Temper: Craquelin Profiteroles of Summer Berries with White Chocolate Cream, and Matcha with Dark Chocolate Cream

Choux pastry has been on the dessert scene since Medieval times; one of many French pastries that have transcended shores and cultural borders through simple appeal. Choux pastry is unique in it's double-cook method; one must first cook the dough on the stove top, which is then itself baked. By cooking the flour with water and butter, the gluten proteins become tenderised, allowing the dough to be flexible. Adding eggs gives richness, but also more proteins for structural integrity and loosening the dough to allow air to expand (thank you Harold McGee). The steam from all the moisture incorporated into the dough puffs up the pastry during the bake, and eventually the pastry cooks and crisps. The crispness of freshly baked choux pastry is glorious; light and airy with a puffed countenance further more pronounced by inner creamy, cloud-like whipped fillings. Classically, the most universally known cream puff is the profiterole, filled with whipped cream and topped with chocolate - an irresistible contrasting combination by way of texture (crisp-velvety-crunchy) and taste (buttery-creamy-sharp). 

However, if such an image of a profiterole is a layman's taste, then one with craquelin is surely that of the refined gastro-diner. Craquelin is essentially a high butter, high sugar dough, that when baked produces a cracked sugary crust. This serves as an alternative topping to the usual chocolate topping for profiteroles, and most excitingly, can be flavoured and coloured to imagination's whim. Not only this, but the craquelin tempers the expansion of the choux pastry; allowing for a more rounded, controlled puff giving a more elegant appearance. Striking the balance between craquelin and choux is important though; too thick of the former could stifle the puff and/or cause the profiterole to collapse.

After discovering that the crust seen on many patisserie profiteroles was a thing called craquelin, I needed to try it. I decided to incorporate berries and matcha flavours into the craquelin (with the added bonus of them being a natural source of food colouring). To complement this, I made white and dark chocolate creams, respectively, so that not only did the flavours work well within one profiterole, but the two different types gave stark contrasts between sweet summer fare and dark, adult bittersweetness. Note that the creams take a long time to chill, so plan  ahead accordingly.

Makes ~3 large baking trays.

For the chocolate creams:

• 30 g Dark chocolate (55-85%)
• 30 g White chocolate
• 250 ml Single cream

For the craquelin crust:

• 65 g Butter, softened
• 100 g Light brown sugar
• 2 x 50 g Plain flour, sifted
• 25 g Freeze-dried strawberries
• 25 g Freeze-dried raspberries
• 2 tbsp Matcha powder

For the choux pastry:

• 65 g Plain flour, sifted
• 50 g Butter
• 120 ml Water
• Pinch of salt
• 2 Eggs, beaten

1. To make the chocolate creams, melt the chocolates in separate medium bowls until just melted, either in the microwave or over a bain marie. Heat half the cream until roughly the same temperature as the chocolate and add 75 ml to the melted white chocolate, 75 ml cream to the melted dark chocolate. Mix each until fully combined, then add the rest of the cream to both chocolate mixtures. Finally, use a handblender on each chocolate cream to ensure they are fully mixed, and refrigerate for 4 hours or overnight.


2. Next, to make the craquelin, first take the freeze-dried berries and blend them together into a powder using a food processor. Mix one batch of flour with this berry powder, and the other with the matcha powder. Separately, cream the butter and light brown sugar together. Divide this mixture in two before adding the berry flour to one and the matcha flour to the other. Mix until one forms a smooth purple dough, and the other a green dough. Between two sheets of baking paper, roll out each dough until half a centimeter thick. Place both sheets of dough on trays and place in the freezer.
   
   
3. Preheat the oven to 200 °C/400 F/Gas mark 6.


4. Now onto the profiteroles. Heat the water and butter in a medium saucepan over low-medium heat until the butter is just melted. Then quickly bring to the boil, immediately remove from the heat and add the flour. Beat together with a wooden spoon until all the flour is incorporated and a dough is formed.


5. Placing the saucepan back on the heat, cook the dough while beating until it is smooth and comes clean away from the sides of the saucepan. Turn off the heat, and tip the dough into a shallow dish to cool, spreading it out so that the surface area is greater and it cools faster.


6. When the dough is tepid, place back into the saucepan and slowly add the beaten eggs, bit by bit, beating the dough between each addition. You've added enough eggs when the dough falls when gently shaken off a wooden spoon (you might not use all the egg).


7. At this stage, spoon the choux mix into a piping bag (or plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off). Pipe 2 cm diameter circles on lined or greased baking trays.


8. Take out the craquelin from the freezer and using a cutter, cut discs from each sheet, roughly the same size as the piped dough. Perch these discs on top of each piped choux pastry; half with berry discs and half with matcha.
   
   
9. Sprinkle water on the trays around the piped choux (but don't get the dough wet) and bake for 15 min. Then, without opening the oven, reduce the temperature to 170 °C/375 F/Gas mark 3 and bake for another 10 min, or until crispy and golden brown.
   
   
10. Remove the profiteroles from the oven and using a knife or skewer, make a small hole at the bottom of each profiterole to allow steam to escape. Bake again for a further 3 min, after which you can leave to cool on a wire rack.
    
    
11. When ready to fill the profiteroles, make the holes on the bottom big enough to pipe into. Take your chocolate creams and whisk them separately with an electric whisk until whipped and holding their shape. Spoon into a piping bag (or plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off) and pipe white chocolate cream into the berry craquelin profiteroles, and pipe dark chocolate cream into the matcha flavoured ones.

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Temper, when used in the context of emotions, the meaning is usually one of flaring anger, rambunctiousness and roiling rage. However, one could perhaps also use it to refer to an action; the curbing and balancing of emotions. Much like the craquelin tempers the puffed rise of choux, our feelings temper each other through wars waged on the emotive battlefield; cannons roaring exultations of Pride, plumes of Rage-fire, sing-song trumpets of Joy, wisps of Despair carried by dark winds. When the earth shakes and our cores rock, our instincts push forward one of such marching factions - whether it be to fight or flight, rage or retreat. In the midst of such chaos and exuberant emotion, sometimes we must harness such raw power and channel it into a spear of willpower.

