Caramel Parfait

On the night of the Guild awards, mum and I booked an early table at Honey & Co. A particularly fantastic dessert - a just-set milk pudding topped with syrupy poached peaches and rose - and the meal in general affirmed that I definitely needed to buy a copy of their book, which came out two weeks later.

The day I received it, I went straight into the kitchen to try out the honey parfait. If you don't have lolly moulds the book suggests making cones out of greaseproof paper and propping them up in the freezer. I made some out of my favourite foil lined parchment (it's stiffer, which I thought would be useful), using the technique for making paper piping bags but securing them with a staple. I didn't have any lolly sticks either so I used some cotton thread to secure a few chopped up pieces of wooden skewer together. Though I enjoyed the honey flavour, the texture and technique were the things that really captured me.



To play with the technique, I decided to try substituting the honey. I toyed between caramel and maple syrup before, predictably, picking caramel. The only problem with caramel is that once you've got to the caramel stage of a sugar syrup, it's not at the right stage to pour onto the egg yolks (I was 99% sure it wouldn't work but decided to check anyway - it was a mess). I found that adding a little cold water to the caramel when it reaches the right stage brings it back down to roughly 100-110C. The resulting syrup then works beautifully. I want to see if the same technique works for Italian meringue, too - does caramel meringue sound good?

I've been shaping the parfait into a little loaf, which I then serve in tiny slices. It's very rich. I've also added some caramel pieces to boost the flavour and to provide a bit of textural contrast. The caramel pieces liquify a little at the edges and soften - though they still crunch - in the freezer. I have salted the caramel, but only lightly - you could increase it a touch for a more pronounced flavour.

Parfait has a different texture to ice cream or gelato or any other creamy frozen dessert I've tried. It's like very cold, smooth mousse, as it doesn't become particularly hard when it freezes and has quite a bit of air incorporated - it's almost foamy (in a good way). Definitely worth trying, anyway, whether you choose honey or caramel, loaf or lolly.



Caramel Parfait
(inspired by Honey & Co's Honey Parfait)

For the caramel pieces:
25g white sugar (caster or granulated)
pinch of fine sea salt

For the parfait:
2 large egg yolks
25ml cold water
pinch of fine sea salt
50g white sugar (caster or granulated)
140ml double cream

Start with the caramel pieces. Tear off a bit of baking parchment and place on a worktop near the stove. Spread the sugar (25g) evenly over the bottom of a small pan. Place over a medium-high heat and watch carefully - after a few minutes, the sugar will start to liquify at the edges. Don't stir it - you can flick some of the crystals onto a liquid bit, but don't fiddle too much. Once it's nearly all melted and starts to caramelise, swirl it all together. Keep heating until you have a clear liquid with a deep golden-bronze colour, then swirl in the salt and quickly pour onto the parchment. Leave to cool. When it has solidified, chop into tiny pieces with a knife (and watch out, it tends to splinter and fly off the board - it can be quite sharp at this point).

Line a baby loaf tin or small box (roughly 6" x 3") or another shape (perhaps a small bowl for a bombe shape?) with a big piece of clingfilm. Place the egg yolks into the bowl of a stand mixer with the whisk attached. Combine the water and salt and put them near the stove. Don't bother to wash the caramel pan - just sprinkle in the sugar for the parfait (50g). Make the caramel as before, but when it is ready, turn the heat off and immediately pour in the salty water. It will react quite wildly, steaming and bubbling, but after the first few moments, start stirring and keep going until the mixture is smooth. It should still be bubbling away (if not, or if the pieces aren't dissolving, turn the heat back on for a moment). Turn the mixer with the egg yolks in up to medium high, then carefully pour the hot caramel down the side of the bowl into the whisking yolks (see this video). Turn the mixer up to full speed and leave to whip.

While it whips, start whipping the double cream until it thickens and starts holding shape in very soft peaks - it's important to not overwhip it (see this photo for the way both the cream and caramel mixture look when ready). The caramel mixture should be pale yellow and very thick and when you lift the whisk out the trail should stay on the surface for at least the count of five.

