 15 minutes?" That's what I did, and booyah! 

Success!!! 

Can I get a woop woop?

Well, almost. My third tray which had the smallest macarons crisped up too much after 14 minutes. But guess what? I'm writing that down! My days of crispy macarons are coming to an end!!!

Chocolate Ganache Filling

Tricky? Not if you can read.

Ganache sounds fancy and difficult, as do most French-y things, but when it comes down to it, it's only chocolate and heavy cream, maybe a touch of butter (optional). Heat the heavy cream until nearly boiling, pour over the chocolate chips and let stand. Stir until the chocolate is melted and it begins to look like something you'd want to eat, then add the butter, if using. 

So how did I manage to screw it up?

I used to work in an Italian pasticceria where we would make bain marie-fulls of chocolate ganache, and I vaguely remember heating X quarts of heavy cream over the stove before pouring it onto X pounds of dark chocolate. After letting it stand 30 seconds or 3 minutes (that's why I must write things down!), I used a whisk to stir the mixture, and then added the soft butter for sheen.




Unfortunately (or fortunately, because learning is always a good thing, right?) whisking vigorously four ounces of chocolate with half a cup of heavy cream in a small bowl is overkill. Too bad I assumed this is what I had to do instead of reading Jill's instructions to "stir without creating bubbles". When you assume, you aerate the chocolate and it starts to look like mud. And when it starts to look like mud, it starts to look like something else you don't want to eat. So don't ass-u-me.


Also, I stuck my over-aerated chocolate ganache into the fridge longer than necessary and it solidified. Not evenly, mind you, but in small enough chunks to be a big pain in the neck when trying to pipe the filling onto my beautiful nearly-green tea macarons. 

Could I have brought it back to molten state over a double boiler and let it cool just enough to smooth spreadable consistency? Maybe, but I had plenty of mature moments today and it was time to have a Manhattan.

So there we have it, my first (but not my last!) mostly successful macarons. Well, at least 65% were truly successful, and that's a number I can live with. 

Shell smooth and shiny? Check. 

Ruffled foot not too big, not too small? Check. 

Filling that doesn't ooze out? Check. 

Delicate crunch and delectable chew? Check and check.

And you can take that to the bank.

individuality is always in style

I don't consider myself a slave to any fashion or trend. If it happens to register on my radar (for I'm often quite oblivious to such things) then I'll dabble in it to see if it suits me (think colored jeans, grunge-era plaid, majoring in Computer Science…) I've come to learn that I'm mostly unsuited for popular phenomena, and have become wary of whatever seems to be the latest craze (think lower back tattoos, high-waisted jeans, cupcakes…)

I'm not sure if macarons are still reveling in their position as a top dessert trend (it was ousted from the 2011 list), but at some point you couldn't click on a "foodie" site or baking blog without being acutely aware of the pervasive elitist macaron hysteria. Interestingly, however many people claim any expertise on the subject, only a small fraction know how to pronounce it.

"Oh, I just love macaroons! Those pretty little cookies are just to die for!" 

At the risk of sounding elitist myself, I'm sorry, but that's just plain maca-wrong. Macaroons and macarons are completely different animals.

Everyone also has a story about the first time they discovered macarons, and it's always some highfalutin' place like, say, Paris. 

How nice. 

What about the rest of us?

Well, okay, my guilty admission: my first experience with macarons were at Eleven Madison Park with my husband two years ago. Yes, pretty highfalutin' as well. The bill for dinner would be more than my monthly wage at the French bakery where I currently work. We were presented with an abundant selection of these beautiful petite pastel cookies, and the server courteously asked what we would like to try. In my drunken gluttony, I said "I'd like to try that one… and that one… and that one… oh! and that one…" 

He smartly whisked himself away and returned with two small boxes as our take-home present. I tucked them in my bag, immediately forgetting about it as I sipped on the super strong digestif left for us on the table.

After finally recovering from the evening (two days later), I was surprised to find the two little boxes in our fridge. (How the heck did I remember to put them in there?) One was filled with fruit jellies which remained unfinished after several months (guess we aren't fruit jelly kind of people), and the other with an assortment of the aforementioned pastel cookies.

I must have not expected much from the most likely stale and cold cookies that have been sitting in the fridge because tasting them were almost like a revelation. Delicate, soft, chewy, full of flavor and just lovely all around. We decided to savor one or two each day rather than gorging on the entire box in one shot  – and they almost seemed to get better by the day. It was a bittersweet moment when we finished our last cookie.

We didn't learn what they were until months later. "Macarons? I thought they were made with coconut?"

That was the first and last time I had macarons from an outside source until recently. Why? Because they cost about their weight in gold (I know because my husband watches those darn gold mining shows all the time), and I have a hard time as it is buying a 99¢ slice of pizza. I figured the price was intentionally jacked up to take advantage of rich foodies (their label, not mine) with disposable incomes determined to brag about their latest gastronomic conquest. 

Nevertheless, I eventually found myself obsessed with making them. The initial logic seemed sane: for the price of, say, four macarons at Ladurée, I can make hundreds upon hundreds if I bought the ingredients and made them myself. And it's only, like, four ingredients anyway  – what could be so difficult?

Then I began to make them and I quickly realized the error in my logic. Like bread, four simple ingredients in the right hands can be transformed into something delicious and heavenly. Unlike bread, these four ingredients cost about ten times as much and there are about fifty different ways you can go wrong in a five minute span. Every bad batch over the last two years was like torching a $5 bill and a little bit of my soul.

Green tea macarons, good from afar....

...but far from good.

Ube macarons, extra gummy

Chocolate macarons with size 14 feet

Cracked and chafed nipples do not belong
on chocolate macarons.

I took a hiatus from my macaron escapades as I began to focus on making dough (um, meaning bread, not cash). I am grateful for whatever shift that took place in my heart that led me to bread, for at 33 years old, I finally experienced that transcendent feeling of knowing just what I want to do with my life (or at least, for a little while!) But, as I happily mix the bread doughs where I work, I can't help but notice the parchment marked with circles hanging on the freezer, a nod to the inevitable future of our humble French boulangerie trying its hand at the not-so-possible.

So on a precious day off, I decided to break out the almond flour, unearth the #804 plain tip from the kitchen gadget drawer, and try it again. I told myself, no pressure, no expectations. Just be patient and try your best. And stop changing so many variables at once!

Wouldn't you know it - the batch was the closest I had ever come to perfection. I mean, still not Ladurée perfect  – the oven was a little too hot for the mini macarons, baking them to a crisp, and the bittersweet chocolate ganache was a bit overwhelming for not-so-green-tea flavor. But the medium and large cookies were sublime, even if I do say so myself. (Which I don't. My husband said it.)

Anyway, how fitting it is that I'm finally getting the hang of macarons as they slowly drift from vogue. I rather like marching to my own drum, no matter how off-beat.