How often does Fear hold us in its vice; propelled into withering rejection of the cause, a need to flee by any means possible? Fear masks itself with veils of rationality, pulling visages to justify a knee-jerk reaction. Anger, easily understood to potentially explode in an inferno; Sadness, wallowing in itself like an ouroboros; Happiness can spiral uncontrollably into reckless abandon beyond wellbeing.

Though we must not quell all emotions (for they always hold a truth of our own authentic impression of the cause), we must remember to summon other inclinations lest we fall overtly into ourselves. Tempering our emotions to respond without overreaction leads to striving forward, constructively and moderately, and taking the time to reflect on the situation as well as the consequences. Hear and listen to your feelings, but do not singularly fall headlong into them.

Sweet and Sour: Mini Lemon and Lime Curd Ginger Doughnuts

Doughnuts have moved so far from some greasy, soggy coffee snack you see cops scoffing down. The versatility of doughnuts is similar to many other baked goods; a respect and familiarity in the making of the dough, while playing around with everything else around that soft, pillowy crumb. And not only is it fun to make (how often can you 'bake' something by deep frying), it is a pure and unadulterated pleasure when eaten. When straight out of the fryer - sugared, cooled and filled - a doughnut feels more yielding than hot butter though a knife. Fresh doughnuts are like bakers' pillows; almost achingly soft when you bite into them, soothing your pains and worries akin to the moment of resting your head after a weary day. The delicate crumb gives a sense of a solid mass while also giving a melting mouthfeel, and the fried outside has a tantalising taste quite distinct from oven-baked goods - a combination of that desirable flavour that seems to resound and make us crave every kind of deep fried food, as well as that caramelised savoury sensation associated with browning sugars present in the dough.

To this, everything else is fair game; iced, sugared, filled with jam, custard, curd or even marmalade (perhaps even a savoury combination - will investigate). What you can do with the blank slate of a doughnut is easy. Though I did play around with the dough itself to give a deeper spiced flavour by adding the ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon as well as using brown sugar, it is the accessories to the crime, so to speak, that makes a doughnut truly shine. I used lemon and lime curd, since the lime curbs the acid sourness of the lemon and allows the citrus sweetness to come to the fore, while the choice of curd over jam meant a velveteen mouthfeel that helps soften the sourness and dilute the sweetness. I tried to evoke the pairing of citrus fruit and ginger to give another dimension by adding some ground ginger to the sugar dusting on the outside (perhaps an excuse to eat these during a cold). Having a filling rather than a dip gives better enjoyment of the act of eating a doughnut, and there's nothing more satisfying than sinking your teeth into a fresh, sugar crystal-coated doughnut filled with a contrasting ingredient, both in texture and taste.

Makes ~30 mini doughnuts, depending on size.

• 500 g Plain flour
• 80 g Dark brown sugar
• 300 ml Full fat milk, slightly warm
• ~7 g Dried yeast
• 75 g Butter, cubed and softened
• 1 tsp Ground ginger
• 1 tsp Ground nutmeg
• 1 tsp Ground cinnamon
• 1 Lemon and Lime Curd
• 1 litre Frying oil

For the sugar coating:

• 150 g Caster sugar
• 3 tsp Ground ginger
• Pinch of sea salt

1. Put a tbsp of the flour, 1 tbsp of the sugar, the milk and the yeast into a large bowl. Mix well and leave in a warm place for 15 min. This creates a pre-ferment called a sponge, which allows the yeast to become active by feeding on the sugars present while the warmth promotes yeast growth and activity.


2. Meanwhile, add the rest of the flour, sugar, butter and ground spices into a large mixing bowl (or a standing electric mixer bowl if you have one). When the sponge is ready, add this to the bowl and mix. When mixed fully, knead the dough in the bowl until smooth and elastic. Cover the bowl in a damp cloth and leave for 1 hour at room temperature, or until doubled in size.


3. Knead the dough again briefly to knock out the air, before dusting the surface of a clean table with flour. Tip the dough onto the table and form into a ball. Roll out with a rolling pin until 1 cm thick, before using a 6 cm diameter cutter or glass to cut out circles of dough. Alternatively, instead of rolling the dough out, you can just tear off tablespoon amounts of dough and shape in your palms. Place these on a lined baking tray, leaving room between them and continue until all the dough is used up, reserving a small piece to test the frying oil later.


4. Cover the doughnuts with a damp cloth and leave for 1 hour, or until doubled in size. Meanwhile, add all the ingredients for the sugar coating together into a large shallow bowl. When the doughnuts are ready, heat the oil in a large saucepan (at least 3-4 inches deep of oil). Test the oil with the small piece of leftover dough; when it sizzles, the oil is hot enough.


5. Turn the heat to medium and lower the doughnuts carefully into the oil (use a metal basket/slotted spoon). Fry the doughnuts in batches without overcrowding the saucepan. The doughnuts should be light and puffy enough to float and be buoyant. When the underside of the doughnut is golden brown, flip them in the oil and fry the other side. Remove when both sides are golden brown and leave to drain off the oil, either in a metal basket or wire rack over a plate, or on some kitchen paper.


6. When the doughnuts are drained but still hot, place them into the bowl of flavoured sugar and coat the whole doughnut with sugar. Leave them on a wire rack to fully cool.


7. Next, make a small hole in each doughnut with a knife. Take the curd and spoon into a piping bag fitted with a narrow nozzle tip and pipe curd into each doughnut, until the curd begins to just start coming back out when you remove the nozzle. If you don't have a piping bag, use a ziplock sandwich bag by filling with curd, closing and making a narrow hole in the bag by cutting off one of the corners.


8. Store in an airtight container for a few days at room temperature, or in the fridge for a week.

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I remember back in Irish class, our brilliantly crazy teacher went around asking every single person what their favourite Chinese dish was. Almost everyone, if not all, besides me answered 'sweet and sour'. Such a popular pairing lies together like fraternal twins; complementing each other with some primordial likeness, and yet so distinctly different when fully considered alone. There is a part of us that enjoys the discomforting sourness in life, whether it be through sacrifice or a sense of twisted pleasure. Schadenfreude can often prevail in differing degrees; suffering sweetened into enjoyment. We wince and flinch at such troubles, but with one eye open and peeking. Our desire to see such sour moments in life become sweetened nectar to us.

