Le Cordon Bleu intermediate patisserie week 5 - Alhambra's got me all gaga

Monday morning, 5:30am and my alarm is ringing softly in my ear. Gradually the bells of Big Ben grow louder and louder until they reach their crescendo. As I tap the snooze button and my brain begins to process 'waking up', I realise that I'm getting up early for a nine hour day of baking. My body goes from being lethargic to feeling sheer excitement, my brain springs into action as though someone has flicked a switch and I leap out of bed with so much energy that I trip over a badly placed shoe and promptly fall over. Picking myself up I hurry to get dressed, out the door and onto the bus within the 45 minutes I'd allotted. 

Tea in hand (in my beautifully designed Keep Cup) I wait for the number 38 and whilst doing so read through my notes for the day ahead. Monday was the day I was to face my third and final exam dish, the Gateau Alhambra. After last weeks challenging gateaus, which were currently running in order of technical difficulty, I feared the task ahead wouldn't be a quick nor easy one. 

Following a spectacular technical demonstration, after which we were severed an array of tantalising petit-four sales, the time came to take on the Alhambra, face to face. 

Looking at the chocolate covered, chocolate filled, chocolate piped gateau I wondered to myself how hard it could actually be. Chef began demonstrating the difficulties almost immediately as he created a stable French meringue and egg yolk / butter mix almost simultaneously. After sieving all of the dry ingredients which included the finest cocoa powder I've ever come across, ground hazel nuts and soft French flour, he then went about combining the three in several inclusion, and in a very strict order. First to be added to the egg yolk / butter mix was a quarter of the French meringue. The first inclusion of meringue was used to temper the mix and therefore was beaten in with a firm hand, knocking any air whipped in, quickly out. Next in was a third of the dry mix, this was folded in gently to the tempered batter. Next was a second quarter of the French meringue, this time added and folded in with a great deal more care and attention, again followed by a third of the dry mix. This was repeated until the final quarter of the meringue had gone in and a smooth mixture had been achieved. But, warned the chef, deviate from the formula and the mix won't work. Game over. 

The cake was then baked whilst a marzipan rose was made, the chocolate ganache filling prepared, the soaking syrup made and a further batch of chocolate was tempered in order to create decorative leaves to add life to our finished rose. As soon as the cake came out of the oven it was de molded and taken immediately to the blast chiller to cool down. Once cool, the dense chocolatey lump of a cake was cut in half (using nothing but a bread knife and a steady hand), soaked with the coffee / rum syrup and the ganache piped in concentric circles within. The top became the bottom and the bottom the top - a cunning trick often used in the cake world to ensure perfect edges when masking. Back into the chiller the cake went and when ready, it was masked with the remaining ganache. It was at this point that chef began to make the task look perhaps a little harder than it ought to have been. As the ganache began to set it became increasingly hard to mask the sides of the cake and at this stage, even sides were key to an even finish. The aim here is to have a perfectly smooth undercoat, this is then covered with a smooth liquid ganache which sadly wouldn't be 100% forgiving if mistakes are made. 

Thankfully small masking errors made would be covered by the final layer of chocolate, this time a more fluid, butter filled ganache which was to be poured over our chilled cakes leaving behind a silky, glossy coating of loveliness. Chef not only warned us of the potential issues here but also demonstrated them. Unintentionally. The pour had to be quick, hesitation free and thorough. Any messing about with the chocolate would result in drip marks down the sides of the cake or a damaged surface. Wow, this really was going to be a challenge! 

After a quick tasting of the cake, (a tasting which didn't last nearly long enough - this cake is to die for, I would run away and marry this cake if it were to ask me) well prepared but feeling incredibly apprehensive about the results, I headed immediately for the kitchens. Reading my notes step by step I followed chefs instructions until...vola! I had this beauty sat before me. Flawless. No drip marks, a perfectly risen and soaked cake inside, practically perfect ganache masking and a delightfully realistic marzipan rose and chocolate foliage on top. Boom! 

