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I’m generally not a fan of cakes that are soaked in liquids because they usually end up on the mushy side. But (because there’s always a but), this baba au rhum is a true exception. Before I dive into why, I just have to say that the name of this cake makes me giggle. It doesn’t sound particularly elegant, or French for that matter, but if you could only see the beauty it becomes once it’s all dressed up and ready to be served.
I remember the first time I saw a French sandwich, I was a bit bewildered. Whereas in the States we’re accustomed to 6″ subs, in France, sandwiches are no shorter than 12″. It was amazing to see all these super long sandwiches, piled up high on top of each other inside all the deli windows. It was even more amazing to stare at my empty hands after I finished one of them! I remember buying the sandwich and thinking there was no possible way I could finish the whole thing. But lo and behold, it was all gone 10 minutes later. And who could blame me? A French sandwich is a magnificent thing; it’s nothing like our plain ol’ turkey sandwich here in the States.
Just when I thought I had salted caramel in about every dessert I could think of, I got the idea to create a salted caramel crepe cake. Known in French as a gâteau mille crêpes, a crepe cake is made up of “thousands” of crepe layers filled with pastry cream. A thousand (mille) layers is obviously an exaggeration, but it’s generally what the French tend to name desserts that are made up of many, many layers.
Cream puffs and eclairs, these are quite possibly some of France’s most popular pastries, excluding the macaron, of course. Unlike the crisp macaron cookie, cream puffs and eclairs are pillow-y and soft. I like to think of them as pastry clouds because they truly taste like a dream. And since today is my birthday, I think I deserve a dreamy, indulgent dessert.
If you’re like me, you probably think aioli sauce should…
For me, food doesn’t always have to be a quick and easy affair. I enjoy the taste of meat that’s been slow-cooked for hours, or bread whose yeasted dough has rested overnight. That said, I can definitely appreciate a quick and effortless meal, especially when it’s incredibly delicious. These baked eggs with fresh herbs don’t have to be reserved for a special occasion, even if they look all formal set up in those pretty little ramekins. They’re so simple to make and they give a whole new meaning to creamy, dreamy eggs.
Like many Americans, the French love to celebrate Easter. However, Pâques (Easter in French) is often celebrated over the course of a few days rather than just one Sunday like Americans do. In France, Easter is usually a long weekend sort of affair, which many of the French use as a chance to take a break from work and get out of town. That said, French kids still get up on Easter day and go egg-hunting like American children, and most of the time, they’re looking for chocolate eggs. It was with this spirit in mind that I created these Oreo truffle robin eggs.
If you remember from a previous post, I talked about a cafe near the Sacre-Coeur Cathedral that I visited during one of my trips to Paris. The cafe had a drool-worthy chocolate mousse that I often dream about and went on a recipe hunt to recreate (which I successfully did here). It also had one of the best poulet frites dishes I’ve ever enjoyed in Paris. Now, everyone and their maman believes they’ve got the recipe for the best roast chicken, and I won’t argue that they don’t. Roast chicken can be enjoyed in so many different ways, and I’ve experienced tasty roast chicken many times in many different places. But there was something unique about the roast chicken I had at this cafe near the Cathedral; it had been lightly coated in a gravy-like sauce that seemed to make the chicken all the more juicy and flavorful.
When I was younger, I used to dread Sundays. As a child, it meant early bedtime for school the next morning, and as a teen, it meant a copious amount of schoolwork that had been left undone the entire weekend. Now, Sundays are one of my favorite days of the week. Sundays are a day for me to relax and refresh. I enjoy a lazy breakfast, pick up groceries and fresh flowers from the farmer’s market, and then I spend the day cooking and eating a long, languid meal with family and friends. Lunch might start with a little bruschetta or garlic bread, maybe some mixed olives. Then there’s a light arugula salad and a main course made with the seasonal produce I picked up at the market. This Sunday, the menu featured pasta with asparagus, mushrooms, and creamy chèvre.
While I’m usually prepared to slow-cook, braise, and marinade my meats and poultry, I can’t say the same for fish. I’ve learned that fresh, wild-caught fish is most delicious when it’s romanced with simple ingredients. This sole meunière is the perfect example of that. A light dredge in flour, then the fish is off to a pan of brown butter to become succulent and moist beyond belief. This easy fish recipe is then finished off with a drizzle of lemon butter sauce and a garnish of parsley.
On my last trip to Paris, I reserved dinner at a cozy piano bar/restaurant in the 6th for the night of my arrival. When we sat down, I was still pretty delirious and jet-lagged, so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than my friends who were chatting with me. In fact, for a moment there, I completely forgot I was sitting in a cafe in Paris, France. It wasn’t until I absent-mindedly tore a piece off of the baguette on the table and put it in my mouth that I realized I was in my favorite city in the world. I immediately thought oh my goodness! The bread tasted incredible! Seriously, truly incredible. It tasted the way bread in France can only taste. A lot of people ask me how to make homemade baguettes like that, but non, ce n’est pas possible.