But what of sourness stemming from our own actions? We often know the ugly truths in our life and yet choose to dust a sugar coating; burying the sour acts within what would otherwise spoil what happiness and carefree frivolity we feel from the moment. We create a sense of sweet and sour; ignoring, rejecting and hiding away from the acidity of life we must confront and deal with - wounds we must make through the tearing and rending of emotions. We do what we think is best, what seems right and what is expected of us; dusting a sense of happiness and affirmation over what we know to be untrue. And we lull ourselves into such false surface ideals. Fear and carelessness lead us to repeat proclamations of security and safety, assuring ourselves that what we continue to do and how we continue to treat others is the path to take - and yet deep down we know we are unwilling to scratch the surface of the ugly truth and taste a hint of that exposing sourness. We refuse to hurt those around us, refuse to throw ourselves into catharsis; we reject tasting a moment of sourness within, and continue to see through sweetened lenses without. When such things nest in our minds with a sour core, they will inevitably spill forth past the sugar coating. And one cannot hide the true reflexive, reactive wince you show.

The Unknown: Vegan Turkish Delight Meringues

Who knew that the leftover liquid from canned chickpeas could go on to make meringues in place of egg whites? I can't even fathom how someone in the world looked at the run-off from canned chickpeas and thought 'you know, that could replace eggs to make a meringue' (though considering the dietary hurdles they encounter, it was probably a vegan). The unassuming mind can be baffled at this phenomenon, moreso if one is familiar and versed in the ways of egg foams. Upon discovering such an alternative that readily circumvents the age-old, illustrious egg, I remember reading Harold McGee's On Food And Cooking and the principles of egg foaming and meringue. Egg whites, rich in protein, form a cohesive protein network when air is incorporated, acting as a scaffold that supports the tiny air bubbles, with the water content giving tension and strength to this construct. Add sugar, and this scaffold strengthens. So with this in mind, chickpea water (in fact, one could surmise any viscous, high protein liquid) shouldn't be too surprising as a source of crunchy, mallow-like, sweet meringue. Chickpeas, high in protein and soaking for however long in water, will undoubtedly grant their protein richness to their submerged medium. Thus, chickpea water can act much like egg whites; able to form a strong enough protein scaffold to sustain and contain incorporated air bubbles. Sugar will again strengthen this, and this chickpea water foam will have enough constitution to endure baking.

These meringues are light and delicate, like eating solidified sugar mist. They seem even more melting in the mouth than egg meringues, perhaps owing to the sheer scarcity of chickpea liquid they are borne from as well as their original, pure fluid state. In concert to this sense of palatable lightness, I added rosewater and drizzled dark chocolate as a sort of inspiration taken from Cadbury's Turkish Delight (without the jelliness). Making these vegan meringues differs somewhat from egg white-derived varieties. I found them to be less firm and stiff than the cloud-like chiffon foams, and any intricate crenellations from piping lost their shape when I tried using a star-shaped nozzle. Though this could be due to some incorrect machinations on my part (maybe beating too long), I still managed to form proper meringue. The pure alchemy of turning liquid to solid rings truest here, much more than other aspects of baking that have become the norm. Apply heat to an egg as is, and it will solidify. Do the same to chickpea water... and it becomes hot chickpea water. Made into meringue, however, shows the wonder of baking - of turning something into a product so unlike its predecessors. I made these as a curious experiment and am satisfied and pleased with the result; to me, vegan meringues act as one of the frontier vanguards to the magical qualities of baking. 

Makes ~50, three trays worth, depending on size.

• 1 Can of chickpeas (use chickpeas for cooking)
• 170 g Caster sugar
• 1 tsp Cream of tartar
• 1 tsp Rosewater
• 100 g ~50% Dark Chocolate
• Pinch of sea salt

1. Preheat your oven to the highest setting and line three large baking trays with baking paper.


2. Strain liquid from canned chickpeas into a clean, large mixing bowl, making sure there is no fat or oil present. Use a slice of lemon and rub along the inside of the bowl if you want to be sure. Reserve the chickpeas for cooking.


3. Using an electric whisk, whisk the chickpea liquid until it appears foam-like and bubbly, almost holding it's shape when you lift the beaters. This may take a good while so be patient.


4. After the liquid appears bubbly like soap, add the cream of tartar and the rosewater before adding the sugar gradually while beating with the electric whisk, a tablespoon at a time. Keep doing this until all the sugar has been added. Keep whisking until the meringue mix thickens and holds its shape.


5. Either spoon the meringue mixture into a piping bag (or a large sandwich bag with one of the corners cut off) and pipe the meringue onto the lined baking trays, or just use a teaspoon and dollop them on.


6. Place the trays of meringue into the oven and lower the oven to 300 °F/150 °C/Gas mark 2. Bake for 2 hours, rotating the trays between oven shelves halfway so that the lower ones bake properly. After the 2 hours, rotate the trays again before turning off the heat and leaving them in the oven to cool for another hour.


7. Once fully cooled, remove the meringues and place on top of a wire rack (if you have one) over a table lined with baking paper or tinfoil.


8. Melt the chocolate in a bowl over a bain marie (bowl resting on a saucepan of simmering water without letting the bowl touch the water). Once fully melted, stir in the salt and allow to cool slightly before putting into a small plastic sandwich. Twist and hold the opening closed firmly in your hand along with one of the bottom corners of the bag. Make a small hole by cutting the other bottom corner of the bag (the one you're not holding that should be pointing away from your hand), and squeeze firmly but gently to pipe the chocolate over the meringues. Alternatively, you can just dip the meringues in the chocolate, or spoon chocolate on top of them.


