Gateau Cookbook and Burlap & Barrel Spices & Tea Towel Giveaway
November 3, 2022 by JennyEnter our US giveaway to win one of five copies of Gateau: The Surprising Simplicity of French Cakes by Aleksandra Crapanzano along with five sets of Burlap & Barrel spices and tea towels. Be sure to check out Aleksandra’s events on our Calendar.
Gateau: The Surprising Simplicity of French Cakes by Aleksandra Crapanzano is a work of art filled with lovely illustrations and recipes for elegant French cakes.
Salted-caramel baulois; Chocolate marquise; Bittersweet chocolate espresso cake and Pierre Herme’s Instagram Sensation Explained are a few examples of the recipes here. The author provides pages of detailed information with regard to soaking syrups; fillings; marmalades; ganache; spice mixes and more.
The bonus here are Aleksandra’s headnotes which share stories and historic details. (Example in the recipe we are sharing below.) While there are no actual photographs of the finished desserts the illustrations are lovely and the extensive instructions provided by the author make up for the lack of photos.
This book is a testament that elegant desserts can be approachable and “surprising simple” to create at home.
I wanted to bake one of the loaf cakes before this post went up – but deadlines got in the way. I hope to make the Yogurt cake (Gâteau au yaourt) this weekend as I made sure my grocery order had a few ingredients I needed to complete the recipe.
If you have a baker in your life, Gateau: The Surprising Simplicity of French Cakes makes the perfect gift this holiday season and/or showing up with a cake and a copy of this title will make any hostess feel appreciated.
One final note, do not be alarmed at all the syrups shared in this recipe, Aleksandra provides them for variety and different options should you wish to try a different flavor.
Rum baba (Baba au rhum)
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A few months ago, we moved into the former apartment of an adored elderly couple. Mr. Rosoff had died in his nineties and his wife, Joanna, had decided to move into a smaller apartment. Everyone in the building had doted on them. Joanna’s letter to the board on our behalf is one I’ve tucked away for safekeeping. She had been a student at Radcliffe when her husband entered Harvard Law. They met, fell in love and went on to spend their lives together and raise three children in the apartment. Mrs. Rosoff had been a book editor and knew that John and I were both writers and the children of writers, and she had read some where that we, too, had fallen in love when we were at Harvard. I like to think she could imagine us—vague in appearance but not in emotion—at Café Pamplona, where generations of book-loving students met over espresso. And I could imagine a young Mr. Rosoff carrying Joanna’s library books as they walked along the Charles River. When we moved into their former home, I started finding things. Little hooks that, on closer inspection, were carved lions’ heads. Silk top hats that, I learned from the doorman, they wore in parades. And then one day I opened a bottom cabinet in the kitchen and discovered a whole collection of baking pans and molds, including a savarin mold and a kugelhopf mold. Clearly fate was at play. This recipe is in honor of Joanna Rosoff, who I think must have made an excellent baba au rhum. It also happens to be the very dessert of many a great chef, including Alain Ducasse, who holds a record number of twenty-one Michelin stars, and of my friend Daniel Rose, who serves perhaps the best baba in Paris at his restaurant La Bourse et la Vie. So good that I will forgo his chocolate mousse in favor of this boozy, yeasty classic.
A baba au rhum and a savarin are nearly identical and made with the same dough. A savarin, however, is imbued with kirsch and studded with candied fruit. A forkful of rum-soaked baba and Chantilly is one of life’s great pleasures. The history of this classic dates back to the early 1700s, when exiled Polish king Stanislas Leszczynski complained to his pastry chef, Nicolas Stohrer, that the kugelhopfs—the prized cake of Nancy, where he was living—were too dry. Stohrer responded by brushing his next kugelhopf with a rum soaking syrup, and a classic was born. Stanislas named it baba after his favorite fictional character, Ali Baba, and the name stuck. When Leszczynski’s daughter married King Louis XV, she moved to Paris and brought Stohrer with her—smart woman. He went on to open what remains today one of the great pâtisseries of Paris.
