Eclair ecstasy

I'm really giving my horn a good ol' toot today, aren't I? But I can't take all the credit for these suckers. The grand ol' dame of Australian cookery, Margaret Fulton, is responsible for the choux recipe. And Shannon Bennett, chef from Vue De Monde (do yourself an expensive favour), created the creme patisserie (I've modified it here). Pretty reliable stuff.

I had planned on posting about these a few months ago, but my piping technique was a little, shall we say, phallic. Bulbous on one end and peaked on the other, I had managed to whip up some crisp golden doodles for dessert. Not really suitable for the office.

It reminded me of a time growing up when we were served sausages and mash. As soon as Mum's back was turned, my brothers were plastering their food into an exact replica of David's most valuable assets. Bennetto's are a classy bunch.

On this occasion I managed to make a far less offensive dish. The eclairs are fairly uniform in shape and there'll be no awkwardness polishing them off in front of your colleagues.

The shining star of this is honestly the pastry cream. This is a new level of richness that just won't quit. The vanilla is so pronounced: it doesn't play second fiddle to the chocolate. It's a good idea to fill these as close to serving as possible. Sog reduction is key.

I've probably made about a thousand different chocolate sauces on this blog before, so at the risk of repeating myself, I've linked back to the crazy old baked cheesecake from a few months ago. You won't be sorry.

So I promise my next post will be far less bawdy. No more references to anatomy, puerile humour or titter-worthy gags. This is a once-off. I don't usually do this.

That's what she said...

Ingredients

1 cup water
125g butter
1 cup flour
4 eggs
1 tsp sugar
1 pinch salt

Preheat oven to 200ºC. Line a baking sheet with baking paper.

Bring the water and butter to the boil slowly, melting butter. Reduce heat and add flour, stirring until the mixture comes together in a ball. Remove from heat and add the mixture to the bowl of your electric mixer. Mix on high, adding eggs one at a time. Make sure you mix thoroughly to ensure the dough does not split. Add the sugar and salt and mix until incorporated.

Place the dough in a piping bag. Pipe onto a lined baking sheet in 10cm lengths. Bake for 20 minutes, then reduce heat to 180ºC and bake for a further 10-15 minutes, or until golden.

Creme patisserie

1 cup milk
1 cup cream
1 tsp vanilla paste
6 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
4 tbsp cornflour

In a medium saucepan, combine the milk, cream and vanilla and bring to the boi slowly. In the meantime, whisk together the sugar and egg yolks until pale and fluffy. Add the cornflour and whisk to combine.

Add 1/2 cup of warmed milk to the yolk mixture and stir to combine. Add to the remaining milk in the saucepan and return to a low heat. Stir constantly until the mixture thickens. You may wish to whisk the mix if it thickens to quickly. Once the creme has thickened and just boiled, remove from heat and strain into a bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and cool in the refrigerator.

To fill the eclairs, fill a piping bag with the creme patisserie. Poke a small hole in the ends of the eclairs and pipe in the creme.

Top with chocolate sauce.

Chocolate rhubarb tart

Winter always seems so depressing: it goes on forever, dark and gloomy, and I can never seem to get warm. The other night, I hopped into bed and it was so freezing, the one side of my body not touching the electric blanket ached the whole night through. It didn't help I'd been krumping half the night and left the window open in our bedroom for the midnight chill to settle in.

But I actually love winter. By the time summer has petered out in Melbourne, I'm well and truly ready for a bit of cool relief. Our summers are a slow burn, and culminate to a three to four week stint of stupidly hot weather that is just unrelenting. Autumn rolls in and we're instantly drinking red wine and making stews.

I love getting home, turning up the heater full bore and snuggling under the blanket until Matty gets home. Dinner is baked (often accompanied by a healthy glass of red) and we watch telly or read. (Who am I kidding? The only thing I'm reading after dinner is celebrity gossip websites. Britney's daily grocery shops won't perve on themselves.) Then it's time to make the made dash to the cold half of the house and warm up all over again.

Quince and pistachio tartlette

My friend Lesley and I have at least one thing in common: a very inappropriate sense of humour. We laugh as hard and as often as possible, quite often at the most inopportune moments.

Once, in a free meditation session at work designed to de-stress, we were doing neck stretches, turning our heads slowly side to side. We managed to face each other only once and as soon as we made eye contact we were away. We were asked more than once to stop laughing, but it was useless - I couldn't get the picture of her suppressed laughter out of my head. The snorts were unstoppable.

The 'out of order' attitude extends to our nicknames for each other: she's the Old Tart, and I'm the Tartlette. Some might be offended by these name tags, but I guess we're pretty assured of our affection for each other (either that, or we've both accepted the fact we're tarts and have moved on).