9. Leave to dry, before storing in an airtight container.

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The unknown occupies some void in our mind's plane of existence. When left to our own devices we tentatively tiptoe into our surroundings, casting our eyes, our minds and our feelings outward; tendrils of our presence and awareness creeping over the landscape, immersing ourselves over the terrain and the spectres lurking in the mist. Strangers and concepts amid the wasteland become known to us, and what was once a tundra filled with nooks and crannies and lurking shadows becomes a field of familiarity. We become encased in a bubble-like shield, our own universe existing as far as our awareness extends. What we know of the world and of ourselves and others become the norm, though fully aware of the presence of long lost secrets and nuggets of truths we leave untouched under the earth. We are safe, in the sunshine of knowledge, our mind's eye confident and sure of each hill, each person, each whisper of a breeze.

But what of the beyond? Once we are versed in things we know of to be true, how willing are we to accept the unknown? The unfathomable, the new, the unprecedented Schrödinger's Cat...? We observe plenty of what we know nothing of, and yet so much more lies beyond even that conscious truth. Flickers of phantasmal knowledge moves constantly around us like a miasma of wisdom and secrets to unlock, waiting to be tapped into. Hidden lies we keep from each other, bridled desires we yearn for, things we leave unsaid. In this parallel realm of unspoken thoughts and lingering emotion, of potential miracles and ways of life, how many lie just beyond our realisation? One can only be in awe; not because of what we know we are ignorant of, but of realising the vast amount of the unknown we aren't even aware of.

The Heart Fires: Chilli Chocolate Truffles

Truffles remain the next level of simple chocoholicism, taking the deep, dark, aromatic hum of the cocoa bean and placing such flavour onto a pedestal of velvety creaminess and softly-solid smoothness. Easy to make (albeit not baked I admit, but an exception will be made) and essentially only requiring two ingredients, they can be made for any occasion or gift; providing a light option for dessert when a sweet finishing note is needed for dinner or wrapped elegantly and presented to a loved one. Adding a pinch of salt allows the chocolate flavours to sing and meet their fullest potential, while the chilli allows for a dichotomy in taste; the creamy chocolate beginning that amplifies into a thrumming spike of warm heat at the throat. The supple coolness of double cream is able to tame and quench the fiery spice of the chilli, quelling it from being apparent when you first pop a truffle in your mouth, until a crescendo of heat flourishes when almost finished. What I find unique about truffles is in the simplicity of its creation and execution, but with a variety of textures and mouth-feel. The powdered outside is a subtle discomfort; dry cool cocoa dust that instantly dries your mouth until your teeth sinks into the brown, yielding flesh of each truffle and a flood of flush, gently whipped chocolate sends both taste and touch into realms of pleasure, before being tested by spicy fire as the truffle begins to finish, like an explosion of chilli with a chocolate flavoured fuse.

Makes a ~50, depending on size.

• 375 g ~50 % Dark chocolate, chopped or chips
• 250 ml Double cream
• 2 tsp Chilli flakes, less or more depending on taste
• 50 g Cocoa powder, sifted
• Pinch of sea salt

1. Put the cream and chilli flakes into a saucepan and heat on medium until just beginning to boil, allowing the chilli to infuse the simmering cream for a minute or two. Take off the heat.


2. Pour the hot cream into a fine sieve over a heatproof bowl containing the chocolate, removing the chilli flakes.


3. Stir the chocolate and cream together until the chocolate has fully melted, thus becoming ganache. Add the salt, stir, and leave to cool.


4. When the ganache has cooled and is beginning to thicken, beat thoroughly with an electric whisk to incorporate air. The ganache should increase in volume and become paler. Whisk until the ganache resembles mousse and is slightly stiff, with the consistency of lightly whipped cream.


5. Line a large baking pan with baking paper and using two teaspoons, make the truffles by spooning just under a teaspoon amount of ganache onto the tray. Do this with all of the ganache and then leave to chill in the fridge for an hour or until firm.


6. When ready, sift the cocoa into wide shallow bowl. Take the truffles using your hands and roll each one between your palms until the outside just begins to melt and becomes smoother. Toss them in the cocoa powder until fully covered and shake off the excess.


7. Repeat with the rest of the truffles and store in an airtight container in the fridge. If so desired, leave at room temperature before serving to warm up, or eat straight from the fridge.

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Desire. Anger. Love. Hatred. Such passions of the fire, such emotions and feelings likened to the fiery throes of hell and the belly of humanity; these are some of the truest, basest, strongest we humans can ever experience, leaving echoes and outermost ripples of pain, happiness and longing in their wake. We have an astounding capacity to feel these roaring emotions that many have attempted to capture, trying best to bottle that internal flame for the world to see. Acts of irrationality become our faults and freedoms; sparks that fly and flourish into wildfires and infernos; firestorms of the heart. These brave emotions we feel that burn us can be unquestioningly obvious and subtle. Roiling love can threaten to overcome our being, prickling our skin from the inside, consuming our breath and feeding on our thoughts, expunging excitement and passion and care as kindling for the next wave to spring from the heart. A slow, hateful rage can idly consume us, smouldering us into subservient, snarling embers until we are but shades of smoke left to haunt our bitter ashes. We are but mere pawns to such lively flames, our bodies but vessels for such forces that shatter and rebuild our very being; they fight against the shackles of our minds, yield to our appeasements, long for realisation and hunger for satiation.

Impressionism: Gluten-Free Dairy-Free Raspberry Ripple Chocolate Brownies

I am not normally one for presentation or the appeasement of visual attraction in the things I bake. Though I appreciate something I make to look the way it's supposed to be, I don't have the finesse, panache, or patience for decoration, and am usually more concerned about the unadorned look and taste. The look of these brownies, however, do instil a sense of pride. I've long been underwhelmed by the idea of brownies; always preferring the amped up chocolate cake over the inbetween ambiguity of fudge and sponge that are most brownies. The saving graces of a brownie is its relative simplicity in execution, universal appeal and extremely ergonomic sharing potential. Never one to live and let a recipe lie unaltered, I decided to find some form of brownies I could lavish my own hunger and joy on, and here it is. This flourless, gluten-free and dairy-free brownie was originally concocted in a previous unrealised idea of rippling peanut butter through a brownie mixture. After discovering my love of curd, I began toying with the idea of weaving swathes of it through the dark chocolate mass with an age-old complement; raspberry, since raspberry is to chocolate as satin is to a courtier. Like some art nouveau fresco, the swirls are what makes this brownie such a pleasure to have, in baking and eating. The contrast draws the eye like a vein of some semi-precious jewel embedded in the dull, murky chocolate depths. The lack of uniformity means every bite yields varying amounts of chocolate and raspberry, giving a characteristic unpredictability compared to the average, homogenous brownie. The burst of sweetness from the semi-set curd amidst the drier, deeper, solid sweetness found amidst the chocolate lightens the flavour while eating, mimicking a thick sauce.