Scrape the caramel mixture into the cream bowl and fold in with a big spoon (see this video for technique, though these mixtures are the same consistency). When the mixture is uniform, add the caramel pieces and fold them though. Scrape into the lined mould, level off, pull the clingfilm over the top and put in the freezer. It's best left overnight but will have hopefully firmed up enough after 5-6 hours.

(Makes about 6-8 very small slices)



Three more recipes that involve whipped cream:
2010: Eton Mess
2011: Coconut Cream Cake
2013: Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs

Tarte aux Framboises

Though Simon's Tarte aux Pommes is the most beloved and evocative tart from my childhood, Tarte aux Framboises comes second. It's one of my favourite things to buy from the bakeries in town - a slice, with the sides protected by slips of clear plastic, tucked into a white box and carried carefully home.



This is a slightly simplified version. It's made up of a puff pastry base (I've been making my favourite rough puff), barely-sweetened vanilla whipped cream, the best raspberries I can find and a sweet, jammy glaze.



If you don't want to make your own pastry (though I think that this is a great recipe for it, as you really notice the quality in something simple) then do try to find some made with butter. I made one batch of rough puff, trimmed the sides and then divided it into three chunky rectangles of pastry of roughly 160g. I think it's best freshly made but if you wrap each piece tightly in a few layers of clingfilm it can be frozen for a few weeks (defrost it slowly in the fridge, still wrapped up).

I think the best thing about a tart like this is how both the textures (crisp pastry, billowing cream, seedy raspberries, jelly glaze) and the flavours (buttery, vanilla, cream, tart, fruity, sweet) contrast and combine to create a balance. It's a familiar and comforting combination and no lesser for being so.



Tarte aux Framboises

For the tart case:
160g puff pastry (I use homemade rough puff)
a splash of milk

To assemble:
2 tbsp raspberry jam
1 tbsp water
100ml double cream
1/2 tsp icing sugar*
1/4 tsp vanilla paste
24 raspberries (roughly 200g)

Roll the pastry out to a rectangle of roughly 25 x 15cm (10 x 6"). Trim the edges to create a clean rectangle. Cut a 1-1.5cm (0.4-0.6") strip from each of the sides. Score the main piece lightly in a criss-cross pattern. Brush the top of the main piece with milk (not making it soggy, but covering the whole piece lightly without going over the sides). Arrange the strips around the edges, trimming the ends so that they fit. Press the strips down lightly, then brush the tops with milk. Transfer onto baking parchment and onto a baking tray. Chill for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 200C/390F (fan). Bake the tart case for 20-25 minutes until caramel brown on all sides and the base. Transfer to a wire rack to cool. Once cool, press the centre down to make room for the filling (so it looks like this).

Put the raspberry jam and water into a small saucepan and stir over a medium heat until combined and liquid. Strain through a sieve into a bowl to catch the seeds. Put the cream, icing sugar and vanilla paste into a mixing bowl and whip until it thickens and just hold shape - the floppiest of peaks - it's important to not over whip it. Spoon into the middle of the case and spread out. Arrange the raspberries on the top. Brush the raspberries with the warm glaze. Best served immediately.

*If your raspberries are on the sour side, increase to 1 tsp.

(Makes one tart, slices into four)



Three other pie and tart posts:
Chez Panisse Almond Tart
Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie
Tarte aux Pommes

Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs

I like white chocolate but I wouldn't normally choose to eat it. But if you roast it until it caramelises and add a touch of salt? I can't leave it alone.

Though I have a faint memory of reading David Lebovitz's post about caramelised white chocolate in 2009, I didn't try making it until the day Food 52 published an article about it. It felt like the first time I tried brown butter - a whole new set of possibilites opened up and I couldn't stop thinking about it.



I have to admit that I still haven't tried it with the original Valrhona Ivoire. I didn't get around to ordering any before I left England last week and I haven't been able to get my hands on any here in Switzerland.

However, I have had great success with Green & Black's White (twice) and Lindt Blanc. I've also tried a bar of Cailler Blanc Vanille but it quickly seized. I tried combining it with a bit of oil and blending it (as advised on Food 52) but it was still gritty and tasted oily. After buying some Felchlin couverture from a local bakery, I was very surprised when it seized instead of melting. Instead of trying to blend it, I left it in the oven until it reached a similar caramel colour. The tiny nuggets of chocolate tasted just as good and I think if you melted them down with a touch of cream, they might liquify.



