Ispahan, Two Years & Too Many Eggs Later

The first time I tried making macarons was about two years ago, when I first laid hands on Pierre Hermé's Chocolate Desserts. Obviously, I hadn't done enough homework at that point. Or I would have realised two important things:
1) Macarons are tough cookies to master.
2) Chocolate macarons are the toughest macarons of all to master.

As for the unmitigated disaster that ensued - caused by my very own hubris and ineptitude, as opposed to the recipe's or book's soundness, both of which are unimpeachable - I not only wept with frustration, but also there and then swore off ever attempting macarons again. And I am usually not one to be easily dissuaded.

Of course, not everybody is culinarily challenged in the macaron department. Far from being stumped, some are veritable virtuosos. For happy tales of (and expert tips on) macaron making, be inspired by Clement - the blogosphere's very own macaron maestro - or Melissa's mighty macarons (to mighty, add marvellous and magnificent).

This tale, on the other hand, is 99% sweat and tears. Does time heal all wounds? I don't think it's so much a matter of healing but a matter of forgetfulness. For surely the smart of those unspeakably odious first results - clumsy feetless poufs that looked like a circus mirror distortion of the elegant, just-domed, frilly-footed thoroughbreds - must have become a distant fuzzy memory; why else would I have mustered the nerve to go anywhere near a macaron recipe again after all this time?

Then again, pertinaciousness and pride do have a nasty habit of manifesting themselves in an irrational manner. Once bitten, twice apparently not shy. In this particular instance, in a masochistic display of macaron bravado - "I will be the master of the recipe! The recipe will not be the master of me!" Albeit this time round, I've had the uncommon good sense to start with something other than the macaron of macarons, the king of kings, the chocolate macaron. This notwithstanding, I've just spent the better part of two days making batch after batch of macarons, every single one chucked down the chute bar the last. Taste, right; look and texture, all wrong. Chuck. Nice smooth dome; no feet whatsoever. Fold batter one turn too many; dense hockey pucks. Didn't fold batter quite enough; peaked poufs of meringue. Chuck, chuck, chuck. (For yet more examples of all sorts of sticky situations you might get yourself into, and advice on avoiding these pitfalls, see this thread and this thread on eGullet - you'll find almost all you need to get all tricked out, from "ageing" egg whites at room temperature for a day or so to waiting 2 hours for skins to form on the piped batter.)

I was determined not to run out of patience. What I didn't foresee was running out of egg whites. Then suddenly, just as I was resigned to the prospect of dashing out in the muggy weather to buy yet more eggs, with the last batch made with the whites of my last three eggs, the pastry gods finally managed a wicked smile at the self-flagellation wrought, the stars came into alignment, and it all fell into place. I rubbed my tired eyes, convinced I may have been hallucinating at the sight of those little pink babies rising ever so slightly whilst obediently forming the requisite little skirting at their feet - afterall, I hadn't really slept the night before, and not because I was in bed tossing and turning (when I said two days, I meant two days). A macaron puts paid to that old adage that appearance isn't everything. Here, looks speak volumes; the smoothness of the dome, the slightness of its curvature, the formation of feet - all are visual clues that indicate the texture will possess the desired interplay, that between an eggshell-thin crust that's delicately crisp, giving at the slightest pressure, and a crumb that's soft, moist and slightly chewy. All tell you that the batter had been mixed just so, and has thus risen just so.

Tremendously relieved rather than triumphant (ok, maybe just a little...), I've neither been more humbled by a baking experience nor more impressed upon the truism that practice makes perfect, learning a new lesson or two with each and every mistake made. The macaron fancy I had sought to emulate is Pierre Hermé's signature Ispahan - a pair of rose macarons sandwiching a cushion of rose scented buttercream crowned with raspberries and lychees. Having eaten more than my fair share of famously fabulous macarons, I'll be the first to admit that the specimens I produced were far from textbook perfect. That, I have no doubt, will have to be paid for in yet more sleepless nights and trays of eggs. Nonetheless, they were at least of a decency that I wouldn't have qualms about serving friends and family without feeling like a sloppy cook.


The recipe I loosely based my attempts on comes from the Summer 2005 issue of Art Culinaire (in case you're interested, there's also an on-line version), using it more as a template really rather than a straightforward recipe - there's a fair bit of reading between lines and filling in blanks involved. I had flavoured the rose components of the dessert using rose syrup (readily available here; I simply adore the old-fashioned packaging!) and rose water. The macaron and buttercream components tasted plenty rosy by themshelves, but didn't sufficiently stand up to the tartness of the raspberries in the finished dessert. To redress the balance, the solution doesn't lie in adding more rose syrup (which would make things too sweet) or rose water (which would alter the liquid balance). To this end, the next obvious phase in my plan of action, I've just found myself the perfect excuse to go invest in some Sevarome natural rose paste.

Macarons au sucre cuit

Since this post, I've been tinkering with quite a number of macaron recipes. While generally satisfied with the results certain trusted recipes produce, I wasn't quite happy with the consistency. In particular, recipes based on whipping egg whites (even when the whites were aged for exactly 48 hours) to a stiff foam before adding the TpT (tant pour tant, or equal parts of ground almonds and confectioners' sugar), seemed too sensitive to variables such as humidity and temperature. Using exactly the same recipe (and hence weight of aged whites) resulted in batters that were sometimes thicker or runnier than usual, and macarons that sometimes had pronounced domes and sometimes had flat, even tops. Seeing as constructing a climate-controlled workroom was not an option, I sought recourse elsewhere.