I've made these brownies twice; with and without whisking the egg whites. The choice of egg preparation is entirely up to you. Not whisking the egg whites means the process is supremely easier and straightforward, the swirls of curd are more defined, and you end up with solid, heavy blocks of brownies with a fudgy, smoother texture as shown in the photos. I recommend it to those who don't trust themselves folding and knowing when the egg whites are ready. Whisking the egg whites aerates the mixture, giving a more crumbled consistency and creates more of a crust on the edges. The incorporated air also bubbles in the oven, which makes the swirls of raspberry curd less defined.

You can also use different fats i.e.: butter or coconut oil. Butter is perfectly delicious, adding a richness of flavour and mouth-feel to the brownies, while also giving softer brownies when chilled. Coconut oil is of course a good alternative for full dairy-free brownies (when using it in the curd as well), and any sacrifices in using this instead of butter is negligible in my opinion. Using the oil really does give a sense of excusable indulgence, but will give a harder texture when at room temperature and chilled. It will also add a hint of coconut flavour, so be wary of this incase your palate is against this.

Makes a ~32, depending on your baking tray.

• 225 g ~70 % Dark chocolate, chopped or chips
• 225 g ~50 % Dark chocolate, chopped or chips
• 450 g Butter (or Coconut oil)
• 2 tbsp Vanilla extract
• 400 g Caster sugar
• 6 Eggs, separated (make sure no yolk leaks into the whites)
• 300 g Ground almonds
• Raspberry curd, room temperature

Note: Here, I incorporate whisked egg whites to the brownies as a means to mimic the crumbled texture that flour normally bestows on cakes and sponges. However, if you prefer a more solid, fudgy texture (or are subdued by laziness), simply  forgo Step 4 and 6, and add in whole eggs – yolk and all – in Step 5.

1. Preheat your oven to 170 °C/325 °F/Gas mark 3.


2. Melt all the chocolate and butter/coconut oil in a bain marie as follows; heat a saucepan with water until steaming, then leave on low-medium heat and place a large heatproof mixing bowl on top with the chocolate and butter/coconut oil, stirring as they melt. The bowl should sit on the saucepan snugly but the bottom should not touch the water.


3. When this is fully melted, remove from the bowl and add the vanilla and sugar. Allow to cool until warm.


4. Meanwhile, whisk the egg whites with an electric hand mixer in a large glass or metal bowl until white, foamy, and able to form peaks.


5. Add the ground almonds and egg yolks to the chocolate mixture and mix thoroughly. Then, add a third of the whisked egg whites and mix vigorously until fully incorporated. Doing this when working with whisked egg whites or meringue helps with the folding process.


6. Gently fold in the remaining two-thirds of egg whites into the chocolate mixture, making sure the egg whites are fully incorporated without knocking the air out.


7. Line a deep baking tray (approx. 40 x 25 x 5 cm; 15 x 10 x 2 in) with baking paper and pour in the brownie mix, scraping the bowl clean.


8. With the raspberry curd, pour a line all along the surface of the brownie mixture. You don't need to cover the entire surface, just so that the surface has equally distributed raspberry curd and brownie mixture on top.


9. Next, take a teaspoon, chopstick or any thin utensil, whatever is at hand, and swirl along the surface of the mixture, so that the curd and brownie mixture partially mix but are still distinct and separate from each other, creating a swirling pattern. Don't over-swirl, as the curd and mixture will become fully incorporated and mixed, losing the defined swirls of raspberry.


10. Place in the oven for 30-45 min, or until the top is set but the mixture still has a little wobble when moved. Allow to cool.


11. I find it easier to refrigerate the brownies in the tray before taking them out, as they can be very soft-set and may buckle when lifting out at room temperature.

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The concept of impressionism, from my understanding, is the use of technique that involves an undefined application to express form and body. Less stake is claimed in replicating the absolute objectivity of surroundings, and more emphasis is placed on recreating what we see with our  own perception and interpretation, moulded through our own sensory and mental processes. An often simplified description of impressionist works define them as being indecipherable when viewed up close, and a sense of comprehension is only achieved when a step is taken back and all the individual components and brush strokes meld together to form an overall idea and subject matter.

It is easy to bake these brownies and marvel at the swirls that coalesce on the surface, roiling and tumbling in on themselves as they do. What is it that makes these snaking tendrils that curl along the surface so enticing to the eye? Perhaps a mix of chaos and conformity; the unrestrained splash of unfettered movements that have no subtle message but with which our mind instinctively tries to organise. We try to seek some enigmatic pattern while letting our eyes wander, invoking some primordial need to classify, sequester, divide and unify. Control the uncontrollable, put chaos to order.

Many times in our lives we dissect our thoughts and feelings, we elucidate the meanings behind our actions and the actions of others, we stare into the void of our minds seeking to find patterns, reasons, and solutions to things we cannot control. We take an idea in our mind and suspend it, examining it and trying to find what we want, some kind of understanding. Whether it be a whisper of love, a reason for belief or the inexplicable behaviour of others, we focus in on the specifics; trying to find some catharsis in this cage of investigation we form around this idea, going over the details and events over and over again in minute detail, while all else outside screams and rails at the walls.

Speak a word a thousand times and it loses comprehensible meaning; noise echoing a lost message. Stare at an object up close for an age and it's function and use becomes lost in observations of its physical form. Live a life with repeated motions and all flavour is lost, becoming a dull hum amid the thrum of each day. The same can be said for reflection; wander too long in this quest for happiness, of answers to questions you ask yourself in the deadened silence of sleepless nights, and you will be lost.

