Déja Vu--All Over Again

Team Leader No More

Since I last wrote, we have been studying in great depth how to make choux pastry. It is my favorite thing we have learned to date. It is made with boiling milk mixed with flour to basically make a roux, and then eggs are added a little at a time, until the mix is glossy and smooth and ready to be piped into whatever shape you desire. When choux pastry is baked it puffs up and becomes hollow in the middle and is then ready to be filled full of pastry cream, or cheese, or whatever sounds delicious to you! It has a lot of yummy applications.

Thursday we began our introduction to choux pastry by making these adorable creations called les réligieuses—the nuns. When assembled, they actually look like claymation-style nuns and are very cute. Basically, they are two pieces of choux pastry, covered with a craquelin finish and ultimately stuck together to make a head and a body. After which they are piped full of coffee flavored pastry cream and dipped in a caramel fondant.

They can also be made in various colors and flavors—see below.

These are raspberry with blackcurrant filling

On Friday, we graduated to making chocolate eclairs—which are so so good! Again we started with the choux pastry, piping it into an eclair shape and baking it. After it cooled we stuffed it full of chocolate cream and dipped it in chocolate fondant. They were delicious! As a small side item, we also made chouquettes which are little round balls that bake up puffy and light and can be filled with almost anything for a tasty one-bite appetizer or small dessert.

Finally came Saturday—the same Saturday that was my low point at LCB last year, as you, my loyal readers, will recall from my blog post— Two Fires and Killing Me Softly. It was the same last Saturday night in January, the same 5pm class, and in a strange twist our patisserie group this year has the same schedule as Basic Cuisine Group C —my group from last year. The only people at LCB last night were the Basic Cuisine students and us—Intensive Basic Patisserie. What are the odds.

Going into last night, I was already suffering a slight case of PTSD from my memories of last year. Surely, it would go better this time around. The evening started ok—I arrived super early for my last stint as Team Leader, which has been a beat down all week of demanding chefs insisting I find things that do not exist. I confess that I ultimately lowered myself to stealing items from other kitchens—don’t judge—desperate times and all that. I am proud to report that I only got caught once—the chef in that kitchen literally chasing me down the hall and angrily demanding I return immediately the things I had pilfered. But that is another story.

Everyone was pretty excited for Saturday evening’s class despite it being at 5pm, as we were slated to make a Paris Brest—perhaps the most famous of all French pastries and the culmination of our choux pastry lessons. My partner this year had picked up a gorgeous example of this confection from a famous patisserie here in Paris—Cedric Grolet—for us to taste before we made our amateur version of the same thing. We were all looking forward to trying our hand at this venerable dessert.

As I was stuffing my mouth with the delicious Paris Brest made by Monsieur Grolet—Chef came out of the kitchen, glared at me, and said, “Team Leader—begin!” I recognized this particular chef from last year—Chef Richard—or as he is unaffectionately known—Chef Dick. This was not a good omen.

I hastily wiped my mouth and scurried into the kitchen to begin setting up the class with our necessary supplies. Two of the things needed were hazelnuts and praliné paste. I could find neither ingredient, and I gingerly approached Chef to inquire politely where they might be located. He stared at me icily and grudgingly tossed his head in the general direction of another classroom, where I searched for the two items. I located what I believed to be the praliné paste, but hazelnuts were not in evidence and the drawer marked with their name was empty. Damning my luck, I returned to Chef and admitted I could not find the hazelnuts. He gave me a “You are stupid” look and went to retrieve them himself. The evening was not off to an auspicious start.

He returned shortly with said hazelnuts, and I was chastened. However, I put the incident out of mind, continued with set up and assembled for Chef’s remarks. He started his speech with a scowl, stating there would be no talking—we were to work in silence, with efficiency, and our work stations were to remain immaculate. He would be watching. Well, that set the tone, ramped up our collective anxiety, and I briefly considered just calling it and taking a zero for the evening. It was clear this was not going to be a pleasant experience. But Chef announced “Begin”, and automatically we all began scurrying about collecting our ingredients. Fear is a powerful motivator.

I was a little unnerved, but hurried to get started, only to realize ten minutes into it that I had read the wrong ingredient list and all my measures were incorrect. There was nothing to do but toss what I was working on and begin again. This setback had my nerves jangling, and as I was explaining what happened to my partner, Chef yelled, “Stop visiting and work”. Ugh. I quickly gathered the correct ingredients and commenced again. I was running behind, but I felt confident that I could make it up. As I found my rhythm, rocking along with my choux pastry for the Paris Brest and carmelizing my hazelnuts—which cannot be stopped in the middle of cooking—Chef suddenly shouted, “Everyone stop what you are doing—the Team leader (and here he glared at me) has not brought the praliné but instead the chocolate—do not use it!” Well, spoons halted mid-air, and 14 pairs of eyes swung to me with a mixture of horror and sympathy. Chef then said “Allez, Allez” to me, indicating that I should stop working and go and find the praliné. Minutes later I came back with the praliné and dropped it with an irritated thunk on the table and a mental note to research voodoo dolls and how to make them.

I resumed my work, now seriously behind, as I had to start again on carmelizing the hazelnuts. Before I knew it, two hours had passed, and amazingly, I was mostly on target again. It was finally time to whip the butter into the pastry cream to make a mousseline filling for the Paris Brest, when I realized mine was chock full of clumps of butter. Mon Dieu! In my haste, I had added the softened butter when the cream was too cold and it had solidified. A short internal dilemma ensued where I debated just going ahead and hoping for the best, or consulting Chef about possible solutions. I finally decided that, though it was clear he didn’t like me, I paid a lot of money for this course and he was just going to have to suck it up and help me—I was on a need to know. I reluctantly buried my pride, and went to Chef explaining my situation. He actually knew the remedy, and after heating up my cream, the butter dissolved, and I was able to whip it, get it into a piping bag and finish my pastry. Truth be told though, at this point, I was very stressed, my PTSD was in full force, and my hands were shaking as I put the final touches on my product. Chef called time and told us to line up for our presentation.

The infamous Paris Brest—my piping is a little wobbly

I took my place, and when it was my turn, Chef barely looked at my creation and announced it was too big. Too big??? We used a mold to make this dessert. All of us. The same mold. I did not know what to say to something so blatantly ridiculous, so I repeated in my head that old saying —change the things you can and accept the ones you can’t. I responded with a cheery, “Oui Chef” and a mental shrug, and began to clean up. At 8:15pm we were dismissed, and as I changed my clothes and packed up my things, I got the giggles. Not the really hysterical giggles, but just the slightly relieved giggles, that this particular watershed of a Saturday night, that was eerily similar to last year, was finally past—and I was fine!

A group of us decided to go to dinner to discuss the evening and Chef’s behavior, all of us happy to be out of there. We walked to a Korean restaurant around the corner and as drinks were had and laughs were shared, the trauma of the evening began to fade. As I rode the Metro home and climbed up the stairs to the exit—the final déja vu moment arrived. The Metro Police were again waiting to inspect the passengers for tickets or passes. I got the giggles again as I handed over my pass—which this year has my picture on it—you don’t have to tell me twice! I was released without incident, though the policeman cast me a sharp glance when I couldn’t stop my snickering. The evening had come full circle.

Tonight, I am officially over the hump, the hardest week behind me. Pretty sure I am going to make it. And bonus—I am not the f—ing team leader the rest of the course.

My peeps from Intensive Patisserie