I woke up bright and early and headed back to my cooking class. This day we were baking.
We learned to make a basic croissant dough and used it to make 4 different types of breads/treats.
Did you know it takes three days to make croissants? Day one you just make the dough, then it has to rest in the fridge over night. He even wasted some dough to show us what happens if you don't let it rest long enough. Not good.
Day two you add the butter. This is the tricky day. First, you have to have a nice cool kitchen, because you DO NOT want the butter to melt. VERY, VERY BAD. If it melts, it won't form those layers that make the croissants so flaky and wonderful. I was told by my teacher that I was in trouble because I live in Phoenix. Anyway, you start by rolling out the dough in a perfect rectangle, then you roll out the butter into a perfect square that is exactly 2/3 the length of the dough, but exactly the width. Then you do some folding action and make an envelope, or a letter, I can't remember which, and then you need to roll out another perfect rectangle, and fold it again. And do that again, and again, and again. And possibly again. It's best to put it back in the fridge/freezer every couple of roll and folds to maintain the integrity of the butter. When you are all done, you will have something like 60 layers of dough and butter.
The next day the dough is ready to use. You can roll and cut out triangles to make croissants.
Interesting fact, these croissants aren't burnt. In traditional French baking, things come out a little more "rustic". It's the whole "layers of flavors" thing. The bitter taste of the darker bits, combined with the flaky yet softer inside, and the sweetness of the butter, make for an over-all "true experience". It's hard to find them, (cause it takes three days, so most people have their dough shipped in) but if you stumble across a little place that claims to make their own and they look a little on the burnt side, chances are you've found yourself a gem. He even pulled out a traditional cookbook and in almost every picture of food in it, there were little blackened bits on the food.
You can add chocolate to make pain au chocolat, (yes, that's the same picture, but now you are looking at the heavenly rolled up thing in the top right corner)
Then we rolled out the croissant dough, spread pastry cream on it, sprinkled on some gingerbread-type spices and rum raisins and chopped up pistachios and then sliced it up into little wheels and baked it (sorry, no "after" pics)
And finally we made little danishes with pastry cream and raspberries. He showed us how to cut and fold it to make a little bowl for the filling. This was the teacher's before we baked it. He made a little one, mine was bigger (more raspberries, but once again, alas, no pictures of the finished product)
Finally,we made a focaccia. I was wary about this one. We started off chopping up green olives (I'm not a fan- the black ones in the can I can eat in one sitting, but any others cause my nose to turn up in disgust) we added that to the dough we prepared (a different dough, not the croissant dough) and added Parmesan cheese as well. Then we added the dough to a "greased" pan. And by "greased", I don't mean "just enough to cover the bottom and sides" I mean like half a large bottle of olive oil was poured into the pan. Then I was the lucky contestant who "won a spa treatment" and got to spread the dough out in the oil and try to make the dough fill out the corners. It didn't work that well. Although, after I cleaned off the oil that was literally dripping from my hands, they did feel pretty soft. So I did get a bonus spa treatment out of it after all. The teacher cut some diagonal slits in it in a pretty design, then we let it bake. One girl asked where the oil went (cause the bread came out pretty dry looking). The teacher told us it "evaporated".
So I was prepared to not like it very much. Green olives + the entire annual production of virgin olive oil from a whole tree = not something I would normally enjoy.
That being said, it was SO GOOD. Especially when we spread raw butter made from unpasteurized milk with a little sea salt mixed in for good measure. (BEST BUTTER EVER. I need to figure out how to get my hands on some of that. Make friends with a dairy farmer or something.) And PS- it was still really good later that evening when it wasn't quite as fresh, and there wasn't even any butter. Once again, sorry no pictures. My hands were too busy (and dripping with oil) to take any "befores", and I was too busy eating to take any "afters". Priorities.
So that concludes my culinary adventures in Paris.
I spent the rest of the day wandering around Paris. I intended to spend the afternoon at the Louvre, but it was closed. So, I intended to just wander the streets on foot, soaking it all in until I had to catch my train back to Belgium.
I did just that for a little bit, but then I got accosted by a gypsy and a con artist while crossing a bridge. At least I assume that's what they were. They made me for a stupid American, and I was caught in their clutches. The first one tried to give me a "gold ring" she thought I dropped, and it was good luck if I gave her something. (Money, naturally) She claimed to be starving, and needed money to buy bread. I gave her the coins in my pocket, which amounted to about 3 Euros. By this point, I was a little annoyed I had been taken. I knew she was a professional beggar, pretending to return worthless pieces of metal to their owners, then demanding a reward for her act of kindness. Then, I fell into the clutches of a deaf mute (yes, deaf and mute) He was clutching a clipboard, with a piece of paper masquerading as a petition for the advocacy of all the deaf mutes in France. (seriously) I am sure the guy was a con artist, but he had the perfect con going on claiming he was both deaf and dumb, therefore any arguments I had literally fell on deaf ears as he had me trapped on that bridge shoving the clipboard in my face, begging I write my name and country of origin in their correct spots. Then he pointed to the donation column and demanded some money. All the while creeping me out while he kissed his hand and wiped it on my shoulder like I was some kind of angel saving him from his wretched life. I handed him the smallest bill in my wallet, 5 Euros, (all my change having just been given to that gypsy) and then he pointed out the small handwritten note written on the side of the paper "Minimum donation- 10 Euros." He was really annoyed I wouldn't give him more than the five. I finally got away, really annoyed with myself and with them (cause I truly believe them to be con artists- I saw several more people with clip boards going after tourists, and when I started to think about why the petition was written in English, and why there were SO MANY deaf mutes in Paris, I knew I was taken. Don't get me wrong, I have no problems giving to the needy, but usually I walk away feeling good, not angry and annoyed and stupid and taken.
I elected to spend the rest of my afternoon enjoying a lunch inside a cafe. I was hungry and mad at Paris and myself, and food was the answer. (plus I had to use the bathroom, and that's for paying customers only). So after a very leisurely lunch of a ham and cheese crepe, a coke, and a lemon tart, I was feeling much better. I should mention that my lunch was also pretty entertaining as I watched the waiters and waitress interact. It was a slow day, so they'd stand around and talk, (in French, so I didn't understand them) but then the waitress slapped a waiter across the face, and he told me it was cause she was crazy about him. She argued that he was the only crazy one there. (In English for my benefit). As I stood up to leave, I tied my scarf around my neck (it was chilly out), and a waiter (the one who got slapped) stopped me and adjusted the knot of my scarf for me, (not that I did a bad job, but it was more like a friendly thing. Sorta, "There you go, now it's perfect."
And with an "au revoir", and my renewed faith in Paris, I headed off to the train station to spend the evening with John. (seeing as it was our 15th anniversary and all)
John and I met up that evening for a nice dinner in Brussels (he worked all day so even if I didn't go to Paris, we still wouldn't have spent any more time together, in fact I beat him to the hotel, and I got lost on the way) and then the next morning he dropped me off at the airport so I could head home while he stayed and worked.
It was a fantastic trip in almost every aspect, (I was definitely lonelier in Paris than I thought I'd be) but I was ready to come home. I missed my own bed, and especially my kids. Plus, I was a little worried for my dad's sanity after being a mom to my four rugrats for 12 days. Any longer and I might have found them duck taped to the wall. I am pleased to report they all survived. However, I think it will be a few years before I will be able to convince him to do that again. Kinda like pregnancy. You have to forget exactly how bad it was before you can think about having another one.
Oh, and this last picture is for Nick. They were packing up as I walked by, but I passed a whole orchestra (at least a dozen musicians) playing in the subway.
No comments:
Post a Comment