Stare too long into the face of your own humanity and the reflection you see will be the face of madness. Sometimes, you have to remember to take a step back and realise it's just a brownie.

Fruit Curd, etc. (Dairy-Free, No-Butter Option)

Before making this at home, I have no recollection of ever having any type of curd before. Upon my first taste of the lemon curd for making croissants, it was as if a small part of my gastronomic life awakened from some deep hidden place. Everything about curd is luxuriously delicious to the senses; the smell of sweet fruits, the smooth, velveteen texture, the sight of such lively golden and fuchsia shades, the satisfying (almost obscene) sound of a heavy spoonful as it falls... and the taste! Let no man or woman tell you butter should ever be refused, most of all curd. The butter and eggs add a full-bodied roundedness that blunts the sharp tartness of lemon and raspberry, mellowing the flavour and taming it back into levels of decadent comfort. I'm definitely a chocolate kind of guy, but if sugar sweets and candy tasted like this, I would be a convert.

If you've never had curd before, I implore you to make this (since all it requires is bubbling over a saucepan). Not only can it be used in baking as I have done in recipes here, but acts as the perfect accompaniment to a multitude of things; as a last hurrah on a pavlova, poured over fresh fruit for a quick dessert, drizzled hot over ice cream for an extra level of comfort. Even a simple spoonful is enough as a solution for something small when the indulgent cravings strike. Whatever you use it for, I beg of you to make this, as it's sure to warm the most frigid of moods. Also, I haven't explored this theory, but I'm of the opinion you a curd from any fruit is possible, provided it that can be juiced.

If looking for a healthier, dairy-free alternative, using coconut oil works perfectly well, provided you have no qualms with a dash of coconut flavour in your curd. In fact, I find that it works to heighten the fruit flavours, giving the inherent tartness more presence since it is not masked by the richness of butter. Also, be aware that at room temperature and temperatures below this, the coconut oil causes the curd to be thicker and more set than the butter version.

Adapted from Nigella's How To Eat

Makes 1 portion

• 2 Lemons, 2 limes, 2 oranges, or 500 kg frozen raspberries
• 2 Eggs
• 2 Egg yolks
• 150 g Caster sugar
• 100 g Butter (or Coconut oil)

1. If making a citrus fruit curd, zest the fruit and set aside, and squeeze the juice. (If making lemon and lime curd, or any combination of fruit flavours, use both types of fruit and add an extra whole egg to the recipe in order to compensate for the increased liquid).

   
   
2. If using raspberries, tip the frozen berries into a saucepan and heat until thawed, stirring occasionally. Then use a handheld blender or food processor to pureé. Use a plastic sieve with fine holes to remove the seeds; this may require awhile but be sure to be patient. If you want the maximum amount of liquid removed; heat the juice on medium heat while stirring until boiling, and continue to reduce for 5 min. However, this is not necessary.

   
   
3. Beat the eggs, yolks and sugar until fully mixed, then add this and the butter/coconut oil, fruit juice into a saucepan.

   
   
4. Heat gently on low heat, whisking occasionally with a hand whisk.
   
   
   - The low heat minimises the chance of the eggs curdling and cooking into scrambled eggs. If you feel like this is beginning to happen, take the pan and put in a shallow dish of cold water and whisk vigourously. Alternatively, add a tablespoon of cold butter or coconut oil and beat vigorously. Repeat if the mix still looks curdled and lumpy. You can also do the same with eggs instead, though expect the curd to be thicker in consistency if so. Worse comes to worse, if you find the curd overcooked slightly and has cooked egg solids, sieve them out from the curd at the end.

5. When the mix has thickened to the consistency of custard, remove from the heat and pour into a wide bowl and stir in the zest. Allow to cool, or use immediately if used hot/warm.

   
   
6. Keep in the fridge and use within one week, and can be warmed again in the microwave by heating for 10-20 second bursts until hot/warm enough. Can also be frozen for a month, just allow to defrost in the fridge before use.

Tear and Share: Cranberry and Walnut Cinnamon Rolls

In celebration of Cinnamon Roll Day last month, a traybake of delicious spiraling baked chaos was necessary. Considering this was the one and only time I have ever attempted a sweet dough so far, I would say this was a resounding success and one which I was particularly proud of. Despite doubts of adequate proving timing, I assure you that trusting yourself in the development and buoyant elasticity with which the dough obtains requires an acceptably short leap of faith. Albeit slightly monstrous in size, these cinnamon rolls had enough sweetness amid the sea of airy bread to not be overwhelming, and the addition of a tangy orange glaze gives a sprightliness to the syrup-soaked buns. The options of filling is of personal preference, and I chose two contrasting alternatives for a different texture and flavour. Walnuts add a woody depth of flavour while adding a desirable crunch amid the pillowy soft bread, while the use of a dried fruit soaked beforehand gives a softer, supple experience, with the occasioanl burst of succulent sweetness. A hearty breakfast or teatime treat with a cup of tea, with the added pleasure of tearing a bun for yourself and others to share.

Adapted from Patrick Ryan's How to make cinnamon buns

Makes around 30

• 1 kg Strong white flour
• 2 tsp Salt
• 100 g Light brown sugar
• 30 g Instant yeast
• 150 g Butter, softened
• 400 g Milk
• 3 Eggs, plus one yolk for glazing
• Flavourless oil

For the fillings:

• 100 g Dried cranberries
• 100 g Walnuts
• 2 Oranges, zest and juice
• 200 g Light brown sugar
• 4 1/2 tsp Ground cinnamon
• 200 g Butter, softened

For the glaze:

• 100 g Caster sugar

1. Put flour in a large mixing bowl and add salt, sugar and yeast, keeping the latter separate from the other two. Cut the butter into cubes and rub into the flour with your fingers, until no large chunks of butter remain.
   
   
2. Pour in the milk and add two eggs, mixing together with your hands until completely incorporated and mixed, forming a cohesive, soft dough. Turn out onto a clean surface and knead to develop the gluten strands for around 10 min and the dough is elastic and smooth.
   
