Eclairs, Cookies, Tarts

What you see here is harder than it looks, the result of two days of practical exams in which many hurdles had to be vaulted. On the first day of finals for the Introduction to Patisserie and Baking, we made pastry cream, which had to stretch across 6 tarts and 6 eclairs for presentation to Chef. Also made pate sucree for the tart shells and choux paste for the eclairs. The clock is on, and you do have to drag ingredients out of other students' slippery hands.

The rules of presentation to Chef are exact and finite: You give no more and no less than the Chef instructs. The reason is, giving more than is asked for is an example of throwing money away in the real world of restaurant service. Giving less than what the Chef asks for means that you are cheating the customer of what he or she is expecting. So if 6 is the number requested, you present 6 and no more, no less.

It is unforgivable to argue with a Chef during presentation. You speak when spoken to and show deference. I clasp my hands behind my back, so I can lock them and squeeze them as he's tasting and calculating his findings. You thank the Chef for the direction or criticism given, and then you go. It is very formal.

So in the photos above, you see the 6 eclairs, minus the full due of their cream. I knew before I started filling the tarts that I would not have enough pastry cream to meet my needs. Decision Time: Should I fill the eclairs first, all the way, or fill the tarts? The tarts were already at a huge disadvantage, having been toasted and roasted during the first part of the exam when I lost track of them in the top oven, where I couldn't see them.

I had to puzzle through how I would go forward with a burned batch. It seemed the best bet would be to cover them with fruit to diminish the appearance of the shells. But in order to cover them, there would need to be plenty of cream for the fruit to sit on.

So the tarts got most of the cream on hand. The eclairs got leftovers.

When my pastry partner and I went to pick up our tart shell rings, we found that other students had taken all of the available stock. There were none left (people take extras to make backups in case of failure). Chef departed to find us some rings, but we each got only 6 apiece, the exact number needed, so there was no way to do a backup plan. Merde almighty.

Nor did we realize that our rings were slightly larger than the other students', so my carefully calculated plan of fruit division across the 6 did not work out. I had to use so many blueberries to cover holes in the strawberries, which looked unsightly (both the holes and all those blueberry dots). My kiwi was undersized, so the beautiful green accent I planned to use could not happen.

Still, I finished on time, and got through the Strassburger cookies, too. I made the cream sort of stretch, and I waited for the judgment. I was called up last. The final presenter. I had to clean the kitchen cage and all its contents, waiting through all the students who went before me. You wash down 20 bottles of food coloring with dye all over your hands and see how you feel about it.

Sometimes, the breaks are bad, and sometimes they fall your way. I had a plan to use my own plates for presentation so the tarts wouldn't look so dark against white parchment paper on an aluminum sheet pan. When Chef said told the class that all the product must be presented on the sheet pans, I didn't argue, just put the plates back under the tabletop - and I think that's why he allowed me to use them after all. He gave a nod that it would be acceptable. He graciously gave me a break. To my own surprise, those roasted shells didn't look near as bad as they did unfilled and unloved. I just might live through this, maybe.

Remember I said that I had the chance to interview a major Food Network personality on the final day of exams? This funny and wise individual told me: There's always a solution. You can cut off the bottom of a burned brownie, crumble it up and make it a chocolate trifle. You just have to discover the solution and make it work, get to it. Believe in the possible.

That same day, I found out that an orange plate can really soak up the color of a brown tart. Sure, the Chef cut into an eclair and was startled to find a big hole where the cream should have filled in. Yes, he saw the spots where I had not exactly covered the tart in all the apricot glaze it was due - but he was more than fair and absolutely generous in his findings.

I found out that maybe, just maybe, I can live to do this another day.

I have nicknamed myself  "The Brave Little Toaster."

Fruit Tart Final Exam

Above you'll find images of my plan of attack for tomorrow, the final day and the last Practical Exam in the Intro to Patisserie and Baking class. How did it go on the first day of making pate sucree for fruit tarts, pastry cream and pate a choux for chocolate eclairs - all of which get finished tomorrow? The inexplicable factor of the unpredictable whammo hammer struck again. I made a classic mistake. Never put your tarts in an oven you can't see into. Most of the deck oven has visible windows through which you can see your product and keep and eye on its well-being. When I went to place mine during the exam today, quelle horreur, all the rows in the visible spaces looked filled, so I had to shove mine into the top level. Where there is no window.

