Perfect Meringues

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It has just occurred to me that I was meant to maintain a steady stream of posting throughout this long trip I've been on this week and I haven't. Long story short, at some point someone must have coughed on me and now I'm sick. So we're lucky I'm doing this, since I haven't accomplished even half of the things on my 'to do while away' list. If I ever catch the person responsible, I am going to make them pay.

Having fulfilled my recent French fantasy (well, one of them... I don't think I've told you of the one involving chilled Mumm, the penthouse suite of the Hotel de Vendome and an unthinkably large portion of fromage blanc au miel de fleurs. I think that's for another time.), I found myself with egg whites on hand.

A familiar drudgery.

I am sick of freezing them because I never seem to come back to the hard little bags of albumen once they have been squirrelled away in the ice box. So I decided to try turning out some of those huge, billowing meringues that you see under cover of glass in all the Parisian bakeries. They are usually expensive, which irks me, because they're made from just egg whites and sugar, and also make me think of Eton Mess which the French probably don't even know about. Shame.

These are what 1950s American teens would call a 'snap'. And they have gooey middles. I feel it important to point that out. 

Meringues

You will need:

5 egg whites (125g)
250g caster sugar

1. Pre-heat the oven to 180°C. Line a baking sheet with parchment.
2. We're going to go the Swiss meringue route here: dump the sugar and whites into a heatproof bowl and whisk over simmering water until you can no longer feel grains of sugar when you rub a little of the mixture between your fingers. I know this sounds strange, but it works: the sugar will dissolve.
3. Remove from the heat and beat with an electric mixer (for ease) until cool, around 10 minutes.
4. Dollop the mixture onto the prepared sheets, put them into the oven and immediately switch it off. Allow the oven to cool fully before removing the meringues. I left them in there over night and they were fine.

Tonka Bean Ice-Cream

Something about the fact that tonka beans are banned by the USFDA makes this ice-cream seem dirty, sexy and illicit. Which makes me love it even more.

I have been re-appraising my feelings about Paris since this post. I was there again recently, the weather was perfect, and strolling round with Erasure playing on my iPod, I fell quite in love with the city. I may have been helped along by the amazing fig tart that I had at Jocteur, a place I found tucked away in a place I rarely venture, but will be revisiting, but even so. Consider my opinions momentarily changed!

(Stop laughing at my Erasure confession. They are highly underrated.)

One of the things I do really like to do whilst in Paris is to hit up (I have become an American) G. Detou for vanilla beans. In Cardiff, if I try really hard I can just about find a bottle of Madagascan vanilla extract, though it may cost half of my salary; at G. Detou, I can get little glass tubes of vanilla beans and choose if I want them to be from Madagascar or Tahiti. What can I say? I like to have a choice.

Anyway, just recently, I noticed that in addition to selling vanilla, the shop also stocks 'fèves tonka', and that I had no idea what they were.

Now, reader, if we were ever to go speed dating (which is unlikely in the extreme, but go with me on this), and we each had to reveal what our weaknesses were, my confession would be that I am unable to walk away from 'new' foods, especially herbs and spices. Sometimes this works to my advantage and I end up with something I like (say it with me now: 'harissa'); other times, I am left, months later, with a bag of unused rubbish (one word: 'matcha' - it doesn't work in cupcakes, and are we really all about to start practicing tea ceremony at home? Exactly).

There is no getting away from it: they resemble dead beetles.

The tonka beans may fall into the first category, though there is the potential for them to end up in the second as well. It depends if I am able to get over my current distaste for crème brulée or not, since I think tonka is definitely a flavour to be used in creamy desserts.

In case you too are like me, and have no idea what a tonka bean is, our good friend Mr. Wiki will talk you through it. All I would add is that while I agree with the likening of their aroma to vanilla and almond, I can't detect any cinnamon flavour at all. In fact, the fragrance reminds me of the preserved cherry blossom leaves used to wrap sakura mochi more than anything else.



I made this ice-cream to serve with some melting chocolate fondants, for which you will get the recipe shortly, but in all honesty, you could serve it alone. I mean that in both contexts. Some things are too good to share.