The day felt like a whirlwind adventure, destination chocolate heaven and not only had I arrived but I'd traveled first class. Chef spoke very highly of my cake which filled me with delight. Knowing nothing of the origins of the cake, upon returning home I began to embark on my second journey of the day, this time, a journey of cakey discovery.  

Consisting of two layers of a hybrid Sachertorte sponge, made using ground hazelnuts rather than almond, as mentioned the Alhambra is filled with chocolate ganache and coated in a second layer of more fluid, butter filled ganache. The cake is finished with nibbed pistachios and topped with its iconic (if you can call it that - this isn't a particularly iconic cake) marzipan rose. After a little digging I discovered that this cake was created in celebration of the Spanish city of Alhambra and its lush green gardens. Of course, the lime green pistachio nibs represent the greenery of the city, the marzipan rose...the roses grown in the city and the hazelnut meal in the cake mix celebrates one of the key nuts produced in and around the city. The hazelnut. 

With Morocco being in such close proximity to Spain and Alhambra, and subsequently Morocco having influence over this region of Spain, some will bake this cake using pomegranate seeds to add a little more flavour and a burst of fruit from across the way. Bakers across the world often refer to the Alhambra as the sister cake to the significantly more famous, Sacher Torte, a beautifully rich, dense and delicious chocolate torte invented by Austrian born Franz Sacher in 1832 for Prince Wenzel Von Metternich in Vienna, Austria. As well as being famous for their enriched doughs, Vienna is best known for the Sacher Torte and locals refer to the cake as their culinary spciality. Each year, on 5th December the cake is celebrated on National Sachertorte Day, a day I intend to celebrate moving forwards.   

Of course the original recipe for the Sachertorte remains, to this day, locked away and the title of 'the original Sacher torte', after much dispute remains with the Hotel Sacher. The dispute came about when Franz Sacher's eldest son, Eduard, perfected the recipe whilst studying at the Demel bakery and chocolatier in Vienna. The perfected recipe was first served at the Demel and then later at the Hotel Sacher which was opened and established by Eduard himself in 1876. Of course with a cake so popular that tourists make trips to Vienna especially to eat a slice, the Demel wanted to retain the title of 'the original Sacher torte', and of course, understandably, the hotel and Sacher family felt the title was rightfully theirs.

After a lengthly legal battle the matter was settled out of court the agreement between both parties being as such; the Hotel Sacher serves 'the original sacher torte' and the Delem decorate their torte with a simple triangle of chocolate which reads 'Eduard-Sacher-Torte'. As mentioned, the Alhambra is referred to as the Sachertorte's sister, the difference being the Sachertorte is filled with a delicious apricot jam rather than a chocolate ganache and is served with whipped cream. Having eaten a slice of Sachertorte at the Hotel Sacher in Vienna I highly recommend a visit - the city of course has much more than just cake to offer but it's cake is a wonderful place to start. 

With all three exam dishes now out of the way, more normal, slower paced classes resumed. Our last class before the end of the week took us back to the enriched doughs of Vienna and once again into the boulangerie where we were to make rye bread, focaccia and an enriched breakfast bread, not too dissimilar to a brioche. In comparison to the classes before it, this was a doddle. Onto the Kitchen Aid's went bowls of flour, mixed with various quantities of sugar, salt, milk, butter and eggs, then after time spent proving the dough was rolled, shaped, bench proved, re rolled and shaped, proved again and then finally baked! My results both looked and tasted delicious.

Happy with my condensed weeks work at school, I turned my thoughts to my first shift at Crosstown Doughnuts. Needing a little additional funding (lets face it, London living ain't cheap) and having time on my hands in between classes I got in touch with the Aussie / Kiwi owned company having blogged about them late last year. I thought I'd get in touch to see if they could do with any additional assistance and luckily for me, they said they could. Located in the underbelly of Piccadilly tube station, I was incredibly excited to be surrounded by premium, modern patisserie and to give my sales skills a jolly good polishing. 

After being shown the ropes and run through the deliciously mouth watering doughnut portfolio, I was set. I now completely understand the saying 'it's like Piccadilly Circus' - wow! Doughnuts were flying off the shelf at a rate of knots and selling like hot cakes! At the end of the shift I gather the last remaining few, boxed them up and took them swiftly down to Bristol the very next day. Handing them over to a good friend, they were very gratefully received and Crosstown made their very first journey down to the Southwest. 

