Be a Pleasure Merchant: more parallels to FMCG

During his fascinating and highly entertaining presentation on pulled sugar and sugar formations, visiting Chef Christian Faure from Le Cordon Bleu Ottawa reminded everyone in the audience that while we must follow the laws of divine proportion (and ultimately the universe), primarily patissiers are merchants of pleasure.

A merchant of pleasure!! It was something I never thought I’d hear during a patisserie presentation, but the truth of it completely resonated with me. I was already standing in the back row of the demonstration room, completely rapt by the piece montee he was creating and straining to get as good of a look as possible. His presentation style drifted from French to English to Fringlish, was sprinkled with crazy innuendos and a repetitive ‘boomdelaboom’ phrase, so needless to say his sense of humor had already engaged me. But when he framed the objective at hand as being a pleasure merchant, I smiled even more broadly and felt like cheering. What a great concept, not just for patisserie but for anyone involved in making consumer goods.

In speaking of divine proportion, he referred to the numbers displayed in nature as well as the laws of the universe. So respecting the number of leaves, petals, seeds, appendages, etc. that exist in nature, but also the color, harmony & symmetry of the respective elements. He said jokingly, “That simply means, you don’t put your fish in the sky, and your doves in the ocean and you try to follow the numbers 3, 5 and 7 when designing your work.” He reminded us how many items in nature follow these numbers, including the human body with its 5 ‘branches’ and preference towards symmetry. And it is instinctual that we are attracted to things that follow these laws in their design.

In calling us pleasure merchants he elaborated further, explaining that a person who comes to buy a piece montee wants to be delighted, to be fascinated, to have their eyes rest upon something that is designed to look good and attract attention. They also want the experience to be personal, displaying a photo or emblem or motif that means something to them. Then they will want to eat…probably not the piece montee itself, but something sweet since the sight of such a beautiful creation will stimulate more than just people’s eyes. “So always offer something tasty within their reach, to ensure they are not disappointed.”

He was quick to remind us, however, that simply being good in piece montee was probably not going to pay the bills. “In running a patisserie business, what makes money is being good at really basic stuff, the stuff people buy everyday: Bread, croissants, simple but well prepared cakes. These things must taste good and look good. This is how people come to recognize you, what builds their trust in your products, and what will keep you working.”

The inverse message of this was obvious, but he spelled it out clearly anyway: “You might never become good at piece montee, and still be a very successful patissier,” he advised. “But, you can probably never be a successful patissier – at least financially – unless you can offer people the basic items they’re after, as good as these items can possibly be.”

It is so true. I thought about my design work in FMCG. One the one hand, the total commonality of it; on the other, the beautiful convenience (bordering on necessity) that these products afford to consumers everyday. What makes my brand different vs a competitor is not just how it performs but also finding some new way to incorporate the delight factor…somehow to make it a bit more special, surprising or more personalized even though it is a mass produced product.

And so I left this presentation realizing that my job objective as both a design manager and a patisserie student is to be a pleasure merchant. What a wonderful and inspiring task! I want to change the title on my business cards!

French Nouvelle Cuisine by a Japanese Chef

One of my greve-related joys of staying in Paris was being able to attend two demonstrations by visiting guest chefs. Normally, I am in transit between Geneva & Paris and miss out on these extra events that happen on school premises. I decided I would take advantage of the opportunity of being in Paris a couple of extra days and attend a couple events.

The first of these was on Thursday evening. I attended a cooking demonstration by Chef Tsukasa Fukuyama, Chef de Cuisine of the A&M Bistrot in Paris. Based on his name, I was expecting Japanese or possibly fusion cuisine. But instead he prepared an inspired 3-course offering in nouvelle cuisine consisting of roasted foie gras with 4-spice, a wonderful pork tenderloin served with a galette made of pig trotter, and an iced mousse made with candied fennel and served with a cardamom infused pineapple coulis.

I’ve had foie gras served lightly grilled before, but the quality of his sourcing this ingredient was evident in how little it rendered down during the cooking process. The addition of 4 spice gave the final flavor a unique twist. Accompanied by caramelized apples, batonnets of cooked beet root and a reduced balsamic vinegar, it was a stunning presentation. All I was longing for was a cold glass of Sauternes!