Big mistake. Out of sight, out of mine eyes. When you've got pastry cream on the cooktop and you're watching that, while baking off eclair shells, you've got to know what the tarts are up to. I was doing fine up to the point where you "blind" bake the tart shells with beans - had the beans out and was still baking in full swing. At one point, I pulled out the shells; thought they were done but went for that browning just on the edges, or so I thought. Finishing on time, I started washing everyone else's dishes, thinking I had put the tarts on the cooling rack, but as I say, out of sight, out of mind. Oh my freak.

When I went to coat the tart shells with chocolate and couldn't find them, it was then that the worst revelation hit me squarely: They were still in the oven. They are now as brown as spectator shoes - and there's no rescuing them, because even though I had extra dough, a) we had cleaned off our table b) all of the available tart shells had been snapped up and I couldn't have bought one if I HAD time to do it over. What a terrible blow, especially since I had spent the morning carefully thinking through how to cut each allotted piece of fruit to make it stretch across six tarts for the finish. Sure, I can cover the top of the crusts with filling and fruit, but once those tarts are out of their pans, there will be no hiding the evidence. Another grimace and a sinking feeling. A major grade hangs in the balance. So the images above show you how thoughtfully I worked through how to design the tarts using every available piece of fruit that are exactly rationed tomorrow. I had done everything I could at home to be ready - and had forgotten to leave the damn dishes and watch the product start to finish.

Meanwhile, in my zeal not to undercook the pastry cream this time as I did on a previous practical, I worked it and worked it extra zealously on the stove, then zoomed it into the cooler, only to quickly realize I had not added the butter and vanilla. Grabbed it and threw it back into the bowl to beat like a crazy woman, but just that little bit of loss of extra cream that clings to the plastic wrap means I will have to figure out how to fill 6 eclairs and 6 tart shells with less - can I stretch it?

This stuff is hard, folks. We don't give enough credit to what goes on behind the curtain in kitchens across America. I have burns every which way on my hands. At one point today, I noticed I was bleeding on my apron, from what injury I do not know. To top it all off, I had sworn off free-lance assignments while I'm in school, but the chance to interview a major personality tomorrow could not  be passed up. No refusing this one, or turning my apron on it.

When I accepted the assignment, it was for Friday, when school's out for one blessed week of Summer Vacation. But the highly recognizable individual's team has moved up the interview, to right before my last practical exam. I could laugh this all off. As it is, I must embrace this superb moment of serendipity - the star is in the food service industry in a big way, ya'll.

Feeling the heat and behaving badly, I remain ever mindful that someday this will all seem hilarious.

Battenburg Petit Fours

I am at a loss as I stumble into the final week of the Introduction to Patisserie and Baking class. When did baking get so how do the French say dificil? As one who has been fearless with the flour, fat and sugar over the years, how did it all slip through my sticky fingers when it was time to endure a "practical exam?"  I was struggling in this class, through the versions of meringues, the infinitesimal rolling out of marzipan (see above) and the death spiral of fondant icing. These were tests of wills that I had never incurred before.

I had crashed three cakes in the span of one week - one blown up by too much baking powder (who put that in there?) - and not one but two genoise mousseline cakes during an exam, the first one and the emergency remake version. Both flatter than my ego to this point.

I was low and down with a one-way ticket to a park bench in Pity City. This is the last week, and it is all exams, written and practical. I studied with the fervor I am known for, all weekend, took flashcards everywhere and do you know, despite the old college try, it was no use? The number of questions I didn't know could fill a book, not because I couldn't learn the information in the first place, but because the questions, many of them, were out of the blue. Zee thin air. In other words, not in the book, not in my notes, and not in the glossary at the back of the book. Wow, did I land on my asparagus on this one.

I have eaten several rounds of Battenburg petit fours like those above just to dry my tears. Battenburg cakes are of German origin and the yellow and red colors symbolize somebody's coat of arms. The ones above are wrapped in a coat of marzipan and sitting on Grandmother Daisy's good Havilland.

Let's end this post on the upswing, which would be . . . there are three more days and then a week off before we are shunted over to Foundations II and the culinary side of life. I keep thinking that when we get to breads, I'll strut my croissants but what if it's just as demanding as Intro to Patisserie?