After a few spoonfuls of the caramelised chocolate, I decided that I needed to make éclairs.

Choux pastry and I have history. Three years ago, after I started building croquembouche shaped like presents with chocolate ribbons, I became obsessed with choux pastry. I spent hours filling out spreadsheets with dozens of recipes, comparing ratios, temperatures and methods.

Then it turned up at Le Cordon Bleu. Éclairs were one of our three exam dishes in my first term. Though I'd been warned about having a favourite, I thought that I had a much better chance of a good mark with one of them. I was convinced that I would pick the right slip out of the bowl of folded papers as I stepped into the exam room. But I didn't - I picked the éclairs.



My focus blurred and for the first time in my life, I didn't rise to an exam. I tried to reason with myself that it couldn't possibly be harder than finals but once it had started to get messy and out of sync, I couldn't claw it back. Looking around, I compared my work to my classmates even though I knew it wouldn't help. Somehow I managed to cut myself on a plastic d-scraper and had to go out to patch it up. Struggling to breathe, I moved around in slow motion, time running out despite every minute feeling like an eternity. I screwed up the elements I was best at and left the room feeling sick.

The feeling lingered on, even though I passed and my other marks pulled me up to a good grade overall. I was embarrassed that I had let it get to me, that I'd cracked instead of rising to the occasion. To be honest, I still am.

The experience coupled with the type of éclairs we made (filled with cloying coffee pastry cream, topped with super-sweet fondant) clouded my love of choux pastry. I stopped making it, even though fresh éclairs filled with softly whipped cream and topped with melted chocolate are one of life's great pleasures.



In general, my experience at Cordon Bleu pushed me away from neat pâtisserie towards the simple, the not-so-sweet, the seasonal and the slightly messy. I like the odd drip of golden chocolate sneaking down the side, streaking the escaping cream.

I can't think of a better way to use the caramelised white chocolate and - while I worry about hyperbole - they're one of the tastiest things I've ever made.

Though the general consensus seems to be that you should make the chocolate in big batches of 350 - 450g, I like smaller batches so I can try different things out. The recipe below makes just enough to cover the six éclairs with a bit extra for tasting - you could easily make more and use it for other things. When I was taking these photos, I was making a double batch of the choux, so the amounts you see are a bit bigger than you'll get from the recipe below. I weigh the liquids for the pastry as they're small amounts and need to be accurate.

If you don't often use a piping bag or want some tips, I recommend this excellent tutorial on BraveTart. I use disposable bags like these.

Finally, I really recommend tasting and smelling the chocolate as it roasts and sensing how it develops each time you take it out. The colour is a good guide but it's far more fun to eat it. Do try it before and after the salt, too - the difference is quite spectacular.



Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs
(chocolate adapted from Valrhona via Food 52)

For the caramelised white chocolate:
100g white chocolate (30%+ cocoa butter)
pinch of fine sea salt (I use fleur de sel)

For the choux pastry:
25g butter
35g water
25g whole milk
pinch of salt
30g plain flour
1 large egg

For the whipped cream:
150g double cream
1/4 tsp vanilla paste (or extract)

Preheat the oven to 120C/250F for the chocolate. Break up the chocolate and place it in a small baking tray. Put into the oven. After five minutes, take it out and stir with a spatula - it may be stiff at first but should smooth out. Repeat every five minutes until it is a lovely deep caramel brown (mine took about 40-50 minutes*). Stir in the salt. Scrape into a small bowl or jar and leave to cool. This should keep for months - it will cloud once it cools but don't worry.

Preheat the oven to 200C/390F for the choux. Prepare a piping bag with a plain tip (not sure of the number but mine has a diameter of 1.3cm), push the bag into the tip and sit upright in a tall glass. Grease a baking tray. Cut the butter into cubes and add it to a small saucepan (mine is 15cm) with the water, milk and salt. Sieve the flour onto a big sheet of baking parchment, fold in two to make a shoot and put near the hob.

Put the saucepan over a low heat until the butter melts. Turn up to medium-high and bring just to the boil - when it's steaming and you see the first bubbles in the middle, take off the heat and immediately shoot the flour in off the baking parchment and stir with a wooden spoon until it comes together. Put back onto the heat and stir for 1-2 minutes - you should have a stiff ball of paste that sizzles and leaves the sides of the pan clean. Tip into a mixing bowl and squish up the sides to help it cool.