I’m not a huge fan of pork dishes, but this tenderloin was certainly some of the best I have ever eaten. And the wonderfully easy cooking method made me feel confident I could try it at home. The tenderloin was carefully trimmed of all visible fat yet with the cooking method of searing and slow roasting, it remained so tender & moist. It was flavored beautifully with fresh rosemary and served with wilted spinach.

The galette was similar to a seared terrine or aspic. It is made of seasoned pork trotter and ear, gellified in a loaf pan, then cut into cubes and lightly seared on each side in a super hot skillet; then served with a delicately oiled herb salad as accompaniment. It came out golden brown and lightly crisp on the sides, retaining a slightly gelatinous but pleasing aspect at the centre. This combined with the textural aspects of the ear cartilage vaguely reminded me of a dish called “thousand layered wind” that I was once served for dim sum.

The most inventive course was undoubtedly the dessert. I love fennel, but I’ve never had it served in a dessert. He showed us how to candy the fennel pieces; then he covered these with a cream mousse containing Ricard, finishing it with a brulee-style top of caramelized sugar. It was quite simple but the most inventive dessert I’ve had in quite some time. My only critique was the coulis, which did not offer much in the way of infused cardamom flavor (the pineapple seeming to overdominate the flavor). Still, seeing how easily it came together, and my love of things with aniseed flavor, I am keen to try it again at home.

Chocolate Goose and La Greve for Debutantes

The Tuesday evening following my practical on Bavarois au Trois Chocolats concluded with Isabelle and me sitting at her kitchen table, re-hashing our day’s events in earnest while eating our microwave dinners. About 9pm, having finally convinced her to indulge in dessert with me, we were giggling like a couple of sneaky teenagers as we cut into this glossy & creamy chocolate creation and wolfed it down shamelessly. The day wasn’t supposed to end this way, but lately my life has a funny way of serving up opportunities and challenges in even portions. I’m learning to not ask so many questions and just savor the taste of it all.

Oddly enough, the wonderful evening that unfolded between us was not even scheduled to be. I would have normally been returning to Geneva on the 6pm TGV that evening, with the Bavarois in tow. I would have then spent an intense Wednesday in back to back meetings in Geneva, before squeezing in a couple of social activities that evening (involving Bavarois degustation), repacking my suitcase with a fresh change of everything and returning to Paris early on Thursday morning to attend my next class demonstration.

Then news of a planned transport strike for Thursday changed all that. It was announced that the strike (or greve as I learned it was called in French) would affect underground, RER, buses and even some TGV connections (Geneva routes being identified on the list). As it was only Tuesday, I wasn’t worried about getting home to Geneva; rather it was the getting back into Paris on Thursday in time for my next demo. Frankly I couldn’t afford any further attendance issues this term, so I decided I’d better not risk it and remained in Paris (Actually, the mental math came out something more simplistic like: I’m female + next lesson = chocolate. Conclusion: I’m staying!). So, expecting cataclysmic hardening of the city’s transport arteries, I made my way to Montparnasse station and changed my TGV tickets, then rang friends back in Geneva to advise them neither I nor the Bavarois would be joining them on Wednesday.

I realized as I walked home from Montparnasse that it was to be my very first transport greve. Oh la la! Another small milestone. A notch on my wooden spoon of Parisian experiences. I figured something like this would happen eventually; these things usually do have a certain timing to them. Then in dismay, I wondered if it could drag out for weeks rather than just one day. I quickly realized that this would probably never happen. My theory was founded as such: the Parisians organizing the strike are just bored. As it was, Christmas was now over, the final days of Galette des Rois drawing nigh, the January sales/shopping period also nearly done, the weather quite gray for weeks on end, and the Easter and May bank holidays were still a few months away. The sum of this would certainly warrant an expression of distaste from a Parisian. But prolonging this distasteful expression into the weekend? Jamais! Frankly the strikers would probably prefer to be doing something else more enjoyable on their own time. They’d rather go sit in a café than spend these precious hours trying to make a point about working conditions. I could easily imagine some Union leader sitting at his desk, ringing his collaborateurs and proposing the idea: “Eet weel be gret, non?! Un petit greve…just to get zer attention. And we are done by Friday, so we have ze weekend to enjoy!! C’est parfait, non??!”