As well as bestowing doughnuts upon my Bristolian friends, I went laden with the cake and bread prepared earlier in the week at school and everything I need to prepare not one, but two birthday cakes for Lil. My bags packed, crammed full of pans, cake tins, pallet knives, chef knives and goodness knows what else (I think I threw some clothes in for good measure) I arrived at my home from home and did some of what I like to call 'baking and entering'. Whilst my friends were out at work I spent a solid and highly enjoyable six hours in the kitchen whipping up my take on a modern Fraisier and replicating the Alhambra that I'd produced so successfully at school. I saw this as a great opportunity to practise for my exams which are now less than a month away!! What a nail biting thought that is...

First into the oven went my Alhambra sponge, swiftly followed by the genoise sponge needed to create my Fraisier. Both sponges came out well risen and with the perfect amount of bounce. Like an octopus my arms were flying around the kitchen melting chocolate, whipping eggs, making custards, softening butter, sieving various ingredients and then... Disaster. 400g of beautifully bitter, dark chocolate ganache - split. My heart sank. This hadn't happened at school! I'd done exactly as instructed but instead of a silky smooth ganache what sat before me was a separated mass of oil and lumps of chocolate solids. I tried everything I could think of; warming the undesirable looking concoction over a Bain Marie, cooling the oily mass, whisking to add air and encourage the fats to re connect...everything. Before waving my little white flag of surrender I turned to my trusty friend, Google. Quickly I skim read the top ten hits and noticed a handy hint from a fellow baker, the hint read: don't despair if your ganache splits (I was firmly in the despair category at this point), to encourage the fats to come back together all you need to do is add a little whole milk. The fat content is significantly less than that of the cream and will help the two ingredients and fats to combine. At this stage it was worth a go, I'd try anything if it meant avoiding binning £6 of chocolate and traipsing back down the road to the shops in the rain. 

In a pan I warmed a little whole milk, making sure it was at the same temperate as my mess of a ganache. Of course this is done to prevent any further buckling due to temperature difference. When the two temperatures matched I poured the milk over the chocolate mass and began to stir from the middle, creating a chocolatey cyclone in the centre of the bowl as chef had shown us. Nothing was happening and then all of a sudden...the ganache began to come together and there was that silky spread like consistency I'd been longing to see. Without wanting it to spoil, I turned out the Nutella like spread onto a tray and left it to cool.

Thank goodness. I was back on track and ready to assemble my cakes and add the finishing touches. Inspired by a few of the London bakers I thought I'd try my hand at making some meringue kisses. Into the oven went a tray of sugar whilst I whisked up yet more eggs to medium to soft peaks. After five minutes of baking the sugar was ready to be incorporated. With each spoonful of sugar added, the fluffy white egg mix grew glossier. When ready I painted the inside of my piping bag with pink food colouring, popped in the meringue mix and began piping a variety of kisses. After baking at a low temperature for 40 mins they were ready and just how I'd imagined. Crunchy on the outside, chewy in the middle and just the right size to pop in your mouth and sit upon my modern patisserie bake. A few feathers later and of course a little gold glitter and my cakes were ready for the arrival of the birthday girl! Cakes fit for a Princess. What do you think? 

Next week on my path to patissiere I'll be whipping up a couple more entremets and having an experiment with choux pastry puff balls! Of course it's also pancake day and I'll be meeting my first bride of the year to discuss her wedding cake. Exciting times ahead!

*Please note that the views I express are mine alone and do not reflect the views of my place of study*

Le Cordon Bleu intermediate patisserie week 4 - here we go round the strawberry bush

Whilst preparing this weeks blog post, a little notification popped up letting me know that Path to Patissiere has now had over 5,000 hit (5,108 to be exact)! I'm totally blown away. Thank you to everyone who's read about my little culinary adventures at Le Cordon Bleu London. I hope, at the very least, I've made you giggle at my misfortunes and baking accidents and of course broadened your knowledge of this fantastic subject. I am incredibly lucky to be studying this course and as you can tell, despite the mishaps, I'm loving every minute...and although tough, this week has been no exception.  