Leave to cool for a few minutes until it's warm - not hot - to the touch. While it cools, beat the egg lightly together. Add a dribble of egg to the bowl and beat into the paste (it goes slimy and looks like it won't incorporate but if you keep going it will). Keep adding small amounts of egg until it is all incorporated - around 6 inclusions. If you scoop up the mixture and turn the spoon to the side it should hesitate, then fall off in thick ribbons, leaving a hanging tail. Scrape into the piping bag and seal. Pipe 11-12cm lines onto the tray, flicking back onto the éclair to finish, leaving a few cm in between. There should be enough for 7, which gives you one spare in case of accident (or for a few profiteroles...). Add a dash of milk to the eggy bowl, then dip a pastry brush into it and lightly brush in opposite direction to your piping, smoothing down the flick.

Bake for 20 minutes at 200C without opening the door, then turn down to 180C, use a wooden spoon to jar the oven door open and bake for 10 minutes. They should be deep golden brown all over and crispy. Cool on a wire rack. (You can store them for a day in a sealed tin, but they're best fresh).

Place the chocolate over a pan of barely simmering water and melt. Leave to cool and thicken slightly. Pour the cream into a mixing bowl and add the vanilla. Whip until you have soft peaks (or whip in a stand mixer but be careful not to overwhip). Slice the éclairs lengthways with a serrated knife. Spoon the whipped cream into the bottom half then place the other half on top. Use a blunt knife/small palette knife to spread the chocolate on top. Serve quickly - they're best within an hour. You can keep leftovers for 24 hours in the fridge, but they're not as good.

(Makes 6 éclairs, can multiply up)

* Several commenters have told me that theirs took longer to caramelise - it seems to depend on the oven and the brand of chocolate. If you get fed up waiting, it seems you can increase the oven temperature a little and it should start to turn. I haven't tried it on a higher temperature myself, however.



A few more posts that involve whipped cream:
Coconut Cream Cake
Brandy Snaps
Hervé's Two Ingredient Chocolate Mousse

Pancakes with Lemon & Thyme Sugar

Next Tuesday, the 12th of February, is Pancake Day (a.k.a. Shrove Tuesday). Pancake Day is the only food holiday that I never miss.

I tend to call pancakes crêpes here, to avoid confusion with American pancakes. But Crêpe Day sounds silly (and a bit pretentious), so today they're pancakes.

There are many ways to eat a pancake.

If I'm ordering one at a fair, I tend to go for a slathering of Nutella that bubbles and pales as it warms on the circular hot plate.

Sometimes, at home, I swirl double cream and maple syrup in the middle, then roll it up into a tube. Each slice drips as you eat it, so you have to sweep it up with the next slice - just for the same thing to happen again.

Recently I made a version of this unusual food52 recipe: pancake parcels filled with a ricotta-mascarpone mixture, topped with a honey and blood orange sauce.

Today I cooked a banana with a tablespoon of butter, a tablespoon of maple syrup and a pinch of salt until the slices were caramelised and soft. Piled onto two hot pancakes with a splash of double cream and a touch more maple syrup, they made an oozy, sweet and filling pudding.

But, to be honest, I usually eat pancakes flipped onto a plate straight from the pan, soaked with lemon, sprinkled with sugar straight from the packet and eaten with my fingers, standing in the kitchen, while they're still hot and crispy around the edges. They're perfect as they are - I certainly don't blame you if you never try them with anything other than lemon and sugar.

However. Sometime around the beginning of the year, mum and I were making pancakes when I noticed some leftover thyme on the counter. On a whim, I crushed a few leaves into the sugar with my fingers. It adds a background herbal note that gives it a little edge.

How do you eat your pancakes on Pancake Day?

Pancakes with Lemon & Thyme Sugar
(adapted many years ago from Delia's Complete Cookery Course)

15g unsalted butter
55g plain flour
pinch of fine sea salt
1 egg
100ml milk
25ml water
a lemon
a few spoonfuls of sugar
a few springs of thyme

Melt the butter in a large, sturdy frying pan. Keep heating until the foam dies down and the butter is full of rusty flecks (see brown butter foundation for more guidance). Pour into a bowl to cool.