   
3. Oil a large bowl and place the dough in. Cover with a damp cloth and leave to prove for 90 min.
   
   
4. During this time, combine the dried cranberries with the zest and juice of the oranges and leave to soak. Crush the walnuts with a mortar and pestle, or a ziplock bag and rolling pin/mallet/hard utensil until just smaller than the size of a pea. Set aside for later.
   
   
5. Meanwhile, mix the softened butter reserved for the filling with the sugar and cinnamon until well combined.
   
   
6. Grease two deep baking trays with butter before lining with baking paper. If you only have one tray, you can bake the rolls in batches.
   
   
7. After 90 min, check the dough. It is finished proving when doubled in size. When it is done, tip it out of the bowl and separate into two halves. Take one half and knead for a minute or two to knock out the excess air. Then roll out into a rectangle, to about half a centimetre thick and 30 cm long.
   
   
8. Spread the cinnamon butter onto the rectangle dough, all the way to the edges. Drain the cranberries and reserve the juice, squeezing excess juice out, before sprinkling evenly on top of the cinnamon butter spread.
   
   
9. Starting with the long side of the rectangle, begin rolling up the dough tightly into a log shape. Then begin cutting the dough into slices approximately every 5 cm. Place these side by side into the baking tray, spiral of filling facing up.
   
   
10. Repeat this process with the other half of the dough, sprinkling the crushed walnuts before rolling up and slicing.
    
    
11. Cover the trays with a damp cloth and leave to prove and rise for 45 min.
    
    
12. When almost ready to bake, preheat the oven to 200 °C/400 °F/Gas mark 6.
    
    
13. When the rolls have risen and feel bouncy when touched, beat the remaining egg and yolk together and brush on top of the rolls.
    
    
14. Bake the buns for 10 min, before lowering the temperature to 180 °C/350 °F/Gas mark 4 for a further 20 min. Rotate the tray if the buns further inside/outside are browning more quickly, and if baking more than one tray at the same time, switch trays if one is browning more than the other.
    
    
15. During the baking, pour the reserved orange juice from the cranberries into a pan with the caster sugar to make the glaze. Gently heat, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Then bring to the boil for 5 min and set aside.
    
    
16. When the rolls are finished, remove from the oven and brush with the orange glaze until all of it is used up. Transfer onto a wire rack to cool by lifting the baking paper.

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When someone bakes, it's special. Baking is inherently unique and different from cooking on a day to day basis. The latter is a requirement for sustenance, but baking is more than just a need to do so. It's a conscious decision to take the time out in the day, set aside minutes to hours of our life to create something unrequired with the pure aim for personal achievement but most of all, the joy we wish to share with others. In baking, it's a slow long prove analogous to dough, where we feed our love and desire for happiness in the world into a simple mix of ingredients. And then we give this love away, metamorphosed from the ethereal pool of emotions into a solid, physical representation, with the hope that it fills people with joy in one of the basic ways possible; eating. We give our love in baked form, we take from this the happiness and enjoyment it brings.

"I'm just a cinnamon roll, standing in front of an eater, asking them to love the baker."

Every relationship we have in our lives, every soul we touch is themed by an underlying transaction; a give and take. We can elucidate any interaction we have in society as an oblivious sharing of thoughts, stories and experiences, sharing our emotions and opening ourselves to the those who do the same ritual with us; giving and taking ourselves in the most basic forms of time, energy, and communication that builds into a construct of emotional investment that we diffuse into others and receive in return. We share ourselves amongst the throngs of fellow souls in this roiling sea of life, giving parts of ourselves in every facet of our day, portioning and rationing slices of our essence as a person in exchange for something we hope to be equivalent. When we share a piece of ourselves, we do it with love and well wishes, with happiness, for the improvement of our means in life and success in peace of mind; leaving an emptiness with which we hope another can fill.

But not all life can be so idyllic in practice. We share with choice, but there will be moments when our resolve falters. Desperation and selfishness, fear and disregard will overpower our soul, and we tear at the world. In our moments of chaos we tear at ourselves, but in tune with human nature we tear at those who we care for and who care for us. We make a niche in peoples' lives, we show love and intimacy, only to tear what we desire and require from them, like barbed wire through silken cloth before casting them aside into the forgotten wind. We find people in this world who draw us to them with some indefinable quality or with some simple parameter we crave, and in our chaotic need for fulfilment through mind, body and/or soul, we tear at their life like some rabid dog, taking our pound of flesh. We tear and share, biting into the sweet dough of happiness, willingly shared or harshly taken. 

The Dark and The Light: Dark Chocolate and Lemon Curd Croissants

And so I give the first representation of my ramblings in baked form; lemon curd croissants and dark chocolate croissants with almonds. Two delicious, mouth-watering viennoiserie; one citrusy and sweet like a hazy summer, the other dark and lusciously bitter like the autumn earth, both decadently and unashamedly buttery. As arduous as the process of lamination is in baking, let me tell you the results are most definitely worth it. The full-rounded flavour and moist interior of the croissants, with a flaky and toasted outside is divine, and infinitely better than manufactured husks you buy in plastic supermarket packaging. The lemon and chocolate fillings give a surprise and a bountiful bite, and both are good contrasts to each other, while complementing the voluptuous richness of the pastry. Enjoy both flavours together, for the best soothing of the soul.

Adapted from Paul Hollywood's How to Bake

Makes around 30, takes 2 days

• 1 kg Strong white flour
• 20 g Salt
• 160 g Caster sugar
• 20 g Instant yeast
• 600 ml Chilled water
• 600 g Chilled butter
• 1 Egg for egg wash
• Lemon curd
• Almonds

Chocolate ganache filling: (Make the day before use)

• 250 g Dark chocolate (50-85 % cocoa solids), broken into pieces
• 250 g double cream

1. Heat the double cream in a saucepan on medium-high heat until boiling. As soon as it starts bubbling, take off the heat and pour into a heatproof bowl containing the chocolate. Stir until all the chocolate is melted and cool. Put in the fridge to harden before use.
   