Having been warned by both the chefs and superior students at Le Cordon Bleu of this weeks arrival and the challenges I'd face, I entered my 4th week of intermediate patisserie training with much trepidation. Now, we were told, the real challenges would begin and we'd come face to face with two of our three exam dishes; the Gateau Fraisier and the Gateau Opera. 

Although trepidatious, I couldn't wait to meet the cakes I'd heard so much about. Having never tried either, I was looking forward to hearing all about their origins and sampling their many complex layers. Whilst first researching the Fraisier, I was inundated with many beautiful pictures - some showing the cake made in the traditional fashion and others branching out to create a more contemporary take on this colourful dish. Reminiscent of balmy summer days and perhaps a chapeau one might have found at the milliners during the Victorian era, the Fraisier is a deliciously romantic confection made from feather-like genoise sponge, delicately whipped, silky smooth creme mousseline, freshly cut strawberries arranged in a crown formation, kirsch syrup, marzipan and royal icing. 

Requiring an incredible amount of focus and artistic attention to detail, this wonderfully feminine cake begins to spring into the windows of pastry shops across France as soon as the first summer berry is ripe for the picking. You'd think that a cake with such popularity and beauty would be well documented in terms of its creator and origins but sadly it's not. Named after the strawberry bush, digging a little deeper I discovered a Scottish clan by the same name with links back to France. Perhaps entirely unrelated, but interesting none the less, I'd like to think the cake was designed with this clan in mind but there are no records to indicate that this might have been the case. Strawberries however have a rich and juicy history.

First discovered as a wild fruit, the strawberry (and still growing happily in the wild around the country might I add...if you look hard enough. Pictured below, my good friend Thom owner of 7th Rise - also known as @soulful_hunter on Instagram, with a handful of these mini bursts of oral pleasure. He ate the entire handful for brekkie but please note the size, they are so incredibly far from the gigantic fruits we find on the shelves of our supermarkets) is well documented within ancient Roman literature for its medical uses. Its said that the French first began taking the strawberry from the forest to their gardens for harvest in the 1300s. Charles V, the King of France from 1364 to 1380 boasted 1,200 strawberry plants in his royal garden and enjoyed the fruits the plants bore regularly. During the early 1400s the monks of western Europe were using the wild strawberry in their illuminated manuscripts - the fruit can also be found in Italian, Flemish, German and English art dating back many centuries. During this time, the entire strawberry bush was used to treat depression related illnesses. It's safe to say that simply casting your eyes over the scrumptious Gateau Fraisier will lift ones spirits and the taste of a ripe, juicy, in season strawberry on the tip of your tongue will certainly assist with more positive thinking.

Demand for the strawberry from both a medicinal and indulgent point of view grew in the 1500s across Europe. Strawberries began to be studied and categories by botanists and instructions for their growth and harvest in the UK was documented in 1578. Its clear to see that our love affair with this romantic fruit has been one of longevity, but sadly our greed and demand has put huge amounts of pressure on the farming world - the results? We've sacrificed quality and flavour. Now available day in day out at every local supermarket in Great Britain, these once strictly seasonal fruits are pumped and injected with water so that they meet consumer standards in terms of their size, colour and shape but once purchased and taken home, biting into a shop brought strawberry in February leaves you with nothing but a hint of the flavour the fruit used to be so highly sought after for. Its truly saddening, even their sweet aroma has been removed and what we're left with is something which resembles what we desire, but in fact, is far far from what our ancestors (our less greedy and significantly more patient ancestors) enjoyed. Technology and advances in farming is a wonderful thing but when we begin to compromise on flavour just to satisfy greed - should we not question what we're doing and eat as mother nature intended us to? Season by season? 

Regardless of the season, the Gateau Fraisier was the first of my three exam dishes to be demonstrated by chef. Before heading in for my 8am lecture I turned to tea for inspiration and I wasn't let down. Inspiration was found. 