Tip the flour and salt into a mixing bowl and whisk together. Make a well in the middle then break the egg into it. Whisk in, incorporating some of the flour. Pour in a bit of the milk and whisk in, slowly incorporating all the flour and milk. Add most of the water, reserving a dash to change the consistency if needed - it should be around double cream. Whisk in the butter. Scrape the batter into the milk measuring jug, to make pouring easier (or use a ladle). Leave to sit for a few minutes while you organise the fillings - in this case, slice up the lemon and briefly rub the thyme leaves into the sugar.

Heat the pan up over a high heat - once you can feel a strong heat when you hold your hand a few inches above the pan, turn the heat down a bit and add a small knob of butter and swirl around (if the pan is hot enough, the butter browns almost immediately after it melts). Holding the pan at an angle, pour a bit of the batter into the pan and swirl into a thin layer. When it starts to brown around the edges, flip. Once that side is done, remove to a plate and serve immediately with the lemon and sugar (or stack on a plate with kitchen paper in between, then reheat when you serve). Adjust the consistency if the pancake is too thick and repeat, melting a little butter in the pan each time. The batter keeps in the fridge for a day (whisk it back together before using).

(Makes 5-6 pancakes, easily multiplied up)

A few more posts about crêpes pancakes:
2012: Crêpes Suzette
2011: Dusky Caramel and Raspberry Crêpe Cake
2010: Wholemeal Crêpes

Foundations no.5 - Chocolate Ganache

Ganache is a great playground to experiment in. There are so many ways to personalize and adapt the technique.

The first way is to try different liquid combinations. The gratuitous food porn shot above features a coconut milk ganache. Then there's half cream and half crème fraîche in a white chocolate ganache. Spiced water in deep, dark chocolate sauce. A splash of buttermilk, a touch of tea. The different water and fat contents give a variety of thicknesses and flavours.

Play around with ratios and you can have a pouring sauce, a cake glaze, a slick icing, a truffle and many other things. Add more liquid to thin the mixture and more chocolate to thicken it (funnily enough). Keep the serving temperature in mind - ganache thickens as it cools. It's so versatile.

The flavour will, of course, also depend on the chocolate. I usually use the most expensive chocolate I can afford - but then on one occasion I tried a Dairy Milk & single cream ganache and was utterly addicted (try it in a small pot with a light sprinkle of sea salt). Rules are made to be broken.

In this example I used 150g dark chocolate (72%), 125ml of double cream, 25ml of buttermilk and 1 tablespoon of brown sugar.

There are two ways to incorporate the cream/liquid into the chocolate. The way I've always used - and the faster way - is to heat the cream and then pour it over chopped chocolate, as you'll see here.

At Cordon Bleu they used a second method where you incorporate warmed cream into already melted chocolate. This might betray a lack of sophistication but I couldn't tell the difference between the finished ganaches. Leaving the hot cream sitting over the chocolate for a minute means it starts to melt anyway (which takes the heat out of the cream - if you use melted chocolate the cream needs to be cooler) and means less time and washing up.

Prepare the chocolate and put it into a big bowl - the chunks need to be fairly small (as you can see a few photos above).

Put the liquid and any additions over a medium heat and stir together - usually any sweeteners will be added to the cream. I like a bit of brown sugar when I'm using cream. Heat it until it just starts steaming - I look for little wisps curling out from the edges.

Pour the liquid over the chocolate.

If you wanted, you could infuse the cream (or any other liquid you're using) with spices or other flavours, then strain it into the chocolate bowl.

Use a spatula to push any pieces of chocolate under the liquid that are still poking out. Leave to stand for a minute or so.

Start stirring the mixture in the middle, using small circular motions. At first it'll look like nothing is really happening (as above), but then a rich dark swirl will start to form...

Keep stirring, incorporating more and more of the chocolate into the cream.

I used to use a whisk to make ganache. I think it makes it slightly easier to get any last lumps out - but it does mean you incorporate lots of little bubbles. These are a pain for almost every application of ganache so now I use a spatula.

Keep stirring until the ganache is homogenous. It should be gloriously shiny.