Earlier that Tuesday afternoon, I’d had my Bavarois practical and had achieved very good results with my dessert. Bavarois is basically a mousse-style dessert that is set with gelatin, allowing for some elaborate molded shapes to be achieved in the final presentation. You can imagine in the 1800's (when it was apparently invented) that it would have made quite an impression on dinner guests; the mixture not only being formed by elaborate copper molds but for being served cold (when refrigeration was a rather a novel concept, not just an everyday appliance). Like its sister dessert, the Charlotte, you can somehow imagine this creation being placed under a sterling silver dome and then served to an emperor and his court, the stunning finale to a grande banquet.

I think the most difficult aspect of this whole lesson was pronouncing the name correctly. It rolls off my American tongue a lot closer to the French words ‘bavard’ and ‘oie’ (which translates into something like overly talkative goose!). So whilst my pronunciation techniques often fail me, at least I know how to make Francophones smile. Observing an American woman offer up a ‘chocolate goose’ is not something Parisians would hear every day…at least not in the quiet streets of the 15th arrondissement.

Apart from the challenging linguistics, the only other thing that didn’t rock my world about the Bavarois was the glaze. This final couche of gelatinous mass ended up looking suspiciously close to Neoprene: being dark, quite shiny and kinda spongy. At first glance, it more or less could have passed for pure dark chocolate; yet for all of its brilliance and intensity it lacked profound flavor and unctuous texture. So during the demonstration tasting I quietly detached this layer from my portion and discarded it when Chef Cotte wasn’t looking. As the quivering sliver of darkness hit the trash, I was suddenly reminded of those Dr Scholl’s gel insoles and wondered if the two might be formulaically related. Hmmmm. It goes without saying that I prefer my insoles under my feet not atop my cake. (Still, if my riding boots wear out from all the running to class, I have a good backup plan.)

Chef Deguignet had attended my group again at the practical. Fortunately, some blessed but unidentified person in Group D had remembered to start the lab oven before he walked in, as we would need a super hot oven for our ladyfinger sponge base. So Chef D was all smiles when he arrived at the class door and spied the oven already humming and ramping up quickly to 220 degrees C. He greeted us warmly and we responded with an equally hearty “Bonjour Chef!” (almost in unison, which seemed to please him even more). From that point, things just continued to get better.

The fantastic four (ie Alberto, Aurore, David and I) were working again like clockwork, our personality cogs just meshing perfectly without any prior discussion. Everyone just seemed to be aware of what needed to be done and was offering up a task in benefit to the group at just the right time. This synchronized behavior by my subgroup would mean less running around for each individual and this in turn would enable our subgroup to get our biscuit quickly into the oven. The chefs are always reminding us to work systematically, particularly with the freezers and ovens, since it is not efficient to throw open the door of either appliance repeatedly for each individual. It wastes time and energy, both of which are paramount to running an efficient kitchen. So we often group ourselves into pairs or fours for steps involving oven and freezer.

Timing was important in this practical. While the Bavarois is not especially difficult to make, adequate freezing of the final assembled dessert is critical and would take as much time as we could allow during the 2.5 hour class.

I prepared the baking plaque for the four of us, anchoring the parchment with industrial magnets; then tracing circles using Alberto’s marker and writing each person’s name next to a circle (these would be our guidelines for piping out the round ladyfinger bases). Alberto organized a set of mixing bowls and balloon whisks for each of us and David gathered various missing ingredients, finding the ever-illusive gelatin sheets and then hauling the massive bucket of egg whites out of the fridge. Aurore distributed the disposable pastry bags to each of us. The team efforts paid off. We were the first subgroup to have our tray of biscuit ready and into the oven, and this was at least 10 minutes before any other group.

Chef D put me in charge of the oven. I don’t know why, but I am often assigned to monitor the oven. I guess it is because I am tall and can more easily monitor the progress of the top racks during baking. I am also pretty adept at quickly turning the heavy baking sheets during the baking process. It is not unpleasant work, but the trick is not getting distracted (and hence ruining someone else’s work) while still remaining focused on completing your remaining tasks.

I had followed on with the good habit learned in my last practical, which included organizing all my needed equipment into an aluminium baking pan, then measuring all my ingredients onto parchment squares. So before lifting a whisk to make the sponge biscuit, I was ready to move forward with the remaining steps of the recipe. So being assigned to oven monitor was not distracting to the other tasks I had to do for myself, and I could easily vascillate between ovening and my mixing, syruping and trimming. The difference in my speed of assembly was remarkably improved and it was really easy to keep my work area cleaner and organized. I can’t go back to my old ways now!