Specifically, recipes based on Italian meringue, seeing as the loose cannon appeared to be the quality of the egg whites. There are a few ways to make macarons, with the two main ones being macarons au blanc monté (the aforementioned "macarons with stiff egg whites") and macarons au sucre cuit ("macarons with cooked sugar", aka the Italian meringue method). It may seem a bit more troublesome; Italian meringue is made by cooking a sugar syrup to 118 °C (245 °F), pouring it in a thin, steady stream over stiffly whisked egg whites with the whisk attachment of your stand mixer still whirring, and beating the meringue till very firm and cool to the touch, a task that takes a good 15 minutes but that your long-suffering KitchenAid will shoulder without complaint. Based on my recent experience, macarons au sucre cuit have several advantages over macarons au blanc monté. Besides consistency from batch to batch, there's no need to bother with ageing the egg whites (a practice you may be squeamish about), and you can make up a large quantity of Italian meringue, and divvy it up for use in several consecutive lots of macarons with different flavours (as opposed to doing the same with plain whipped egg whites, an unstable substance which waits for no woman).

The recipe for macarons au sucre cuit I've been enamored with as of late comes from Grand Livre de Cuisine: Alain Ducasse's Desserts and Pastries by Alain Ducasse and Frédéric Robert, the second in the Grand Livre de Cuisine series, recently made available in English (for more about the first in the series, and my compulsive book-buying patterns, see here). Delivering what in my macaron-making to date are the most delicately delicious macarons - and just as critically, ones that are consistently so batch after batch (yes, I have a bit of a thing for consistency) - has alone justified the purchase and bookshelf realty in my head. Also, the recipe does not call for powdered egg whites, a hard-to-find ingredient often specified in macaron recipes from other professional books.

Based on Frédéric Robert's master recipe, I recently made two flavours - vanilla and almond, and toasted hazelnut. In turn, these would be part of a composed dessert of 4 different ice cream sandwiches. Pragmatically speaking, the macaron-ice cream pairing represents very efficient use of the whole egg - macarons use lots of egg whites, ice cream lots of egg yolks. But if you've ever tasted a Miss Gla'Gla from here, you'll need no convincing as to why macarons make the ideal component in an ice cream sandwich. For whatever scientific reason (I'm guessing because sugar is hygroscopic, and sugar also lowers the freezing point of water, and macarons are crazy-rich in sugar), the macarons never freeze solid even when you assemble the sandwiches way ahead of time and store them in the freezer (which is not the case if you were assembling ahead ice cream sandwiches using sugar cookies or chocolate chip cookies say). Ahead-of-time assembly not only does away with last minute stress, it also does away with the issue of rapidly melting scoops of ice cream.

Below, the flavour combinations, with a soothing palette, all creamy ivory and eggshell beige, in mind:

Vanilla Macaron; La Crème Glacée à l’Italienne
(Picture at beginning of this post) The so-called "Italian Ice Cream" comes from The Notebooks of Michel Bras: Desserts. Despite containing no eggs, this ice cream has a very creamy texture. Made with only four ingredients (milk, cream, sugar and powdered milk), a stark snow white, it's a dairy purist's dream come true. Milk powder not only heightens the natural milk flavour, but serves a structural function - it adds protein a.k.a. large molecules that hinder the formation of ice crystals. By holding crystal size in check, the final texture is thus improved. Naturally, for the best taste, buy the tastiest milk you can find (I like Horizon Organic's Whole Milk). And no, don't bother with fat-free, 1% or 2%.

Vanilla Macaron; Vanilla Ice Cream
Vanilla on vanilla, a real crowd-pleaser (who doesn't adore the flavour of real vanilla?). Classic crème anglaise-based recipe, rich in cream and even richer in egg yolks, generously flecked with vanilla seeds.

Hazelnut Macaron; Cocoa Nib Ice Cream
This Cocoa Nib Ice Cream, from Alice Medrich's Bittersweet, is a magic trick unto itself, replete with pledge, turn and the prestige. Its pale countenance, all innocuous ecru, lulls you, makes you all the more vulnerable to the first taste - clean, full flavour that's instantly identifiable as chocolate, yet not exactly chocolate, like a haunting of chocolate if you will. To think all that's behind the bittersweet deception is cream infused with cocoa nibs!

Hazelnut Macaron; Gelato al Tartufo e Miele
Divine truffle honey ice-cream, recipe from Giorgio Locatelli's Made in Italy. As for the pairing, I was inspired by this signature Truffe blanche et Noisettes macaron. Chef Locatelli's book may be big (615 pages!) and beautiful, but what sold me was the ice cream and sorbet sub-section of the dessert chapter. It's one of the few books aimed at the home cook in which the recipes do not dumb it down, resembling closely the ice cream and sorbet formulas actually used in restaurant kitchens both in terms of make-up and accuracy (every single ingredient is specified in grammes). By make-up, I mean the use of different sugars like sucrose, invert sugar, dextrose and glucose, as their different sweetening properties and different abilities to alter the freezing point ultimately affect sweetness and texture.