Like custard and ice cream, ganache is an emulsion of fat-in-water. This is why it tastes so rich and creamy, even when you use water. It is also why it can start to split if you mistreat it. As you can see below, it can look a little dodgy around the edges but keep stirring. It should come together.

If it does split, heat a bit more cream up and add it in small amounts, stirring quickly as you go. It should emulsify.

Also, if there are still a few lumps of unmelted chocolate, pour some boiling water into the cream pot and set it over the lowest heat you can. Place the ganache bowl over the top and stir for a minute or two - if the heat is gentle it should melt the chocolate without harming the ganache.

At the end some recipes call for a bit of room temperature butter to be stirred in. I don't usually do this as in my mind it has enough fat already and doesn't make a huge difference. You can also add other things at this point - for instance I added the whisky to the ganache for my Beautiful and Damned Cake.

Cool the ganache a little (for instance if you're using it to ice a cake or pour over something) or a lot (if you're going to scoop truffles out of it).

Four recipes that use this technique:

Honeybee Chocolate Cake
Poires Belle Helene
Muscovado Truffles
Malteser Layer Cake

*

This is the fifth post of my Foundations series. The first post focused on rubbing in to make pastry. The second looked at brown butter, followed by a third on creaming butter and sugar and a forth about icing cakes. The next post, on the 1st of June, will focus on egg yolk custard.

Brandy Snaps

I meant to post these in 2011 as I thought they'd be a good party dessert for the holiday season. I ran out of time. You're just going to have to have a dessert party now.



Mum and I made these a few times when I was little - preparing them was more of an event than the party we took them to. I loved waiting for them to cool until just the right point (somewhere between scorching and scalding) and then rushing to get them neatly curled up before they stiffened and shattered.

I decided to serve these drizzled with a sharp berry sauce. I always like contrast in desserts. The sweet spicy warmth from the ginger and brandy in the snaps plays off the cool, pure cream piped inside. The berry sauce adds an acidic edge while still pairing with the rich spicy flavours.



Brandy snaps are eaten with your fingers. The snap cracks and shatters and the cream oozes everywhere, stained pink from the sauce. It's messy. It's worth it.



Brandy Snaps
(adapted from Delia's Book of Cakes)

50g golden syrup
40g caster sugar
50g unsalted butter
40g plain flour
1 tsp ground ginger
pinch of salt
1 tsp brandy
approx 500ml double cream to fill
100g mixed berries (optional sauce)
icing sugar to taste (optional sauce)

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Grease a baking sheet with a little butter but don't line it. Melt the syrup with the sugar and butter in a small saucepan over a medium heat, stirring until the mixture is smooth (no crystals from the sugar). Take off the heat then beat in the flour, ginger and salt. Finally stir in the brandy.

Spoon the mixture onto the sheet in teaspoons, leaving quite a bit of space between each and only putting a maximum of 9 on a tray at once - start with a few as you have to work quickly to roll them. Put into the oven and bake for about 10 minutes - they should be lacy and a deep rusty gold (see the photo above). Prepare yourself while they bake with a wooden spoon (or another tool of a similar circumference), something to place the hot tray on and a wire cooling rack. Leave to firm up a little on the hot tray for 2 minutes. If any have spread into each other, quickly cut down the join with a sharp knife.

When you can lift them up and they don't break but are still pliable, lift one off and quickly wrap it around the handle of the spoon. Hold for a moment then slide off and leave to cool completely. You need to work quickly as the moment when they are perfectly pliable is short.

I really recommend making a sharp berry sauce to drizzle over the brandy snaps. To do so, heat the berries gently (I used frozen berries) until they're soft. Add icing sugar to taste. Finally pass through a sieve to get rid of any seeds and skin.

To fill the brandy snaps, whip up the cream until it holds firm peaks (but be careful to not overwhip - you just need it strong enough to stay in the snaps and not run out). Fill a piping bag and pipe into each brandy snap. Drizzle with the sauce if you're using it. Eat with your fingers.

(Makes 16-18)

Pomegranate & Berry Pavlova

When I was a girl, we always had pavlova for pudding at Christmas. Though it wasn't shrouded in flickering blue flames like its traditional rival, I thought it was the most exciting part of the whole lunch.

