Two Days of Twos

Learning by Trial and Error

This week, or over-the-hump week as I like to think of it, has been just as busy as last week. We had an atelier on chocolate—how to temper it, table it and make all kinds of things with it. Chocolate is a foreign language, but one I am eager to learn. We also, had a full day of macaron-making—my favorite— and Wednesday we started sponge-style cakes that will take us into next week.

One of the chocolates we made-dark chocolate truffles with ganache

Macarons-they were so so good!! These are raspberry and chocolate

It has all been so amazing and I have learned so much! The introduction to chocolate, though hard on my uniform—it’s messy— was super interesting, and something I previously knew nothing about. Same for the macarons. I learned more about food dye than I ever thought was possible.

The introduction of another pastry base—sponge—has also proved very enlightening, and alcoholic. Almost all types of sponge cakes seem to need to be bathed, doused, basted or otherwise infused with some kind of alcohol. Think rum cakes, but French.

Wednesday we made a fraisier. I was kind of excited, as we have not made a lot of things with strawberries, which I adore. My excitement was short-lived. This particular type of dessert, the sponge of which I write, is baked in a ring and then cut into levels— a layer cake—with pastry cream and fresh fruit in between. The preparation and cooking of it was simple enough—it was the assembly of the final product that got me. I prepared the cake batter, no problem. Poured it in the ring and baked it. Meanwhile I prepared my pastry cream, added a boatload of butter, which made it a mousseline, cut up a basket of strawberries and was ready to be a star. Well, that didn’t happen.

After the cake is baked, it is taken out of the ring and sliced horizontally to make the layers, which are composed of fruit and pastry cream. Another ring is used for assembly, holding it all together until it is complete. In addition to the metal ring, there is a protective layer of plastic that goes on the inside so that when you are piping your cream and dousing the sponge with alcohol, it all stays completely insulated. No leakage and no sticking to the metal. My first mistake— I forgot the plastic protective layer. I didn’t realize this until I had already piped more than half the mousseline into the ring. It was stuck to the sides and there was no going back.

I think that rattled me so much that I then just completely forgot to put in the top layer of the cake, and instead I piped and piped pastry cream until I filled up the ring. Really not sure what I was thinking, but tragically, at the end, I could not remove the metal ring without completely ruining the entire cake, as I had no plastic barrier between the cream and the metal to help slide it off.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the topping on the cake was a marzipan layer that was rolled out and blow-torched to give it a slightly cooked appearance—kind of like crème brûlée. For another unknown reason, I rolled mine out and then placed it on the cake before torching it. Forging ahead with what was only going to be a disaster, I tried to to torch it in situ—on top of the cake. Why you ask? No clue. Naturally, the heat from the torch immediately began to melt the pastry cream and my dessert was a runny mess. Thinking quickly, I put it in the blast chiller—which is this refrigerator-like contraption that cools things down fast—it runs at 40 degrees below zero. It will also literally burn you if you touch the metal inside. I don’t think it is available for home use. Probably just as well.

I was hoping the cream would firm up, and I could then smooth it all out. It actually kind of worked, but of course, it took me awhile, and Chef was fuming. Almost everyone had run into some problem or another, so the majority of the class was running way behind and Chef let us have it. By the time I finally presented my dessert, Chef had decided that all of us who did not finish in the allotted two hours and 15 minutes were going to be marked down an entire number grade. Well, my cake was a three to begin with and when Chef was done with my evaluation, it became a two. I nearly cried. I have NEVER received a two. Even in hateful cuisine, I did not get twos. What a blow.

This cake got a two —I think it deserved better!

It was even more of a blow than you know, because I was hoping to bring you the good news that I was going to graduate “with distinction”, which means that the average of all my grades are four or better. I was on the cusp with a 3.85 average—thinking that a few more fours and fives would get me there. But the twos yesterday were the death knell. There will be no distinction for me beyond being the worst fraisier baker ever. I was kind of bummed. Not too proud to admit.