PS: I'll confess to being fairly sniffy about vanilla. If a recipe calls for vanilla seeds, I don't think twice about dipping into my stash of Tahitian or Madagascar Bourbon beans, which I stock up on whenever I travel or through mail order - the general quality of beans available here, even if they have winged it from Tahiti or Madagascar, makes me weep (not tears of joy). Whether it's because they were of an inferior grade to begin with, or have been ruined through improper handling and storage, I wince. Which is why, whenever I run dangerously low on the bean-count, I would much rather turn to this amazing Madagascar Bourbon pure vanilla bean paste than resort to using sub-standard beans. This Nielsen Massey godsend should be a staple in any avid baker's pantry. While there is nothing to compare with the fragrance and flavour imparted by a freshly split quality bean, still pliant and moist, this bottle of genius has many things going for it - it is dead-consistent from bottle to bottle so you know what you'll get, you can measure precisely how much you need right down to the last drop so there is never any wastage, and the flavour is so good you might even feel guilty (well, just a tad) that it's spooned right out of a jar and ridiculously convenient to use. It can be ordered from this online baker's catalogue (where you'll no doubt also be tempted by the comprehensive array of pure vanilla extracts). Or, if you reside in Singapore, make a beeline for Shermay's Cooking School (where you'll no doubt also be distracted by a plethora of other nifty kitchen essentials).

A Macaron By Any Other Name - Luxemburgerli

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other word would smell as sweet

Like so many sweet-toothed others, if I had to pick one weakness, one gourmandise, it would have to be macarons. Which visitor to Paris hasn't made the pilgrimmage to Laduree's opulent tea salon on the Champs Elysees to gawk at their elegant pyramids of macarons, beckoning like jewels? A few very special patisseries making very special macarons hold a very special place in my modest les bonnes adresses. Gerard Mulot makes some lovely ones in traditional flavours, my favourite being the divine pistachio. For chocolate macarons, there's La Maison du Chocolat's coffee macaron with bittersweet chocolate and coffee ganache and Jean-Paul Hevin's Macaron Chocolat a l'ancienne - both houses, incidentally, were awarded "The Best Macaron in Paris" by Le Meilleur Macaron de Paris. Make no mistake about it; Parisians are so serious about their favourite le gouter indulgence they've now created the perfect excuse - an official award - to eat their way through the city's most moreish macarons and argue about their respective merits. For out-of-this-world flavours, there's Pierre Herme (in particular, the breathtaking Ispahan, with rose water flavoured macarons sandwiching a dreamy rose petal-infused cream, lychee puree and whole raspberries, and the delicious caramel au fleur de sel).

Now, scrap that. Like so many sweet-toothed others, if I had to pick one weakness, it would be the macaroon family of cookies, for macarons (or, more specifically, macarons de paris), are but one in the pantheon of ground almond cookies held together by nothing more than whipped egg whites and sugar. The perfect macaron is defined by a smooth domed top, with a delicately thin, barely resistant exterior crust that gives way under your teeth to a soft chewy interior, encircled by a craggy edge known as "the foot". This definition of perfection differs, obviously, across the spectrum of almond cookies. In Italy, Amaretti di Saronno spiked with crushed apricot kernels and wrapped in pairs, powdery Sicilian Fior di Mandorla, and Sienese Ricciarelli that's almost marzipan-like in texture, are prized for their moist, succulent chewiness. English bitter almond-flavoured ratafias are similarly beloved for their slight resilience.

As of late, thanks to W's frequent trips to Zurich, I've become acquainted with yet another confection that's different yet the same, that exhibits characteristics distinct from its Parisian counterpart yet indubitably belongs to the same family. Luxemburgerli from Confiserie Sprungli are the most ethereal little mouthfuls imaginable. In appearance, it is like a miniature Parisian macaron, not much larger than a quail's egg in size. And the top crust is just about as fragile as a quail's egg shell. Thenceforth, it departs from the Parisian paradigm by being all about friability. So how does the cookie crumble? On the tongue, the brittle shell airily dissipates as the teeth sink into a cloud-soft buttercream that manages to be feather light yet luscious.

Le Big Mac

Vincent Vega: "And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Paris?"
Jules: "They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?"
Vincent Vega: "No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the **** a Quarter Pounder is."
Jules: "Then what do they call it?"
Vincent Vega: "They call it a "Royale" with cheese."
Jules: "A "Royale" with cheese! What do they call a Big Mac?"
Vincent Vega: "A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "le Big Mac"."
Jules: ""Le Big Mac"! Ha ha ha ha! What do they call a Whopper?"
Vincent Vega: "I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King."

That's possibly one of my all-time favourite scenes from my all-time favourite movie - Is Tarantino a genius? Or is Tarantino a genius? I watched it for the nth time recently.

OK, enough preamble.
A tall, big (relatively speaking) macaron-inspired dessert. I'd made a batch of salted butter caramel macarons - hands-down my all-time favourite flavour, incidentally - and thought it would be fun to work a composed dessert around the caramel au beurre salé theme, featuring my all-time favourite ingredient quartet. Much beurre d’Echiré, fleur de sel de Guérande, crème fraîche d'Isigny and Madagascar Bourbon vanilla later...

Friable salted chocolate sablés are layered with caramelized milk chocolate ganache (I used Valrhona Jivara, which has beautifully pronounced burnt sugar notes. So rather than simply heating cream, the cream was combined with a deep amber caramel before pouring over the Jivara fèves. Once this mixture cools, it's emulsified with a goodly lump of softened salted butter). The macaron perched atop this crisp-creamy, sweet-salty tower is the business. I find the salted butter caramel filling utterly moreish. And will sheepishly admit to being capable of demolishing whatever is leftover from filling the macaron shells neat, straight from a spoon - no wonder my enthodontist loves me. A small scoop of crème fraîche ice-cream, a smidgen of vanilla-infused caramel sauce, and shards of macadamia-studded nougatine round things out.