Comprising of five key elements (the genoise sponge, the fruit, the creme mousseline, the soaking syrup and the marzipan decoration), when broken down the baking and construction sounded fairly simple. First we'd make the genoise sponge, which you may remember was my exam dish for basic patisserie. The genoise is a beautifully light sponge made only of a large quantity of eggs, beaten into submission along with sugar, next flour is gently folded in and a tiny amount of melted butter added after that. Once baked our cakes, approximately 6cm in height needed to be hand cut into three discs. INTO THREE! And might I add evenly into three discs...thankfully the top of the cake was to be used as padding within the centre so it's appearance was less important but still, with both the middle and bottom discs being very much on display, it was important they were cut perfectly. 

Before the cutting came the making of the creme patissiere, later, once cooled and knocked back, softened butter was added to create the mousseline and of course, a drop of sweet tasting kirsch. The soaking syrup was then prepared and the strawberries cut with absolute precision. Using the elements prepared, the cake was assembled and topped with an embossed marzipan disc, marzipan rose, vines and detailed royal icing piping. 

Before entering the kitchen I checked my knife kit for one very important piece of equipment. My ruler. I wasn't exaggerating when I said the chef cut the strawberries with precession. He dwelled over the nine individual fruits required to make the dish for some five-severn minutes which in chef terms is an incredibly long amount of time. This was one of the areas where we lost a great deal of time during our practical, having never made this dish we of course wanted to do our absolute best so out came my ruler and no fruit entered my cake ring unless it had been thoroughly checked and measured for size.  

Thankfully I made up time when making my marzipan rose. As mentioned in last weeks post, I've been making these for years so I was able to quickly throw something delicate and dainty together and crack on with the more challenging task. The emulsion. With any cake, such as the Gateau Fraisier, made using a semi stable emulsion - in this case, a creme mousselinee (the butter being the key to creating stability), before de moulding the cake is chilled to assist setting. Its then the act of de moulding which fills you with terror and nerves. Chef demonstrated this process with no nerves at all and as he, rather violently, picked up and shook the cake ring the class gasped with fright. When the cake popped out gently in one solid piece the gasps turned to applause and sat before us was a thing of beauty. When the time came to de mould our own cakes, we approached the task with caution. When you've come this far and spent many minutes carefully measuring fruit, tirelessly whipping up a genoise and managing to successfully create a stable mousseline the last thing you want is to drop the damn thing on the floor. Although a littler slower than I'd hoped, I'd managed to do all of the above, and create a beautiful marzipan rose at the same time. Out my cake popped. There it was, sat before me - just as chefs had done. Perhaps not quite as beautiful but it certainly had an enticing charm about it. 

There were very few dramas involved with the making of this dish. Other than time and the odd bit of practise required on the piping front, chef was impressed with my design, my rose, my construction and the quality of my core elements. He mentioned the next time I am to make it that I must ensure the creme is sufficiently smoothed against the wall of the cake tin, but other than that, what you see before you is a dish that would have passed at intermediate level. Pretty hey? 

Following a take away, a bottle of prosecco, two slices of this light and airy cake (shared with a friend of course) and four hours sleep I returned to school to take on the Opera. I was dreading it. 

Eyes barely open I stumbled off the tube (it was 6am so you'll forgive me for using public transport rather than walking on this occasion), rode the escalator to ground level and began walking through the incredibly quiet streets of London, in the snow, in the direction of Le Cordon Bleu. You'd think it would be a rather magical moment and it was until I looked up and a large flake of snow landed in my eye. Nothing extinguishes magic like ice in your eye. Whilst walking, and rubbing my eye better, I was reciting the break down of the task ahead of me. Step one, beat the almonds and egg yolks, step two, whisk the whites and sugar to create a medium peak meringue, step three, combine, step four, spread out onto a tray evenly and bake. Make the ganache, prepare the soaking syrup and buttercream, cool and cut the sponge, prepare the pate a glace, assemble and...enjoy!