I’ve always been naturally inclined to love anyone or anything with the name Madeleine. This is because I used to be obsessed with the cartoon “Madeline” as a young girl. I loved to watch the 12 little French girls go through daily life in Paris and experience French cultural traditions, such as enjoying a gouter, or late-afternoon snack, like most French children do. Le gouter can be anything sweet, like a chocolate biscuit, bread with jam, or even these honey and orange madeleines.
While I enjoy making delicate profiteroles or a frosted cake, I’ve never been one to take myself too seriously when it comes to the details of pastry making. I feel there’s a constant battle within me between my perfectionist tendencies and my impatient side. The perfectionist in me demands frosted cakes be smoothly finished, while my lack of patience will hold me back from creating something as intricate as handmade meringue flowers for the top of the cake. I admire those of you who commit to the art greatly, but it’s just not my cup of tea. That’s why French country cooking has always been my happy compromise. A dessert like this clafoutis aux poires delivers the elegance and beauty my perfectionist side seeks, and yet maintains the simplicity and ease that my impatient side is all too eager to take advantage of.
It may seem like the title of this post is a bit redundant considering beignets are French by origin, but I felt the need to clarify because of the variety of beignets that now exist throughout the world. Particularly, I felt the need to distinguish these beignets from the ones you’d find in New Orleans or many American bakeries. When I first when to Paris, I spotted beignets on a street vendor cart, not knowing they were beignets. They were round rather than square, like the beignets we often eat here in the States. When I actually bit into one, I found them much more cake-like than the beignets I was accustomed to. The beignets I’ve eaten in the States have often been somewhat hollow-like, much lighter and crisper than the French beignets I ate abroad. Since enjoying the soft, pillowy rounds that I enjoyed in Paris, I haven’t been able to eat any other kind of beignet; French beignets are simply divine.
I always think it’s so interesting how our tastes change as we grow older. Things we used to love, we may not be as excited about anymore. Likewise, things we used to hate, we may have a newfound adoration for. Take asparagus, for example. I used to cringe when my mom would serve a platter of roasted asparagus with dinner. Now, I’m more than happy to find them on my dining table, as evident by the recipe I shared for asparagus with hollandaise sauce. Since asparagus season has begun, I thought it only right to share another one of my favorite asparagus recipes, crème d’asperges.
On occasion, I get the temptation for something utterly tantalizing and decadent. Actually, who am I kidding? I constantly find myself battling the temptation to indulge. In Paris, this battle proves to be most difficult and constant since there are an endless amount of patisseries lined up along the cobblestone streets of the city, featuring gorgeous cakes, tarts, and confectionaries. While indulgence can come in the form of a butter cake, such as the creme brulee cake I made last week, I find that nothing beats an intensely rich and moist chocolate cake. This hazelnut chocolate cake is the kind of cake that commands you to close your eyes and release a sigh of pure contentment. And if that wasn’t enough, I paired this cake with my favorite no-churn, caramel marshmallow ice cream for ultra decadence.
Before I started shopping for my produce at the farmer’s market, I really didn’t know which fruits and vegetables belonged to which season. Aside from the watermelon that I could only find in the summer, I was pretty clueless when it came to choosing the best produce for the season. It wasn’t until I bought a particularly sweet and wonderful batch of oranges during one winter day at the farmer’s market that I realized there was a difference. There are definitely fruits and vegetables that have heightened flavor and quality during certain times of the year, and this includes the oranges and spinach I used to create this winter citrus salad.
I’m not much of a sports fan with the exception of enjoying a good hockey game. That’s why if you asked me when the Superbowl is, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I’d just know it’s sometime in February. The date that I am aware of is the date of the Oscars (which is February 28th this year). Watching the Oscars has always been me and my mom’s thing. We usually make a few different finger foods or snacks, pour ourselves a glass of wine, and comment on red carpet attire and cheer our favorite movies on. Sometimes we haven’t even seen all the movies but cheer for them anyways because our favorite actors or actresses are in them (I mean, anything with Leo deserves an Oscar, right?). So you can understand that my idea of “game day” food is really just “girls’ night excuse to eat and drink” food, because that’s all I’ve ever known. While other people are making hot wings or blending their own salsa, I’m here creating this pear feta tart for my glass of cabernet. Fancy? Not really, because you’ll see how easy it is to whip up in the video below.
One of my favorite things about French food is its simplicity. You may be thinking that French food seems quite complicated, but I would guess that you’re thinking of fancy Parisian restaurants that specialize in haute cuisine. Real French food is simple, uncomplicated, and incredibly delicious. Take this concombre à la menthe salad, a simple medley of sliced cucumbers and mint with a light yogurt dressing. You can whip up this salad in a matter of minutes, serving this dish as a light accompaniment to some grilled beef or lamb.
A thousand layers of buttery goodness, that’s what this mille-feuille is, and it’s also quite literally what mille-feuille means in French. Mille-feuille, or a thousand leaves in French, refers to the pastry dough that the dessert is made with, which is called pâte feuilletée. Pâte feuilletée is the equivalent of puff pastry, producing numerous golden, flaky layers that are as crisp and airy as they are buttery and indulgent. Classic mille-feuille can be made with any number of fillings, including pastry cream and jam. For this mille-feuille café, I’ve flavored the pastry cream with a bit of instant espresso powder, in addition to adding a splash of brewed coffee to the glaze.