The best part of it all? Leftover components to make simple-yet-scrumptious, spin-off treats, such as these sandwich cookies (salted chocolate sablés plus caramelized milk chocolate ganache, topped with a flake or two of sea salt).

I had a fair bit of extra ganache, discovered that it made for a magnificient macaron filling, and have been amusing myself at teatime the last couple of days trying to decide if I like the salted butter caramel macarons or the caramelized milk chocolate ones more.

PS: Speaking of macarons, this macaron and biscotti class is back! I will be teaching only 2 sessions of this demo class, held on 24 May 2008 (Saturday) and 25 May 2008 (Sunday) at Shermay's Cooking School. The May schedule has all the details; for inquiries, please call +65 6479 8442 or email shermaycs@yahoo.com.sg

Macarons, My Chocolate Nemesis

I am slightly obsessed with chocolate macarons. More specifically, I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with these tempestuous things. I love them because they are so damn delicious to eat. I hate them because they are so damn difficult to get right.

But sometimes, the only way to deal with a phobia is to grab it by its horns. Or in a macaron's case, by its frilly feet. Call me stubborn, but since that ridiculously painful 48 hour ordeal, I've fought the urge to look back and prudently steer clear. Taking the bottom-up approach, I've been practising on the paler-skinned specimens, my favourite being the vanilla bean-flavoured ones, adapted from a recipe in Thomas Keller's Bouchon cookbook.

Earlier this week, I decided it was time to cross over to the dark side. It was time to tackle the recipe from Chocolate Desserts by Pierre Hermé which had proved so totally traumatic the first time round (am I a sucker or am I a sucker?), this time armed with the humbling hindsight paid for in failed and otherwise foiled attempts. The results, while certainly still in need of refinement, were a damn sight nearer to what a chocolate macaron should look and taste like - crisp yet chewy, damply moist without being dense, smoothly domed on top but "footed" with a craggy circlet, and above all, intensely chocolatey. A few handy hints below which, while by no means complete, I found helpful in turning out consistent batches (for more complete details on the hows and the whys, see this thread and this thread on eGullet), whether chocolate or otherwise. Some will seem awfully obvious, but I've listed them nonetheless seeing as they helped goof-proof the process for me.

1.Sift everything. Twice Sift the confectioner's sugar. Sift the cocoa if making chocolate macarons. Sift the almond flour (and ruthlessly discard the larger bits caught in your fine-meshed sieve however much this may go against the thrifty core of your being - they will inevitably ruin the otherwise pebble-smooth domes of the end result). Having carefully measured out the required weight of each sifted ingredient, mix the three ingredients and sift the blend once more.

2.Weigh everything This includes the egg whites. Going by volume rather than weight is a dicey proposition - my 1 cup of slightly packed almond flour is most likely not equal to the cookbook's 1 cup of slightly packed almond flour, given as the definition of "slightly packed" is subjective to one's heavy-handedness. Accurate digital scales, on the other hand, don't lie.

3.The egg whites should be scrupulously separated from the yolks, placed in a scrupulously clean bowl, and ultimately whipped with a scrupulously clean whisk - the slightest taint of yolk or fat will prevent the whites from whipping to the correct consistency (just-firm and still glossy). The whites also benefit from an overnight "ageing" at room temperature before whipping - if the idea freaks you out, then simply ensure the whites are at room temperature before whipping.

4.Fold the batter carefully Easier said than done. That having been said, a little practice helps in gauging the right consistency. The idea is to judiciously deflate, knocking some (but not all) air out of the whipped whites whilst folding in the almond flour, confectioner's sugar and cocoa (if making chocolate macarons) mixture - this is what ensures you won't wind up with poufy peaky meringues as opposed to smooth-topped macarons. One fold of the spatula too many, however, and the batter will not only be a nightmare to pipe (it will spread too much) but will bake up rather heavy. A good test of whether the batter has been mixed to the right consistency is to pick up a little with your finger - it should form a gentle peak that quickly dissolves back into the batter. The importance of getting the consistency right will become apparent when piping (see 5).

5.Pipe consistently Again, gets easier with a little practice. Some find using a penciled template (circles drawn on parchment, parchment flipped over with circles acting as a guide) helpful. It takes a pair to form a macaron, typically a sandwich cookie. Uniformity of size and shape counts, and requires piping with even pressure and a steady hand. Size-wise, if you're after the gerbet-type as seen in those fancy Parisian outfits, aim for rounds 1-inch in diameter using a pastry bag fitted with a plain 0.5-inch tip. Pipe in staggered rows (this makes for more even baking) with at least an inch of space between rounds to allow for the natural spreading that occurs - each round, of its own accord and under its own weight, will spread to 1.5-inch diameter circles. Pipe holding the pastry bag upright and perpendicular to the parchment (or even better, Silpat-type baking mat; more on this in 8) lined heavy baking sheet, holding the tip 0.5 inch above (less, and the dome will be compromised, more, and the flow becomes less controlled - the idea is to hold the tip slightly higher than where the top of the dome should be) the centre of the traced or imagined circle, and let the batter flow out (which it will do without much prompting or squeezing) into a circle. Hold the tip steadily in place without spiralling. If the batter has been mixed correctly, you will have no problems with any peaks or points when finishing each round, which should naturally "melt" unto itself, much the way the little peak of batter did when you were testing the batch with your finger earlier. At any rate, finish each round by sealing off to the side so there's no unruly bump of batter to ruin the dome.