Granny would top her pavlovas with defrosted raspberries saved from the summer bounty. In memory of her I used some frozen mixed berries on our Christmas pavlova.



I also scattered over some fresh pomegranate. When I came to photograph the fruit I found myself trying to create the same (lovely) pomegranate shot I've seen so many times. Instead I decided to try and make it mine. So in the middle of our sitting room I started splashing the pomegranate quarters into the waiting bowl of water, holding my camera in the other hand.

I must have looked pretty sheepish when mum found me drenching the white sofas and rug in the midst of torn up wrapping paper from earlier in the day. She moved me outside onto the balcony (thankfully not as cold as last time) and dropped the quarters into the bowl for me. Arthur tried to 'help' and got in the way.

Not only did I get a photo I like but I also got a Christmas memory I'll always remember with a smile.



I've had some troubles with our old recipe over the past few years so I decided to try a new one from this gobsmackingly beautiful post by Katie. It's a great recipe - it feels stable as you heap it on the sheet and bakes into a soft pillow of marshmallow-esque filling with a nice crisp shell. I like some contrast so I barely sweetened the berries and kept the cream simple.

It's a classic for a reason.



Pomegranate & Berry Pavlova
(Adapted from What Katie Ate)

For the pavlovas:
1/4 lemon
4 egg whites
220g caster sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 and a 1/2 tsps cornflour

To assemble both:
250ml double cream
1/2 tsp vanilla paste
1/2 pomegranate
100g frozen mixed summer fruit
1 tsp icing sugar

Preheat the oven to 150C (or 130C for a fan oven). Line two trays with baking parchment. Rub the clean bowl of a stand mixer (or a mixing bowl if you're using a hand whisk) with the slice of lemon. Add the whites and whisk until you have a thick froth that forms a soft peak then start slowly adding the sugar. Keep whisking until glossy and holds a fairly stiff peak. Add the vanilla and sift over the cornflour, then whisk briefly to combine. Divide the mix between the two trays, heaping it up in the middle. Use a spatula to spread out into a large nest shape (I then brought the spatula in around the sides to create a pattern.

Bake for 30 minutes then swap the trays and turn them around to help them cook evenly. Bake for another 30 minutes then turn the oven off and leave them to cool for one hour. Afterwards, take them out and leave to cool totally on a wire rack. They'll store for at least a week if needed.

When you're ready to serve, defrost the fruit. Sprinkle the icing sugar over the top to lightly sweeten them without breaking them down. Cut the pomegranate into quarters and de-seed in a bowl of water. Whip the cream and vanilla until soft peaks form. Knock the centre of the pavlova gently in then spread the cream over. Top with the summer fruits and pomegranate seeds and serve.

(Makes 2 medium pavlovas, each serves 4-6)

Plain Scones

I was born and bred in Devon, England. I am obsessed with the world of pastry and desserts. These two facts combine, as you can probably imagine, into a girl with quite a few opinions and stories about scones and cream teas.

To start at the most obvious point of contention: cream before jam or jam before cream. If you are versed in the ways of cream teas, you might have already guessed my affiliation from my birthplace. I believe in scone-cream-jam.

Though, I have to admit, I don't entirely know why. It's a bit like Cambridge as an Oxford student - you can't quite figure out why you're not supposed to like them, but you find yourself part of the rivalry anyway. And so I prefer the Devon cream tea. I just do.

I have to point out that I do still enjoy a cream tea that doesn't fit everything I say below. I'm also not so opposed to jam-cream to judge people for their preferences. Except my mum, who goes scone-butter-jam-cream, which is just weird.

Given all this love for scones and cream teas, you might think I have been crafting this recipe since I was a toddler, or that it's a family recipe. We have been making scones all my life, but this is the first time I've had the obsession to get a good recipe with them. I made scones five days in a row for tea (yes, we do have afternoon tea every single day at our house. It's a meal just like lunch. When else do you think we eat all these baked goods?!), had a little breather for a day, then finally made them again yesterday.

A timetable:
Day One: Nigella's Lily's Scones, straight up.
Day Two: Lily's Scones plus creme fraiche.
Day Three: raspberri cupcakes' CWA Scones, straight up.
Day Four: Day Three plus creme fraiche and formed into a taller block.
Day Five: Day Four plus a different method of combining ingredients.
Day Six: a glass of water and a carrot stick. 
Day Seven: Day Five plus a higher temperature.

