[Hello March, goodbye March]
I’ve felt raindrops running through my hair; and my dress too. I’ve made a cake. And another one too.
I’ve seen blossoms on every tree. I’ve walked in empty avenues, with my eyes closed and his hand on mine.
Don't you love la pâtisserie ?
Fields of frost – Éclairs au chocolat, presque comme chez Fauchon
[Chocolate eclairs, almost like Fauchon's]
When trees are shaped like hearts; and breakfast means just-brewed coffee slash bike ride slash jonchée eaten as soon as I’ve taken my gum boots off.
And we run barefoot in fields of frost.
PS. I felt like cake; made one and ate a slice.
A friend, of the dear-to-my-heart kind, made this cake today. A few thousands of kilometres away. And I did too. In ten minutes, from cupboards to oven*.
It was eaten on the couch.
Find a map and draw a straight line – Chewy flapjacks
I started collecting objects, to make up for memories I forgot. A blue pool ball, a broken cigarette, a plastic table number.
I read words. Most of the time, at night.
Those three words – Gelée d’huile d’olives
[Olive oil jelly]
In autumn, with figs, a young brillat-savarin curd, and a warm sponge so full of vanilla seeds it’s almost grey. Perhaps, a few toasted and salted almonds for crunch.
In winter, with caramelised apples, a white chocolate granita – not unlike snow, crystallised rosemary, and fresh apple bubbles.
La vanille
It’s hard to play favourite with vanilla.
Tahitian vanilla (or for the geeks out there, and that includes me, Vanilla tahitensis) is a bit of a outsider – considered its the only vanilla to contain heliotropin – with its floral burst and nutty undertones.
Bonjour novembre
[Hello November]
Is it just me, or do you also feel like that – more than any other month – tarts belong to November?
It usually happens without a warning. And without a calendar.
Et des morceaux d’arbres tomberaient du ciel – Le cake très chocolat
[And pieces of tree would fall from the sky - The ultimate quadruple chocolate loaf cake]
I plan to spend this autumn collecting dead leaves and horse-chestnuts, drinking coffees with warm mittens on, drawing the nights away, and day-dreaming about je ne sais quoi.
Mind your French – Le fondant au chocolat
[The ultimate chocolate fondant]
In London, we’ve had winter in July. Air damp with rain. Kitchens warm with soup on the stove. Oven smelling like chocolate cake.
And now, in the south of France, we’re having summer in September.
A little sweller – Petits quatre-quarts, au chocolat ou pas
[Little poundcakes, with chocolate or not]
It smells like the week-end around here. Actually, it’s been smelling like it for a week now.
And boy, week-end does smell good. Just-brewed coffee and toasted baguettes.
Réussir la crème pâtissière, pas à pas – Mastering pastry cream, step by step
It was a day at the end of September. A couple of years ago. I put on my pied-de-poule trousers for the first time since the internship I had done the summer before at Pierre Hermé.
A lucky strike with tangzhong 湯種 – Petits pains au lait à la japonaise
[Japanese-style milk buns]
It was a night of early winter, I think. It was possibly raining. And dark.
I can’t remember for sure, but it seems right.
I weighed flour and water in a pan.
Roadtrips et autres histoires – Cake au maïs, comme à Caravan
[Roadtrips and other stories - A cornbread just like at Caravan]
Sometimes, all I want is to put my warmest boots on, and escape to a place outside of time. I would drive there for hours.
PS. Une brioche avec un peu plus de beurre
[PS. A brioche with a tad more butter]
London, sometime in April.
I made a brioche. In five minutes; and five days. We woke up early to shape and proof the dough.
Ensemble, c’est tout – Pancakes tous simples
[Together, that's all - Very simple pancakes]
It was a morning like no other.
That day, we woke up to clouds around us. Some call it fog, but living in the clouds somehow feels more right.
On secrets and playing pretend – Hot chocolate tartine
I’ve been grazing at the sky lately. Sure it was from my bed, possibly half-asleep and not-just-half-deaf, but it was during day time.
Or so I think.
The clock said quarter to three (pm) but the rain made it all so dark it seemed like an hour past my bedtime.