6.Let piped rounds form skins After piping, let the batter sit out at room temperature until skins form, about 2 hours. This makes for a nice, glossy, and smooth appearance. It also helps in the development of feet.

7.Watch the oven like a hawk Bake one tray of macarons at a time (unless, of course, you happen to have access to an industrial oven). Quite a few recipes start at a high temperature then turn the temperature down as soon as the baking sheet is in, with the oven door held slightly ajar. The temperature that's worked best for me is 160˚C (from start to finish, with a closed oven door). For macarons less than 2 inches in diameter, this takes anywhere from 7 to 13 minutes, depending on the flavour and/or recipe. In other words, from the 7-minute mark onwards, watch the goings-on closely - just a half-minute too many, and the macarons will overbake into rusks to choke a small brown dog. Also, I must confess to finding the evolution from batter to macaron riveting stuff to witness - if correctly mixed and rested, the batter will rise ever so slightly, with the smooth-skinned domed tops lifting just a little up and away from the gently bubbling bottoms, the beginnings of the formation of feet.

8.The removal There are scores of nifty tricks out there for removing baked macarons (from freezing the macarons with attached parchment in tow for a couple of minutes to "steaming" the lot with a little hot water). I find that using a silicon-coated baking mat such as a Silpat does away with the issue entirely. Using a baking mat also has the added bonus of giving you perfectly flat-bottomed cookies; parchment tends to pucker a little from the moisture in the batter - if this sounds irrational (and it probably is, given as once sandwiched any crease or crinkle is well-hidden from view), then by all means use parchment. In which case, it's a far better idea to peel the parchment away from the macaron rather than prying the macaron away from the parchment - the latter manoeuvre almost always results in crisp (and very fragile) dome in one hand, chewy bottom still stuck to parchment, and tears of frustration.

W, while as into his food as the best of them, is not into cooking. There are only a few things he will deign to step into the kitchen to cook. However, as select a handful as it may be, it's a handful that he does exceedingly well - I can't honestly think of anyone who grills a steak to such a precise degree of medium-rare succulence, or flips a more sublimely simple and utterly perfect omelette. For dinner on Friday, it was fondue - I won't go into the intricacies (which frankly merit several separate posts) except to say he makes a very very fine example, worthy of any trad old school alpine Swiss chalet. Given the richness and communal spirit of the main event, I thought it might be fun to end with some Swiss-inspired konfekt, in a mignardise-like assortment served on an étagère from which everyone could help themselves to whatever they fancied. Interestingly, while all were chocolate-flavoured and meringue-based, each had a very distinct character.

The chocolate macarons were made in lieu of the famous Luxemburgerli from Confiserie Sprungli (although the latter, while much like macarons in appearance, are much lighter in texture than their French cousins), for which unsurprisingly I couldn't find a recipe. As for the others:

Basler Brunsli

The recipe I used for this Basel speciality comes from Carole Walter's Great Cookies (Nick Malgieri also has a recipe in How to Bake). Almond flour, ground chocolate and cocoa are folded into a sugary meringue to form a stiff dough that's a dream to handle. Given the festive notes of cinnamon, cloves and Kirsch used to flavour the cookie, and the possibilities where shapes are concerned (limited only by one's imagination and cookie cutter collection), it's definitely a recipe I'm planning to revisit come Christmas baking.

Schiesser "S's"

From Nick Malgieri's Chocolate, in which he credits Stephan Schiesser of Basel's legendary Confiserie Schiesser for the recipe. A real breeze to make, in which a simplified Italian meringue is flavoured with melted chocolate. The batter pipes beautifully, and bakes into the most featherlight and airy of cookies.

Schoggiringli

A pair of crumbly nut meringue rings sandwiched with luscious buttercream, the recipe can be found in Nick Malgieri's latest book, A Baker's Tour, a discriminating tour of the world's greatest baking traditions and finest bakeries via a collection of fabulous recipes.

From Tokyo with love, Jean-Paul Hévin macarons

Comparing a city to Paris - Buenos Aires is the Paris of Latin America! Shanghai is the Paris of the East! - is an ubiquitous, tired and often misleading travel guide cliche. Paris is Paris is Paris, and there is no other city like it (and vice versa). Having got that out of the way, I have a confession to make. In my books, in sheer terms of where to wear and what to eat, I must say Tokyo is right up there with Paris, with the added bonus of being this much closer to home. The Japanese have long had a profound appreciation of all things fine and French, so strangely enough, if you're a hardcore Francophile, visiting Tokyo feels like you've died and gone to retail therapy heaven. But come to think of it, you don't have to be Francophile - just born to shop - to experience this sense of celestial well-being in Tokyo. And in certain respects, shopping in Tokyo is an altogether more pleasant experience in no small measure because in the land where consumer is queen, whether it's Hermès or Hédiard (or both) that makes your heart beat a little faster, you'll never have to put up with a surly word or sour puss look even if you're simply browsing.