A good scone should be lightly browned with a crispy crust and a light, fluffy interior. I like using the creme fraiche because it gives the scones a little tang. Not having butter in the recipe makes it faster and easier too. You can either wash these with milk or egg depending on how brown you'd like them. You can see this on the batch above, where the ones on the left are egg washed and the others are milk washed.

In Oxford, I ate a lot of cream teas. I never found the perfect one. The Vault off Radcliffe Square came closest. The Old Parsonage came next. The main problem with most cream teas is that they focus on the scone or even the tea and forget the rest (though you do get awful scones too).

The quality of the cream and jam is paramount, as is the quantity. A thimble of mediocre clotted cream  for two scones does not make a good cream tea. You need plenty of good quality clotted cream (not too much crust, and it shouldn't be grainy at all) with some good jam, preferably raspberry or strawberry. Don't be shy with the cream - it's what gives the scone its moisture and luxuriance. I like homemade raspberry jam.

A cream tea isn't particularly sweet: the scones don't have any sugar, the cream should be unadulterated and hopefully the jam won't be too sugary either.

I know a lot of people can't get good quality clotted cream outside of Devon and Cornwall and particularly outside the UK. Mum can't get it here in Switzerland. Recently we tried making it using a method she had used as a child with the unpasturised milk we get from the local laiterie. We tried a couple of times with different methods but it never really worked.

Then about a week ago I was working on a catering job and discovered the cream they were serving with the meringues and summer fruits. It's Gruyere double cream, which we had been buying in the supermarkets for years, but from the Chaumerie in the centre of town. This version is seriously thick. And guess what - it tastes exactly like clotted cream without the crust! BINGO. It's great for scones, though the latest pot we bought wasn't quite as thick as the last, so it looks a tiny bit runny in these photos.

I realise this still doesn't help most of you. I reckon that the best substitute might be marscarpone beaten with a little bit of double cream if you can't find clotted or a super super thick cream.

Finally: tea. A cream tea, as the name suggests, needs a cup of tea. Or a pot. Though any English breakfast type tea will do, I am an Earl Grey girl. So I would always pick that. If I have the choice, I will drink my ultimate favourite tea that I love so much I bring boxes and boxes out to Switzerland and jumped for joy when they extended it from a limited edition to a regular feature: Twinings Blossom Earl Grey, with orange blossoms and citrus bergamont. (I'm in no way sponsored to say that, I just love tea.)

Also, fun fact: I believe the very first photograph I took of food when I was 13 was of a scone loaded with cream and jam. I tried to find it for you but sadly I think it's in England.

To me, a good cream tea is one of life's ultimate pleasures. It's all about the slight crisp from the crust, the fluffy scone with a sour note, the cool, thickly luxurious cream and the contrasting bright tones of the raspberry jam. Perfection.

Plain Scones
(adapted from raspberri cupcakes' version of CWA scones)

230g plain flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
135ml double cream
1 tbsp (15ml) creme fraiche
100ml whole milk
an egg yolk, or a little extra milk, to glaze

Preheat the oven to 230C. Lightly grease a small baking tray. Sieve the flour, baking powder and salt into a medium mixing bowl. Place the double cream and creme fraiche into a small bowl and whisk together.

Pour the cream mixture into the flour bowl and fold in very gently with a metal spoon, being careful not to overwork. When it is incorporated, add the milk in three portions, carefully folding between each. You don't need the dough to be uniform - just a sticky mess.

Dust your work surface with flour then tip the dough out onto it. Dust your hands with flour then quickly and lightly form the dough into a square about 3-4cm tall. Press down on a floured 6cm fluted biscuit cutter to stamp a scone out of the dough. Place onto the greased tray. You should get four scones out of the original square - place them close to each other on the tray, almost touching. Roll the remaining scraps of dough into two circles gently and with floured hands press lightly into the cutter (I find this causes less overworking than re-rolling). Place onto the tray.

Brush the tops of the scones with a pastry brush with either a little extra milk or an egg yolk. Place into the oven and bake for 13-15 minutes until risen and golden. Serve while still warm.

(Makes 6)