   
2. Put flour in a large mixing bowl and add salt, sugar and yeast, keeping the latter separate from the other two. Add water and mix, kneading gently in the bowl until the dough is fairly stiff. Shape into a ball, lightly dust with flour and leave to chill, covered, in the fridge for an hour.
3. Lightly flour your tabletop, take your dough and roll out into a 60 x 20cm rectangle, roughly 1cm thick. Get your butter from the fridge and flatten by thwacking with a rolling pin, and then rolling out between two sheets of baking paper to about 40 x 19cm.
   
   
4. Place the slab of butter onto the dough, covering the bottom two-thirds, leaving a little space between the butter and edge of the dough. If the butter is softened to make handling difficult, take the baking paper the butter was rolled out on, put onto the dough butter side down, then peel the paper off. Scraping off any soft butter and shaping with a knife is also fine, though be sure to keep the butter layer thickness as even as possible.
   
   
5. Fold the uncovered dough down one third of the butter, then cut the remaining exposed butter and put on top of the dough you just folded. Now fold the exposed dough that the butter was on over the butter, leaving you with a folded block of alternating dough and inside butter layers. Pinch the edges of the dough together, sealing in ('locking in') the butter inside the dough. This is known as the English method of adding fat to laminated dough, and gives extra layers to give more puff. Put in a plastic bag and refrigerate for an hour.
   - A good resource: http://www.bakeinfo.co.nz/Facts/Pastry/Puff-pastry
   
   
6. Take the dough out and on a lightly floured surface, a shorter end facing you. Roll out into a rectangle to 60 x 20cm. You may need to leave the dough to rest a few minutes to allow the dough and butter to soften and become pliable. When rolled out, do a 'book fold'; fold both ends of the rectangle inwards towards each other, leaving an inch between them. Then fold one half over the other, like closing a book. Put back into the plastic bag and chill for an hour.
   
   
7. Repeat this folding process once or twice more, refrigerating after each time, depending on how many layers you desire.
   - There is ambiguity over how many folds (and therefore how many layers of butter-dough) should be in a croissant. There even exists an equation: x(f + 1)ⁿ, where x = number of layers from initial butter addition, f = number of folds made per folding session, n = number of folding sessions. I had 2 layers of butter-dough from the English method of butter addition, in total 2 folding sessions and folded 3 times each session, so 2(3 + 1)² = 32 layers.
   
   
8. After folding however many times you choose, leave to rest in the fridge overnight.
   
   
9. When ready to bake, line six baking trays with baking paper (or however many you have available and reuse). Lightly flour a large work area and roll out the dough into a rectangle, roughly 80 x 60cm and 7mm thick. Trim the edges to neaten them.
   
   
10. Cut the rectangle lengthwise into two, then cut tall triangles for shaping. At this point the dough for me was still relatively thick, so I rolled each triangle thinner before filling. Tug and stretch the triangle at the tip a little and fill with a teaspoon of lemon curd or ganache (omit these if baking plain croissants). Then start rolling the dough from the triangle base towards the point.
    
    
11. Put the croissants onto the baking trays, cover and leave to rise at room temperature until doubled in size, roughly 2 hours.
    
    
12. Preheat your oven at the highest setting, and whisk the egg with some salt for the egg wash. Brush the top and sides of the croissants and sprinkle the chocolate ones with almonds. When ready to bake, spray the insides of the oven with water to generate steam before placing the trays of croissants in. Immediately turn down the heat to 200°C/400 °F/Gas mark 6 and bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Remove and cool on a wire rack.
    
    
13. Store at room temperature in an airtight container, though I'd recommend not for longer than a week considering the lemon curd contains egg. If the croissants feel dry/stale, microwave for 10-20 seconds.

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As I sit here writing my first post, I'm struck by the double sidedness of writing a blog, and also of many aspects of life. For me, there is a continuous battle between discerning how I should think, feel and react when reflecting on situations I find myself in; where I stand as a consequence of the past decade and in the moments that occur in situ. I wouldn't say I have an inclination to predispose myself to others' whims and ways of life. Rather, I have become molded and shaped into a person who desires (or thinks I desire) certain things in life; one could say I've been conditioned to believe I want such things. Thus, I have a natural instinct to condone 'the path most determined' at the expense of the inner desires of my heart.

Baking is one such contention I hold, like a secret I'm afraid to fully embrace in the face of the world. There is a joy and a fear; a balance between fulfilment and coming up short. For those who enjoy baking, I wonder if the feeling is similar; this sense of revelment in the soul when you see ingredients amalgamating into a cohesive object, the feeling of soaring elation when you smell the heavy fug of melting butter, the dance in your heart when people show an unabashed sense of indulgence when they try a piece of fresh pastry you've baked. Baking has given me a unique emotion unrivaled in life, a sense of humble happiness and achievement in a world where such a things seem more and more clouded as our attention is divided to accommodate for more and more. The simple things, people always say.

I know, I know. I know.

'If it's something you love, just go for it!'

'Why spend your life doing something you don't fully enjoy?'

'If your job isn't worth a #lovemyjob, it's not worth it.'

(Okay, the last one was just to show my contempt for people who use that hashtag. Barf.)

How many times have we been our own opponent, denying our true desires while sabotaging ourselves with our choices and actions? We can have a fear of admitting the truths in our lives, of saying our deepest regrets and wants for fear of giving it power, allowing such spoken words to become whole and real; a solid entity in the design of life to shine a light on our own predicaments. We chastise ourselves for hoping, while concurrently hoping.

And this is where I falter. Everyone has two sides they view life, the optimism and the pessimism, the light and the dark. I would say I naturally and instinctively fall towards the latter end of the spectrum, and so any dreams I have of baking for a living is clouded with a debilitating sense of fearful paralysis. What else is more frightening than the fear of a dream failed? Of chasing a dream until you wake with the realisation that you cannot fly high enough? I gather the self-doubts and reasons why I shouldn't – I daresay cannot – pursue things that instil happiness in me like a vast army, a throng of seething embodiments to send my courage faltering. This joy I gain, and so much doubt I have to be able to pursue it. Such is the how the light and the dark work.