The haute boulangerie and pâtisserie fiend is utterly spoilt for choice. Fancy a loaf of artisanal bread? Maison Kayser, L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Poilâne and Viron of la baguette Rétrodor fame, to name a handful, are all here (although if what you're after is not tartine but a New York deli-style sandwich, Dean & Deluca has several outposts; if it's ciabatta and their ilk you're in the mood for, Milanese institution Peck has a branch, as does Garbagnati). Need to put your feet up in the hushed environs of a salon de thé? Fauchon and Mariage Frères have locations all over the city.

And to misappropriate the aforementioned travel guide phraseology, if chocolate is your drug of choice, Tokyo is Amsterdam. Aside from Parisians, Tokyoites are likely the world's most discriminating consumers of designer chocolate. Every chocolatier/pâtissier worth his weight in fleur de sel, the names spoken of in only the most reverential of hushed tones - think the likes of Pierre Hermé, La Maison du Chocolat, Jean-Paul Hévin, Richart, Dalloyau , Pierre Marcolini (the Belgian prince of pralines, this last) et al - all have lavishly appointed boutiques in Tokyo, luxe temples to the cult of Theobroma. If bilateral relations could be quantified in terms of chocolate, Franco-Nippon relations are at an all-time phenylethylamine high. Love is a two-way street; in a poetic turn of things, the fabulous creations of Sadaharu Aoki and Madame Setsuko are as sought-after in Paris as they are in Tokyo, justly celebrated for fusing traditional Japanese flavours like matcha, goma, azuki and yuzu with classical French technique.

Before W left for Tokyo on a work trip last week, he endearingly muttered something about perhaps having an hour or two to spare. I didn't have to think long and hard despite the boggling wealth of choice, given that it was a simple matter of elimination. If there is one thing I never can get enough of, it's a good macaron. The macarons in question would also have to travel well, so that ruled out any raspberry-filled Ispahan fancies from Pierre Hermé. Chocolate macarons it would be then, and my favourite chocolate macarons are from Jean-Paul Hévin (but please don't take my word for how astoundingly good they are; see here). The new branch that opened this February also happens to be located in Omotesando Hills - the latest luxury emporium in the swank Aoyama area - which is just a few subway stops away from Roppongi where he was staying. I printed out a map, slipped it into his luggage, and kept my fingers crossed.

W is not one to do things in half measures. He came home on Saturday bearing a pile of macarons, and then some.

I've been on a perpetual sugar high since, meting the stash out through the day, washed down by copious cups of coffee. Despite already knowing what every flavour tastes like, I continue to be amused (it doesn't take much to amuse me) 4 times a day (with my first morning coffee, my mid-morning coffee, my late afternoon coffee, and postprandial), mulling over the right choice of macaron, the one whose flavour is really speaking to me at the moment. This delicious indecision is not helped by the fact that each and every one is a paradigm of macaron perfection - a pair of elegantly domed, daintily footed cookies with the thinnest of crusts and the moistest of interiors sandwiching the lushest of fillings. Chocolat amer? Chocolat framboise? Chocolat miel? All?

Magically, W had also managed to cart back my favourite Jean-Paul Hévin pastry aside from the petite format gerbet macarons. Unsurprisingly, it's the Macaron Chocolat à l’ancienne - a squat little tower of plump, fragrant, almond-rich macarons filled with a plush cushion of silky ganache and finished with a shower of chocolate curls.

As for the tablettes of milk chocolate (Lait Caramel à la fleur de sel; Lait amandes) and dark chocolate (Noir amandes), they're safely tucked away in the wine fridge for a rainy day.

Macaron Classes at Shermay's

It's taken quite a few months to plan, but I'm really psyched about teaching a new class at Shermay's Cooking School ... Macarons & Biscotti, a demo class, will be held on 12 May 2007 (Saturday) and 13 May 2007 (Sunday). The May schedule has all the details; for inquiries, call +65 6479 8442 or email shermaycs@yahoo.com.sg.

There are many reasons I feel both excited and privileged to be doing so, but chiefly, it's because I am a bit fixated on macarons, those jewel-like confections that take pride of place in the lavish window displays of Paris' best pâtisseries. Whether it's being on the constant lookout for the ultimate fix, hinting to a loved one to do so on one's behalf, losing sleep over glitches, losing sleep over the quest for new best practice, there are few things I won't do in the name of eating or making a better macaron.

I learnt how to make macarons by making mistakes aplenty and learning from those mistakes. A distillation from my own experiences, I hope to show not just how to make macarons, but how to avoid those potential pitfalls that give macarons a largely undeserved rep as a tough cookie for home bakers to do. In truth, it really isn't rocket science, but macarons do demand of you time and patience - both of which are richly rewarded when you behold perfectly smooth domes with their frilly skirting (referred to as the "foot") and sink your teeth through that eggshell-thin crust to find a moist and utterly luscious interior.

The class will cover 4 classic macaron flavours:

Chocolate Macarons filled with Valrhona Araguani 72% Dark Chocolate Ganache

Hazelnut Macarons filled with Valrhona Jivara Lactée 40% Milk Chocolate Ganache

Vanilla Macarons with Vanilla Bean Buttercream
(buttercream made via method using pâte à bombe)

Coffee Macarons with Coffee Buttercream
(buttercream made via method using pâte à bombe)

When it comes to cookie-like things to go with tea or coffee, she who is apt to make her own macarons is also apt to make her own biscotti. So to round off the fairly intensive class, a light, crisp and delicate biscotti recipe that, by comparison, is a real doddle to pull off so long as a few essential pointers (which will be covered during the session) are kept in mind.