Pork, pistachio and sage sausage rolls

When we were growing up, no matter the occasion, birthdays, weddings, picnics, the kids always enjoyed Mum's homemade sausage rolls. It was our parents' default defence to the skirt-pulling, whingey-whiney, fusspot-extraordinaire children they had produced. A smear of tomato sauce and we were away.

Mum's recipe was simple: a healthy line of sausage mince over a square of puff pastry, finely chopped onions, some curly parsley and a little S&P. I must admit to this day I can't resist sneaking a few when Mum pulls them from the oven. But this woman is the high priestess of pastry so I'm bound to be powerless to her little savoury charms. As well as sausage rolls, she made family sized pies, pasties and all manner of sweet treats. It's any wonder I'm considering forming a support group for pastry addicts.

A Ritzy chocolate tart

You fool. You thought you'd had a chocolate tart before, didn't you? Well, I'm here to tell you you're wrong. This is the chocolate tart.

While planning our European adventure, I spent a little time (read: weeks and weeks) planning cooking classes. As it turns out, I only booked this one, but that's all I needed when this is the result.

We were in a rush on the day. We'd been to see Monet's garden and the bus ride took a little longer than we'd expected. It didn't help that I can't read a map to save myself and became hopelessly lost finding the venue.

Anchovy straws

In my wardrobe, I have a black dress hanging that will never sit on my skin again. It's light and billowy and sits just right on my body. Black's my favourite colour, whether it's a colour or not. This dress, to me, has it all.

Unfortunately, no one else seems to like that dress. Too big, too black, the neckline is all wrong. Isn't it funny how you can look in the mirror and see something entirely different to other people? Well, one day, I wish I had listened to those naysayers. It was my beautiful friends Flemmo and Hester's engagement party. Matt and I made the trek over the other side of town for the event.

Manly cake and the pâte à cigarette

So we've been here before. Remember Facecake? Whatever pâte à cigarette loses in its gross-sounding name, it makes up for with its amazing decorative versatility. Forget an ashtray full of butts. It's a sweet trim in whichever colour you prefer.

What does pâte à cigarette translate to, I hear you ask? Well, pâte means paste. That chicken liver pate doesn't quite have the same ring to it when you have to call it paste, now, does it? The nearest translation I can get for this term is cigarette biscuit, which, to be honest, leaves me no closer to a sexier rationale for the name.

Brioche three ways

I'll apologise in advance for this. To your bathroom scales and to your ability to say no. Brioche is pretty much the best pastry product. Ever. And with most awesome things in the food world, it's really, really bad for you. None of that "everything in moderation" palaver. This stuff is basically butter on butter. And it's hella good.

What it lacks in nutritional value, it makes up for with versatility. It's got versatility out to yin-yang! Burger buns, toasted with jam (pretty close to my favourite weekend breakfast treat), a vehicle for pate, a swirly chocolate pastry. Yep. It gets better than just being plain old delicious.

If you've got an electric mixer, it's pretty much a crime to not make these. If it's not a crime, I know people who know people. You'll be pulled over for a seemingly minor traffic violation and voila! Twenty to life. All because you refused to make that buttery treat. Won't somebody think of the children?!

If you don't have a mixer, but you do like a challenge, I say go for it. It's a pretty sticky, messy dough but not unheard of to whip up. I know you're hesitating, but you will embarrassed when I tell you my six year old niece, the beautiful Eve, helped me make a batch by hand just the other day. Now, I'm the first to admit Eve is exceptionally talented, but she's six. She made brioche without a mixer. Pull the finger out, whingers.

Now I'm done chastising you, I'll get on with the more persuasive side of the brioche argument. Have you ever eaten bread and thought "I wish I were eating cake right now"? Or perhaps you were enjoying some cake and went "Bread would be awesome". Well, ladies and gentlemen, here is the answer to all your prayers. It's basically cake bread. Tasty, tasty cake bread.

Plus, it's totally exotic. It's from that far away land, France. (Bare with me. Living in Australia makes pretty much any other country in the world "a far away land"). Brioche translates to "sweet bun" in English. I won't tell you what prendre de la brioche translates to, though. OK, OK. It means "to develop a paunch". Don't say I didn't warn you.

Ingredients

Adapted from Shannon Bennett

500g plain flour
5g salt
25g fresh yeast
1/4 cup sugar
2 tbsp milk
6 eggs
375g butter, softened

1 egg, lightly beaten, plus splash of milk, for egg wash.
2 tbsp pearl sugar
Raspberry jam, to serve

Combine flour, salt, yeast, sugar and milk in the bowl of an electric mixer. Mix briefly until combined. With the mixer on medium, add the eggs one at a time. Make sure they're all incorporated before you add the next. Add the butter, one tablespoon at a time. Once all butter is incorporated, turn the mixer to high and beat for 2 minutes.