Tonka Bean Ice-Cream

You will need:

5 egg yolks
600ml single cream
125g caster sugar
1 tonka bean, grated

1. Heat the cream and grated tonka bean together over a medium heat. Stir every now and again, and do not let the cream boil. When it's nice and steamy, turn the heat off and clamp a lid on. Allow to infuse for 5-10 minutes.
2. In a medium sized bowl, beat the egg yolks with the sugar. You don't need to incorporate air, just make sure that the two are well mixed.
3. Pour the hot cream onto the yolks, stirring constantly to prevent any scrambling. You could strain the cream first, but I like the tonka bean flecks.
4. Rinse and dry the pan used to heat the cream, then pour the custard back into it and heat gently, stirring constantly, until thick and creamy. Aim for the texture of thick cream, and never allow it to boil.
5. Remove from the heat, pour into a bowl and cool. Then freeze according to your ice cream maker's instructions.
   

Rose Macarons

Ce sont des macarons malformés. Never rush a macaron, my dears. Never.

I've been thinking a lot about Paris Syndrome recently. I'm someone who thinks the city is horrendously overrated, overpriced and underwhelming, and can quite see why large numbers of tourists each year fall prey to the condition.


You want sunny weather, clean streets and blue skies; tree lined boulevards and green parks; the smell of freshly baked baguettes and window displays filled with beautiful patisserie. You do not get it.


What you get is all the dirt and grime of any big city. There is no way to enjoy the unbelievably expensive coffee you ordered at the corner cafe when all the clientele are clutching at smoking Sobranie Black Russians, and waving them in your faces. Then there are the dogs: let us not mention the dogs and their mess. Considering all of the above, one can understand the poor tourists' syndromes du voyageur.


Still, there is the Eiffel Tower.


I am being overly harsh. It's just that over-turning a lifelong dislike for the place is proving difficult.


Pierre Hermé is helping me to do just that though. I was at his place on Rue Bonaparte recently and re-reconfirmed my love affair with the macaron. I had one that was flavoured with olive oil and vanilla, and which was, well, obscenely delicious. They should be prescribed as a cure for Paris Syndrome, and Mr. Hermé should be given a white coat to wear to work.


Just a suggestion.


Also among the flavours I selected was a simple - if we can call any macaron simple - rose scented number, and since I don't quite have the guts to attempt the olive oil-vanilla version chez moi, I decided to give it a go to take to some friends I was visiting. I seem to have gotten in to the habit of doing that - promising macarons - and really must stop it.


Time was not on my side; you can see that from the knobbly, gnarly lumps on the top of my mac shells. I was in such a rush that I under mixed the party-pink batter, and didn't want to stop and correct it. But I wanted to post them, my C- macarons, anyway, because the last few batches I have turned out have been very good and I want you to see that I can mess up royally as well.


Plus, I wanted to share with you my new and improved filling for macarons, which beats anything else in the world. Bar olive and vanilla ganache.




Mr. P's Rose Macarons

It's worth pointing out that Pierre Hermé uses the Italian meringue method of macaron making, and mine are French meringue. You can find the recipe and method here. Omit the cocoa, and add a small dab of red colouring gel once the meringue mixture has been beaten to soft peaks. Put together with:

Mr P's Stupendous Rose Cream

You will need:

100g white chocolate
100g full fat cream cheese
natural rose essence or rose water

1. Melt the white chocolate in a suitable bowl in the microwave. I do this on half power, in 30 second blasts. It takes about 90 seconds all in. If you have no microwave, place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and melt the chocolate that way. Set aside to cool slightly.
2. Add the cream cheese and mix together until smooth.
3. Add drops of rose essence or rose water to taste, and mix in thoroughly. Rose flavourings vary in strength enormously, so go easy. If you live anywhere near a Middle Eastern or Indian grocery, get your rose water there. It will be cheaper and better quality than any or the prettily packaged ones you'll find in supermarkets. Iranian rose water is the best. Promise.