Many pastry chefs I know bake their baba a day in advance to let it really dry out. They then make the syrup in a Dutch oven, such as a round Le Creuset or Staub, and simply immerse the baba in the pot of syrup, ten minutes on one side, ten minutes on the other, a little swirl to wet the sides, and repeat until thoroughly moist but still intact. The bakers at Stohrer use fresh yeast. I’ve switched to dry yeast, which I then warm in hot milk. I’ve also switched from a savarin or kugelhopf mold to the more available Bundt. But I do love the simplicity of a savarin mold, its curved, slender sides and its wide well ready to be filled with Chantilly. This recipe is meant for a ten-cup Bundt. Most savarin and kugelhopf molds are half that size—simply halve the recipe if using one. You’ll find babas made with Armagnac and Grand Marnier instead of rum, and those avoiding alcohol will create spiced and citrus-based syrups, often scented with vanilla or orange blossom water. In summer, I like to make a zesty version with limoncello. If it’s very hot out, I might fold a little cold passion fruit purée and lime zest into a coconut Chantilly and use a white rum. (See pages 222–225 for more syrup suggestions.) Often, you will find mascarpone whipped into the Chantilly, thickening it slightly so that it can be piped through a pastry bag with a decorative tip. If you don’t make an apricot glaze, you may want to reserve a quarter cup of syrup to give the cake a last-minute drink.
Baba
4 ½ teaspoons / 14 grams dry yeast
1 cup whole milk
¼ cup / 50 grams granulated sugar
4 large eggs, at room temperature
2 teaspoons vanilla extract or vanilla paste
3 1/3 cups / 400 grams all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon fine sea salt
½ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
Empty the packets of yeast into a stand mixer fitted with the dough attachment or into a mixing bowl. In a small saucepan, heat the milk to 115°F, then pour it over the yeast and stir. Add the granulated sugar, stir and leave to rest for 10 minutes. Turn the mixer on low and add the eggs, one by one, then the vanilla, flour, salt and butter. Beat at medium-high speed for 6 minutes. The dough should be very elastic. Remove the bowl from the stand (if using) and form the dough into a soft ball. Cover the bowl with a damp towel and leave it to rise for about 90 minutes, or until it has doubled in size.
Generously butter a 10- or 12-cup Bundt pan. Transfer the dough to the Bundt and set aside for 1 hour, or until the dough has risen to the top of the pan.
Preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake the cake for 30 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. (If you halve the recipe and use a savarin mold, which is quite shallow, it will be done in 20–25 minutes.)
Rum syrup
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups good dark rum
The zest of 1 organic orange, in strips
While the baba is baking, prepare the syrup. In a medium saucepan, bring the granulated sugar and water to a simmer and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Off heat, stir in the rum and the zest. Set aside to infuse somewhere warm. Before using, remove the strips of zest and discard.
Transfer the baked baba to a cooling rack. Let it rest for 10 minutes, then slowly pour about a quarter of the rum syrup onto the cake. Let the cake absorb this for 5 minutes, then invert the cake onto the cooling rack. Slide a piece of parchment or foil under the rack to catch excess liquid. Pour all of the remaining rum syrup very slowly and in stages onto the warm cake, allowing it to soak in thoroughly as you go. Trust me – the cake will
and should absorb all the liquid, so use every last drop.
1 cup apricot jam
2 tablespoons rum
To make the glaze, heat the apricot jam with the rum in a microwave or over low heat to liquefy the jam. Press this through a sieve and discard the solids. Brush the cake, once it’s at room temperature, with the apricot glaze.
3 cups cold heavy cream
3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
The seeds of 2 vanilla beans
Baba syrups:
Needless to say, baba au rhum calls for rum. Lots of it, in fact. And the best rum you can afford to liberally douse on a cake. The Ritz Hotel in Paris makes an absurdly indulgent baba with Zacapa, a rum that’s been aged twenty-three years. Ludicrous! A rum that good should be drunk neat, at room temperature, not mixed with sugar and poured on cake. But the quality of the rum you use does matter, as it is the predominant taste in a classic rendition of the great baba.