Hazelnut & Cinnamon Biscotti
(with other ideas for easy flavour variations, and optional Chocolate Glaze)

"Peanut Butter & Jelly"

To be perfectly honest, many of my favourite foods are often choices based not just on taste alone, but on nostalgia. Take peanut butter. Till this day, I can't eat it without recalling those scrumptious after-school sandwiches. Neither can I shake off that residual feeling of guilt (which also, now that I think about it, makes anything taste better) I associate with the stuff - whenever my mother's back was turned, I would sneak a large spoonful or two to consume neat. This, of course, required some artfulness on my part - being sure to scrape right in the centre of the jar without touching the sides, thus maintaining the crafty appearance of a full jar for the purposes of any casual exterior inspection. It goes without saying that my deception was found out soon enough - I opened the fridge one day to discover that my mother had quietly switched to peanut butter and jelly. As anyone who has dug into one of these jars will know, it's virtually impossible to swipe an illicit helping without distorting the stripes, thus shattering the illusion of fullness. Much to the poor lady's dismay, I found another way to amuse myself - how to twist the knife at precisely the right angle so as to emerge triumphant with the optimal ratio of peanut butter to jelly. This, of course, made for good eating, but left behind a very unsightly mess.

Thomas Keller's "Peanut Butter & Jellies"
I love The French Laundry Cookbook for many reasons, not least of which are the many recipes boasting familiar, comforting flavours presented in wholly unexpected and delicious ways. In the dessert chapter alone, seemingly innocuous treats like "Coffee and Doughnuts", "Banana Split", "Candied Apple", and of course, "Peanut Butter and Jellies" are given the signature Keller treatment. The spectacular results promise to tempt both kid and adult alike, and more pertinently, the kid in every adult.

The "Peanut Butter" component in the Keller pairing is actually a peanut butter truffle - small balls of milk chocolate and peanut butter ganache dipped in bittersweet chocolate then dusted with cocoa. Presentation-wise, instead of this elegant and grown-up manner, I opted for an alternative route, inspired by everybody's favourite peanut butter cups, as well as a recipe for Peanut Butter Pucks from Michael Recchiuti's Chocolate Obsession. Using great chocolate and great peanut butter ensures all the difference - think of these as Posh Peanut Butter Cups. I used Valrhona's Guanaja 70% to create the bittersweet chocolate shells. As for the filling, I went with Jivara 40%. The peanut butter that's blended with the melted milk chocolate should be a creamy, natural one made from roasted nuts (and without added salt and sugar) - I like this organic nut butter. To finish, a few grains of fleur de sel for a salty burst of flavour and subtle crunch.

The "Jelly" part of the equation (Keller offers recipes for both Yuzu Jellies and Concord Grape Jellies) is, ingeniously enough, in the style of a very French and very chic pate de fruit, those delicate translucent squares - intensely flavoured and brightly coloured - gleaming like so many precious jewels from the most bijoux of Parisian confiseries. If, like me, you love yuzu (which, incidentally, makes a mighty fine citrus curd), these jellies offer a brand new way to enjoy the flavour.

PB & J Macarons, a.k.a. The Chubby Hubby
Neither chunks of chocolate covered peanut butter-filled pretzels in vanilla malt ice cream nor deep ripples of fudge and peanut butter to be found here...so it's not this Chubby Hubby, but this Chubby Hubby I'm naming the macaron after. Quite aside from the fact that he likes his peanut butter and jelly, this PB & J bender I've been on was sparked by a conversation we had some weeks back about whimsical macaron flavours. As any fan of his fabulous blog will know, the man has an uncanny knack where matters gustatory are concerned, even when suggesting things half in jest.

Part of the reason I've been so keen to learn how to make macarons is that they are the perfect, bite-sized, fun yet elegant vehicle for experimenting with a whole spectrum of flavours - so PB & J it was. For the cookie component, I substituted part of the quantity of ground almonds called for in a typical macaron recipe with ground peanuts, tinkering with the ratio until the taste was right (I finally settled on 2 parts peanuts to 1 part almond). As for the jelly, it's a soft-set grape number based on a recipe from Christine Ferber's Mes Confitures.

Minor Tweaks, Major Impact

I haven't had much time lately to bake strictly for leisure, which is not to say a girl can't have her cake and eat it too. Instead, I've been having a bit of a blast mixing work and play by tinkering with these recipes (see details for the sessions on 12 January, 13 January, 26 January and 27 January on the January schedule ).

Quite aside from effectively using up all the spare ingredients and preparations invariably produced from each test-run, it has also proven most effective at keeping boredom at bay - not so much mine, but that of my long-suffering loved ones who've had to polish off whichever nth version of whatever recipe I happen to be refining, oftentimes days in a row.

Good recipes to have up the time-pressed baker's sleeve, besides of course being good to eat, are hardworking recipes. In other words, recipes that do double, even triple, duty with hardly any effort on your part. A nip here, a tuck there (read: virtually no fuss for you) - sometimes as simple as a change of baking tin, sometimes requiring no more energy than whipping up a fresh new accompaniment - Voilà! A brand new dessert as far as the beholder is concerned.