What if I'm crummy or worse, my bread is crummy? Excuse me while I flake off.

Fruit Tarts

I came home from class in tatters - emotionally - for having scored below a 90 on the Practical Exam for Pastry Cream. Why so glum, you might ask? If it ain't all good for the exam, then it ain't gonna work the next day when you need pastry cream for your fruit tart to present to Chef. Mais, you're thinking, couldn't you fill your tart with something else, say lemon curd? Precisely, yes, but we had made lemon curd in advance, and the school's cooler chose that time to go down over the weekend. Isn't that just like at home? We had to toss lemon curd, all eggs and milk, and completely baked cheesecakes, quelle choux.

We had time and ingredients to remake the lemon curd, but there was no room for redoing the pastry cream. (which can I just say that I had successfully executed at home, perfectly timed, but undercooked during the exam, why, WHY?)

Each of the ingredients represents money, and you can't just have a classroom full of students remaking and baking all the time - the ingredients are carefully controlled by procurement. I ended up loving the tarts I made, though I don't have enough experience yet to make the incredibly beautiful versions I saw lots of students making - their creativity was endless. Some looked like rose petals, others like geometry and works of art.

If we weren't so enslaved to the clock, I could have done much more with the beautiful green of the kiwi - my mind just couldn't whip it out on a moment's notice, and for some reason, I felt like "tourneing" the kiwi to peel it, as if it were a potato. Still, once I had some lemon curd, a few pate sucree tart shells and a little fruit, I squeezed by and finished on time.

We are now at Day 19 of Intro to Patisserie & Baking with two weeks to go, and I've learned a few important points:

It is bad etiquette to grab an induction cook top, saucepans and mixing bowls before an exam, though it's perfectly fine on other days to build your mis en place. You grab because there are not enough cook tops for every student, and working on a gas range takes much longer. You grab because there are not enough chinois strainers to go around, and you need those, too. But you must not grab.

It is tempting to follow the behavior of others, but it is not always smart. You have no idea what information they are acting on, in whatever they're making, and whether their information is any damn good. 

It is egregious to leave the room without permission or to text or take a phone call while Chef is giving a demo. Common sense, yes, but you'd be surprised.

It is downright dadgum foolish not to check the oven temperature setting before shoving in your product  during an exam.  If a chef sets the temperature - the training wheels are off and you better be sure you know what's right. We have a roomful of exam biscuits to support this statement.

It is important to respect others and to help others when possible - unless . . . TO BE CONTINUED

Creme Brulee and Flan

This week marked a new twist in my journey with patisserie and baking: I bought a blowtorch.

We were set to make creme brulee in the classroom - and handling the torch for the first time made me somewhat anxious. Of course it did. Who wouldn't find it a little unsettling to hold a can of fire? Especially when you're not sure exactly how far the flame extends - it's not visible past a certain point of blue flame, but it's out there just the same. We used the torch to kill bubbles on the surface of the brulee before it is baked - the classic caramelization that you find on your restaurant dessert happens after the baking and cooling.

It seemed the best way to get over the canned heat fear was to go buy a torch, assemble it and try it out. Technically, I'm not supposed to bring it into the classroom, but at least now I can work with it at home and amaze friends and family with the fireworks.

Creme brulee and flan, or creme caramel (or baked custard if you follow the textbook), are sisters in the custard family, so we also made flan during production. No caramelization on top of the product there, but you do need to cook a sugar syrup to a joltingly hot stage. This caramelized sugar will end up on the bottom of the flan and then present itself when unmolded and flipped upside down.

Chef boldly demonstrated a technique I had never heard of or seen. Apparently in the BCS era (before common sense), the way cooks tested the various stages of cooking sugar was to plunge their hands into a bucket of ice until numb, then gamely reach into the syrup and pull out a piece of liquid. If they could form a ball with their hand, the mixture was at a soft or hard ball stage, and on up into the high ranges like hard crack stage. Too many burns later, we got the candy thermometer.

Neither flan or brulee are difficult to make, but you must pay attention and follow directions. I don't want to say what happened to friends of mine during their first pass on brulee - but suffice it say you should not use a whip and beat your eggs, or you may end up foaming at the mouth.

Here's hoping tomorrow I torch the next exam - a written and three practical exams all in one week, c'est merveilleux. 

Thank heavens I have leftover flan and creme brulee to sweeten the cram.