Again, broken down into simple steps it sounded perfectly achievable but in reality, and I should imagine due to the very early start, the task seemed just a touch too much for everyone. We took far longer than chef would have liked and I made some pretty silly mistakes along the way. Regardless, my end result was a Gateau Opera. It had all the necessary layers and tasted delicious. Sadly my chocolate ganache failed to sufficiently bind the layers and strangely my buttercream seems to be a little set back from the edge but for a first attempt...

The positives; chef liked my design. It needs a little more work but she liked the concept (I apologies, chocolate on chocolate is a little tricky to photograph, especially when in a rush), and it tasted lovely. Next time I need to make sure I don't mess about with my pate a glace. What a mess. Whoops! Following a long walk home in the bitterly cold wind with my freshly made Opera, I cut myself a slice and sat down with a cup of tea to find out more about this delightfully complex cake. Like the Gateau Sabrina (which I've still heard nothing more of from the chefs in Paris), the Gateau Opera is a relatively new cake but its origins are hugely disputed. 

Sadly after reading extracts from several books and blogs it seems that we'll never know the honest truth as to this cakes past. There are two main contenders battling for claim over the recipe, they are the house of Dalloyau in Paris and Louis Clichy, one of Paris' legendary pastry chefs. The house of Dalloyau claim to have invented the Gateau Opera in 1955. According to the owners it was Cyruaque Gavillon who invented the cake which was later named 'Opera' by his wife, Andree, in honour of a prima ballerina at the Paris Opera. A feasible story, however Louis Clichy claims that Gavilllon stole the recipe from him which he'd had written down since the turn of the century some 50 years prior. Its said by many supporters of Clichy that he'd premiered his famous Gateau Opera at the Paris Exposition Culinaire in 1903 after which it became the signature cake at the Clichy's patisserie on the Boulevard Beaumarchais, Paris. 

Whilst the two Parisian families continue to squabble over who created the dish, another truly delightful story has emerged. Some say that it was in fact the pastry chefs at the Paris Opera who created this dish in 1890. It was said that the chefs wanted to created something heavily soaked in coffee to help the audience stay awake through the final acts of the lengthy Wagnerian epics.  

What ever its true origins, the Gateau Opera is now an incredibly popular cake found in patisseries across the globe. Made using high quality coffee and dark chocolate, its comparable to drinking an incredibly creamy mocha and as someone who hates the taste of coffee and has never drunk a cup, I rather liked it.

Before my week came to a close, I promised my babe of a Nan a visit and a batch of the English madeleines she'd been dreaming of since she was a little girl. You may recall I wrote about them and experimented with a couple of recipes a number of weeks ago: English madeleines

The madeleines were very gratefully received but it was in face the slice of Gateau Opera that I'd set aside for her that stole the show! It's just such a crowd pleasing cake. I shall look forward to making it again when the time comes to practise my exam dishes!

Next week on my path to patissiere I'll be facing my final exam dish; the Gateau Alhambra, and I'll be back in the boulangerie making frocaccia, rye bread and baguette Viennoise. I then have the pleasure of making a cake for a very dear friend of mines birthday and I'll be doing so back in the fabulous city of Bristol! I'm incredibly excited to be returning, even just for a couple of days. 

I shall be naming the cake the Gateau Lillian, after the birthday girl, and the Gateau Lillian shall take its inspiration from the Gateau Fraisier. I love experimenting and the changes I intend to make are as such; I'm going to add sherry to the mousseline rather than kirsch. I don't find the taste of the kirsch to be particularly present which, in my eyes leaves the creme feeling a little bland. Adding sherry will be both complimentary to the creme and the fruit and hopefully will lift the flavour and take it in a more desirable direction. I'm going to try adding white chocolate to the genoise in some capacity and will top my gateau with white chocolate bottomed strawberry meringue kisses topped with gold and no doubt I'll add a few features for flamboyancy. The cakes appearance will take inspiration from both its names sake and her fancy dress fashion inspiration, Effie Trinket. 

The very next day I shall be whipping up a Valentines inspired tea party for my girls, the details of which I'm keeping closely guarded in case they are reading this post ;o) Expect to see a lot of pink, many hearts and heaps of smiles. 

*Please note that the views I express are mine alone and do not reflect the views of my place of study*