Turn the dough into a large greased bowl. Cover with plastic and refrigerate for 20-24 hours, or until doubled in size.

Preheat the oven to 200ºC. Grease one tin (15cm x 10cm) or two smaller tins.

Flour your bench top and turn the dough out. Knead for 2 minutes to loosen dough. Divide into three. The first dough will be for your basic loaves today - you can refrigerate (or freeze) the others until ready to use. Shape the dough to your tin and leave to rest in a warm place for 1 hour, or until doubled in size.

Glaze your loaves with the egg wash. Sprinkle the sugar over the loaves.

Place the loaves into the oven. Bake for 20 minutes at 200ºC and reduce to 170ºC and bake for a further 20 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

While warm, slice open. To go the double whammy, spread some butter over a slice. If you're feeling conservative, just go with raspberry jam. It's delicious either way.

Pie-scrap cookies

I despise seeing perfectly good food tossed in the bin because I've let it go to waste. This happens more often than I'd care to admit. Tuesday is bin night and Matty stands at the fridge, ruthlessly chucking brown herbs, smelly meat and furry cheese. Funnily enough, it coincides with his grumpiest night of the week.

My wastefulness is my biggest shame. Even more than my standing-in-front-of-the-open-fridge-eating-leftovers-by-the-moonlight binges. It's cause by my magpie-like attention span. I get distracted by new shiny foods and can't get the picture out of my head until it's in my belly. This would be fine if I didn't cook enough for a family of seventeen, leaving leftovers for a week.

Temptress pies

These are the pies that sealed the deal. They had Matty's name written all over them: typical Aussie food, loads of meat and the perfect accompaniment to beer. I baked a batch for the Australia Day party my brother Mark hosted four years ago. Matt turned up with his gaggle of friends and demolished the better part of a platter. His constant compliments led me think he had designs on more than just my pastries (I was right).

I've baked these in anticipation of the football season, about to start tonight. Adelaide versus Essendon. Meh. Anyone following the news in Australia (and not just back page news) will know any win from Essendon will be questionable. I always thought they were quite effete but I guess now we know that, at the very least, they're not afraid of needles.

Chicken and sage sausage rolls

By the end of this week, you'll be full to the brim of recipes for your football shenanigans. You'll also have more than one use for pork fat pastry, because today, you get a second run at it with these tasty little treats.

Chicken and sage are a pretty brilliant combination. Even better when you add a little something-something with... pork fat! Yep, more animal fats. More clogged arteries. More deliciousness. Can't say I don't push the fatty boundaries.

But seriously, just mincing up chicken will surely lead to Dry-Town Chicken Mince, population: You. It needs more moisture than chicken fat alone can deliver, so the pork fat is just providing a little bit of a helping hand. A nudge in a tasty direction. Nothing bad can come of this.

Pork, fennel and chilli sausage rolls with pork fat pastry

Yep, your eyes are not deceiving you. I said pork fat pastry. This stuff is the bee's knees, the cat's pyjamas. It's sweet, salty, flakey, moreish - everything a good pastry should be. Once you wrap your head around the fact you're making pastry with the most direct route to heart disease (pure animal fats), it's a cinch.

The fat I've used in the pastry is called leaf fat. It's the cleanest, whitest fat on the pig from near the kidneys. My butcher at Skinner and Hackett (you're right if you think I live there. I've made a few visits there of late in preparation for football fever), tells me a lady he knows makes a dreamy puff pastry with the stuff and fashions little plum tarts. My gluttonous brain just about went into meltdown at the thought of that. Must. Eat. Pig. Fat. Pastry. It's also the best stuff to use in salami - I think I've found the common denominator in my favourite foods.

Birthday danishes

It's been over a month since Matty's birthday. I've been meaning to post about these little beauties since then, but have been more than a little distracted. It's time to unleash their deliciousness on your unsuspecting eyes.

Danish pastry is basically a combo of a delicious yeasty dough and puff pastry. The theory is you mix the dough, roll it out, place butter in the middle, fold over and repeat for a couple of turns. Sounds easy, right? Hahaha! Fools!

This is a delicate operation, but great for a challenge if you have some hours up your sleeve. My tip is to soften your butter enough for it to be easy to work with, but don't make it melty (melty is seriously a word. It's French for galoopy, which is derived from the Latin word sloppy-galoppy). As with other pastries, you need to keep the handling to a minimum to avoid activating the proteins (aka gluten). You also want to keep the beautiful pastry/butter layers distinct, which means no tearing of the pastry - a tough ask when you're on the third fold. Resting time in the fridge is important too: you don't want to harden the butter too much, but you need to let the dough recover from each roll. 20 minutes between rolls is pretty good.