Some easy variations on the theme that I had fun coming up with, and more importantly, were enthusiastically received:

Jasmine Tea Macaron and Lychee & Rose Sorbet Sandwich
A cool permutation from exactly the same collection of basic recipes. And because we eat with our eyes first, all I did to romanticize the look of this exotic sorbet sandwich and give it a Moorish mood was tint the macaron batter pink.

Mandarin Friand, Orange Blossom Cream, Fresh Citrus Salad

Another Moorish twist. I used a mini tart pan with a fluted edge instead of oval moulds to bake the friands. Topped with a dollop of clotted cream scented with a few drops of orange blossom water and chopped pistachios, and paired with a fresh fruit salad composed of an assortment of citrus segments (macerated with more orange blossom water and orange zest), it's a refreshing yet satisfying end to a rich meal.

Sesame Financier, Matcha White Chocolate Ganache, Candied Yuzu Peel

I had candied some yuzu peel late last year when this precious fruit was briefly in season and naturally, thought to take the presentation of the sesame financiers in a Japanesey direction - miniaturized, finished with a rosette of white chocolate ganache flavoured with matcha and the yuzu comfit.

Almond Shortbread Sandwich with Praline Buttercream and Dark Chocolate Glaze

A cookie sandwich that's dressy enough to serve as dessert per se - a pair of almond shortbread slices filled with almond praline buttercream, the topmost slice glazed with tempered dark chocolate and coated with toasted chopped almonds.

Lunar New Year Classes at Shermay's: MOD CHINOISERIE - From Petits Fours to Plated Desserts

I'll be teaching a demo class specially planned for Lunar New Year at Shermay's Cooking School on 12 January 2008 (Saturday), 13 January 2008 (Sunday), 26 January 2008 (Saturday) and 27 January 2008 (Sunday) - the January schedule has all the necessary booking details. For all inquiries, please call the school at +65 6479 8442 or email shermaycs@yahoo.com.sg


I'm a huge fan of the Japanese-French style of pâtisserie, and the recipes for this class very much take inspiration from that exquisite hybrid. Quintessentially oriental ingredients re-imagined by French pastry technique to produce what, for lack of a better term, I like to think of as mod Chinoiserie. Each of the 4 Chinese-inspired petits fours can be served or gifted as is, or used as the core component of a plated dessert, a grand finale to a dinner party, when paired with the various bonus recipes for delicious accompaniments. Designed like a modular system of building blocks, I really hope the various ideas presented will illustrate how a seemingly elaborate composed/plated dessert can be tackled with confidence and ease once broken down or thought of in terms of its various component parts, parts coming together to create a whole greater than the sum of.

The 4 petits fours are:

Jasmine Tea Macaron

Filled with a white chocolate (Valrhona Ivoire) ganache delicately perfumed with jasmine tea.

Mandarin Orange Friand

Ground almonds and a puree of gently poached mandarins ensure a treat that's incredibly moist and intensely citrusy.

Sesame Financier

The classic caramelized butter (beurre noisette) flavour of a financier is given an unusual twist with the addition with toasted sesame oil, which gloriously underscores the deeply nutty aromas.

Almond Shortbread

Very rich, very short and very melt-in-the-mouth buttery.

The bonus recipes for accompaniments include:

Jasmine Tea Panna Cotta, barely set and ultra creamy, to pair with the Jasmine Tea Macaron.

Star Anise Mousse, with its exotic liquorice-like flavour, goes with the Mandarin Orange Friand.

Milk Chocolate Chantilly, based on Valrhona Tanariva 33%, sets off the caramelly, butterscotchy notes of the Sesame Financier thanks to this Grand Cru chocolate's distinctive flavour profile.

Lychee & Rose Sorbet, a very special scoop made from very readily available ingredients, is fabulous accompanied by the Almond Shortbread.

A flavour pairing chart and plating diagrams round out the recipe pack, and will hopefully lay bare the logic behind composing plated desserts based on complementary flavours and textures.

Bake-A-Thank-You

The opportunity to share my love of baking at one of Singapore’s most well respected cooking schools has been an incredibly rewarding and enriching experience. I owe huge thanks to the fabulous Shermay Lee, whose dedication to the pursuit of perfection is second to none, and the peerlessly resourceful S, without whom all this would never have transpired in the first place. And last but certainly not least, the wonderful people I’ve met through the various classes.

Since the weekend just past – the class covered classic macaron flavours like chocolate, coffee, vanilla and hazelnut – I’ve received a few emails asking how the main recipe can be adapted for matcha macarons. It’s a super easy variation that requires no change in quantities of the key ingredients, only that of the flavouring. So here it is, a token of my appreciation to all the lovely ladies (and occasional gentleman) I've had the great pleasure of getting to know a little better over the past few months.

Matcha Macarons
Yield: About 36 pairs, depending on the size they are piped

Follow method as set out on pages 1 to 3. At step 6, stir in 1 Tbsp (level) of matcha (in lieu of vanilla). At step 14, pipe on a dollop of Matcha Buttercream or some other complementary filling.

Matcha Buttercream
Yield: Enough to fill at least 36 pairs of macarons, depending on the size of the macarons

Follow method for classic buttercream as set out on page 7. To flavour, make the following: Stir 1 Tbsp (level) of matcha together with 1 Tbsp hot water until the paste is smooth. Once cooled, add to the buttercream (see step 5).

My personal preference is to sandwich the matcha macarons with sweetened chestnut puree - the richness of the latter is nicely balanced by the grassy, herbaceous character of the former.