After that disastrous practical, we had another demonstration—yes, it was a 12 hour day, and I am still a little punchy as I write this. The demonstration for a cafe mocha cake was presented by none other than my least favorite, Chef Dick. It felt a little like karma. I cursed him Saturday night and now here he is again. I should not have laid around on Sunday being all woe is me. Instead, I should have researched voodoo doll assembly like a responsible vengeful person.

Chef was in rare form, even for him. He began his presentation with theater-worthy dramatics and a tongue-lashing of his young assistant, completely scaring the crap out of her. She got so nervous she could not even set up for the demonstration. If it wasn’t so mean, it would have been funny. The poor girl was terrified. The first thing he had her do was whip eggs by hand for the mocha cake we were to make today. He kept scolding her and telling her she was doing it wrong, and then he would yell out “Clack, clack, clack”. Followed by, “There is no rhythm, I want to hear clack, clack, clack.” He was referring to the sound the whisk makes when it hits the bowl as you whisk very quickly and evenly. I think the girl’s arm was tired and she was traumatized, so she couldn’t keep the steady pace his constant “clacking” demanded. It was very bizarre.

Then he would peer across the work station at us and say, “Are there any questions? I get very bored if there are no questions.” After which he would suggestively wiggle his eyebrows. How weird is that? I bet he said it ten different times. Which of course meant that no one could come up with a single question. It felt like a trap and it was. Someone finally did ask a question, and sphinx-like, his answer was, “You already know the answer to that question.”

Well, that was a show stopper. No one was willing to ask anything after that. He also oddly, kept staring at me the entire class. My classmates all remarked on it once we were dismissed. I fear he was thinking back to Saturday night, and how disappointing I was as team leader—not even able to find the hazelnuts. Perhaps I am wrong and he is just odd, but I do know that I do not want to be singled out. Staying under the radar is the best outcome here.

Today, we were on deck at 7am to make the mocha cake from the demonstration yesterday. I had studied my notes and it seemed so simple. It was another sponge cake, baked in a ring and then cut horizontally to make a layer cake with coffee-infused buttercream between the layers, and a piped design on top. I shook off the bad vibes and low grades from the day before, and I was ready to slay!

Everything was going fine. My cake was baked, the buttercream made, the almonds carmelized, and this time I did not forget the plastic layer between the ring and the cake to hold it together to make a smooth finish. Then— everything went south. My buttercream split-separating the eggs and sugar from the butter which makes for a grainy terrible look and not the shiny, beautiful buttercream we see on birthday cakes. Then, the ring I used was too tall for the cake, making it impossible for me to fill the cake to the top and smooth off the frosting. I don’t know how I ended up with the wrong ring-they were handed out by the team leaders. Unless it was an act of sabotage, which I don’t believe, it was just bad luck. The end result—I did not have enough buttercream left over after filling my extra-tall cake, to pipe the required decoration on top.

At presentation, my cake was bare naked but for the split buttercream. And you guessed it-I got another 2. Well, I was upset, but resigned. I did not deserve better and I did not even take a picture of my cake. I was so disappointed. Straight to the trash it went.

I think my takeaway is that I am better at tarts and turnovers, macarons even. Apparently cakes are just not my jam.

This is what it was supposed to look like

To celebrate the week being over-no class on Saturday this week-a group of girls and I went to Epicure-a 3 star Michelin restaurant, for a late lunch. We had the tasting menu. Seven courses and four hours later, we were good to go! It was delicious and so typically French—from the beautiful silverware, to the impeccable service, to the excruciatingly slow pace of the meal. I ate so much I won’t need another meal till Sunday. Luckily, this frees me up to study for the final exam on Wednesday, which will require me to prepare one of the 26 things we made over the last month, sans notes or recipes.

Our very fancy lunch at Epicure

The dreaded fraisier is on the exam list so I am a little worried. I am praying that it is the apple tart or the chocolate eclair. Cross your fingers for me—I need all the help and luck I can get!