Canele de Bordeaux, or is it Cannele Bordelais?

Stubby, almost-burnt brown in colour, a canele is not exactly the kind of pastry you look at and think "Whoah!". However, take one bite and you'll be an instant fan. A thin, crunchy caramelized shell holds a rich, wobbly, custard-like interior, warmly scented with vanilla and dark rum - many have likened the canele to a portable creme brulee. My first taste was at Jean-Luc Poujauran's jewel box of a bakery, esteemed by most to make the most definitive version in Paris. Suffice to say words fail me when asked to describe his revelatory sweet. This little cake hails from Bordeaux, where a confrerie or brotherhood of patissiers have been sworn to protect its secret recipe, to defend its integrity, and to distinguish their canele de Bordeaux - the official cake of the city - with its mysterious method of preparation from cannele bordelais, the generic term used everywhere else from Paris to Los Angeles. In The Slow Mediterranean Kitchen, Paula Wolfert gives a fascinating account of the story and politics behind this peerless confection, including a recipe and clear instructions on how to season the molds.

Earlier this year, I finally made the plunge and acquired some tin-lined copper canele molds I had been lusting after since having first spied them some time ago - don't you love the idea of specially crafted molds designed with a singular purpose in life? And my justification for such a splurge? Well, I figured, if I did manage to learn how to make a proper canele, the sheer bliss that is the experience of sinking my teeth into its moist fragrant depths would be priceless...and the expense of acquiring the molds, surely a small price to pay. Perhaps I should also mention that on this particular occasion, I learnt that these were the last 6 molds in stock at the shop, that they were being held for another customer who wasn't quite certain if she wanted them, and that no, I couldn't have them just yet. A good hour of gentle persuasion and getting on the phone with the store manager (who wasn't around that day) ensued, and I was finally allowed to hand over the plastic. So, to whom it may concern who didn't want them badly enough to snatch up the molds when she had the opportunity, I would like to convey my deep gratitude and thanks.

I would love to say I've been making good use of the molds, feverishly baking up batch after batch ad nauseam until I'd perfected the recipe. Instead, given that I suffer from a mild case of culinary ADD, I baked every recipe I could lay my hands on (namely, from Wolfert's book, Pascal Rigo's The American Boulangerie, and Nancy Silverton's Pastries from the La Brea Bakery) in the first flush of triumphant mold ownership, got frustrated with my less-than-spectacular results, and promptly relegated the molds to the back of a deep drawer, very much neglected until a recent hunt for a missing pastry brush inevitably unearthed them. Feeling somewhat guilty, I gave the caneles another go. The recipe I remember being happiest with was Wolfert's. While less cakey or bready in texture than the others, it still wasn't as pronouncedly custardy as Poujauran's. While certainly more custardy relative to the other recipes, it wasn't so custardy that "custardy" would be the first adjective to spring to mind when you tasted it. I followed Wolfert's impeccable instructions for preparing the molds with beeswax (instrumental not only for ease of unmolding but, as she advises, to getting a proper crust), as well as her unusual technique of mixing the ingredients (she adds butter then eggs to the flour before the milk; the other recipes mix the butter with the milk before adding it to the flour and eggs) but tweaked the proportions (increasing the amount of butter and sugar, and decreasing the amount of flour) gradually in consecutive batches until the result came close to the texture I so well remember. I also tried using the batter after different periods of rest - a full 24-hour rest in the fridge results in a canele that's significantly improved in texture and flavour than one that's baked after only a few hours of rest. For a more rounded vanilla flavour, I've also infused the milk with split and scraped vanilla pods in addition to using pure vanilla extract.