But let the variations begin . . . In the winter, I add a little Grand Marnier and orange zest or perhaps simmer the syrup with cinnamon sticks, cloves and a star anise for a deeper, warming flavor. In the spring, I might use lemon zest for a bright, sunny taste. Or I might make a tropical syrup. In late summer, I’m likely to move from berries to stone fruit and add the seeds of a vanilla bean. The autumn calls for a Calvados syrup and sauteed apples. One of my favorite renditions calls for no rum but instead uses limoncello. Call this a baba Italienne. But don’t forget about the absolutely essential crème Chantilly. This, too, can be accented with flavor and even booze. The trick is to consider yourself a mixologist and choose complementary flavors that might pair well in a cocktail. The soaking syrup, the crème Chantilly and the accompanying fruit, if serving, should marry to great effect.
Armagnac syrup
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups good Armagnac
Serve in winter with prunes soaked in Armagnac and crème fraîche Chantilly.
Calvados syrup
2 cups / 240 grams light brown sugar
2½ cups water
1 ½ cups good Calvados or other apple brandy
1 cinnamon stick
Serve in the autumn with apples sautéed in a little brown butter and light brown sugar.
Cardamom rum syrup
This is nuanced with spice and softened with honey. I add a little quince paste to further round out the flavors. It’s a beauty of a syrup and can easily be used in a much smaller quantity over any number of autumn or winter cakes. When I think cardamom, rose leaps to mind and so I’ve added candied petals for decoration. A sprinkling of pistachios, ground to a fine powder, would be striking.
2 cups water
1 ½ cups / 120 grams light brown or raw sugar
1 cup honey
2 teaspoons quince paste, optional
3 cinnamon sticks
2 cloves
20 green cardamom pods
The zest of 1 organic orange, in strips
The zest of 1 organic lemon, in strips
1 ¼ cups good dark rum
Candied rose petals, for decoration
¼ cup whole pistachios, ground to a powder
In a medium nonreactive saucepan, bring the water, sugar, honey, quince paste, spices and zest to a simmer and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Off heat, set aside to infuse for a few hours. Or refrigerate for a day or two in a covered jar. Remove the spices and strips of zest before using. Gently reheat the syrup, remove from heat and stir in the rum. Decorate the baba with the rose petals and pistachio powder.
Citrus rum syrup
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups good dark rum
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier
The zest of 1 organic orange, in strips
The zest of ½ lemon, in strips
Grand Marnier and rum syrup
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ¼ cups good dark rum
¼ cup Grand Marnier
The zest of 1 organic orange, in strips
Limoncello syrup
1 ½ cups / 300 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
2 cups limoncello
The zest of 1 organic lemon, in strips
Spiced rum syrup
½ vanilla bean
3 cinnamon sticks
2 cloves
½ star anise
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups good dark rum
Add the vanilla and spices when dissolving the sugar in the simmering water. Set aside to infuse for a few hours. Remove the spices, reheat the syrup, remove from heat and stir in the rum.
Tropical syrup
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups rum
2 tablespoons Cointreau
The zest (in strips) and juice of 2 organic limes
Vanilla rum syrup
2 cups / 400 grams granulated sugar
2 ½ cups water
1 ½ cups good dark rum
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Apollonia’s brioche au rhum
Apollonia Poilâne may run the world’s best-known bread bakery, but she is nothing if not frugal. This is not to say she’s austere, as she’s anything but, nor that she’s parsimonious, as she couldn’t be more generous—what she has is that very French frugality that’s a mixture of practicality and a deep-rooted belief in the value of things. Stale bread becomes breadcrumbs or appears in cake or granola. Stale brioche becomes this riff on a baba au rhum. What you need to know: Use whole (not sliced!) brioche (or challah) that is stale—at least a few days old. (It must be made by hand or by a bakery. The supermarket variety is too filled with preservatives and therefore too soft and prone to disintegrate.) Pour the rum syrup of choice over the brioche and let it rest, covered, in the fridge for at least 6 hours and up to 24. Every few hours, turn the brioche over so that each side absorbs the soaking syrup. Just before serving, place about a quarter cup of rum in a skillet and use a long-handled match to carefully ignite it. Apollonia suggests a rhum agricole, which is made with cane sugar and not molasses, making it a little less sweet and a little more aromatic.) When the flames have died down, pour the rum over the brioche, and serve with Chantilly.
Special thanks to the publisher and Burlap & Barrel for providing five copies of this title in our promotion and five sets of spices and dish towels. Entry options include answering the following question in the comments section of this blog post.
Which recipe in the index would you like to try first?
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