The only preparation challenges I encountered were (once again) primarily based on teaching differences between chefs. And it’s not just me, everyone who is a student comments on this. You are told by one chef to do something a certain way during the demo, then at the practical you are questioned for following these very instructions since it is often a different chef with a different point of view. It always leads to some funny interaction; the discussions always have a certain pattern to them, only the specific details or tonality of the conversation changes depending on the recipe we are making and which chef is asking. For example:

Chef: “Why on earth are you __________??!”
Student (surprised): “Uh…but during the demo Chef ______told us to _____ for this step.”
Chef (irritated): “Quoi??! Mais non, that’s totally ______! You should never _________. You should always _____.” (This is sometimes followed with some snide comment about the other chef, par exemple, “Well, of course he’d tell you to do it that way…you’ve seen his hands haven’t you?? More like two feet!”)

Thus, just when you think you might’ve learned the correct technique in the demo, some other authority steps your space in practical and really teaches you. It is pointless to offer up class notes, eye witnesses or sworn testimonials as rationale to your argument. In fact, don’t even try to argue; it will be of little interest to the chef in your practical. The unspoken rule is just respond to this interaction with a hearty “Oui, chef!” and do exactly whatever you’re being told at that moment, even if it no longer coincides with the rest of your class notes or leaves you in total confusion about what to do next. Then, when the chef walks away, you are free to roll your eyes & shake your head at your neighbor across the way (who, by the way, will be equally dumbfounded in overhearing this discussion and is now nervously awaiting their serving of verbal flogging when the chef reaches his or her side of the table).

Fortunately with Chef D, this interaction doesn’t involve any yelling or surprise attacks, so it doesn’t cause tension. Still, I chuckle to myself every time because with the exuding of different authoritarian personalities and apparent lack of calibration on methods within the school it just seems so very…French! (funnier still, maybe the chefs are calibrating their teaching differences ahead of the classes: ‘Ho, ho, wot eef you says zis and I says zat, it weel really make zem crazy, non?!”;-)

The other important lesson with this recipe is to never, ever start moussing until you have imbibed (which, come to think of it, probably gives a certain strange wisdom to life outside the classroom as well). Actually I made this mistake; although the finished dessert did not show the error of my ways, I just had a slightly harder time with the glazing process. Basically, you should prepare each of the different chocolate bavarois layers only right before you fill the ring mold with that mixture. Egad! I hadn’t even imbibed my sponge layer and had dived headlong into moussing! (Ok, speaking in my defense: I am female. Chocolate is a reflex. There are three chocolate layers, I had no choice but to take action. It was instinct! I rest my case, your honor.)

The practical ended with application of that rubbery chocolate glaze to the top of the Bavarois. Not an easy task. At the point you are ready to start glazing, the Bavarois has been frozen once (after creating the first dark chocolate layer) then refrigerated after each subsequent chocolate layer is added to the stainless steel mold, so it goes without saying that your base for applying the glaze is very cold. And the glaze contains a substantial amount of gelatin, which gives it some shine and allows it to set. So when the warm gelatinous glaze comes in contact with the nearly frozen Bavarois, you have to move fast because of the thermic shock between the glaze and the mousse beneath it. The glaze sets to the texture of a dental dam almost instantaneously, so you have to use precise & decisive movements to achieve a good finish. It was a lot tougher than it looked in the practical but I managed.

David had the best result out of the 4 of us. I complimented him, telling him that he got the look of Chinese lacquerwood with his finish…it was like a disk of pure, flawless ebony. He looked pleased. (in fact, if you very look closely at the photo of my cake, just atop the glazed surface you can see his reflection grinning in the background!! I’m not kidding! What a great moment unexpectedly captured on a cake top! I circled it in red so you can see...:-))

My glazing came out well, but a drop of water came in contact with the surface of my glaze (I was using a wet rag trying to clean up some of the overrun of glaze that was messing up my gold cardboard disk). Using a paper cornet filled with melted white chocolate, I applied a decorative band of thin drizzle, then put one of the ladyfinger hearts over the offending spot to mask the spot and saved the day! Despite having expressed dissatisfaction with my rambunctious moussing, Chef D still seemed pleased with my overall appearance of my Bavarois.

I walked back to Isabelle’s with the Bavarois, looking at my reflection on the glossy surface and wondering if the transport strike on Thursday would be like that chocolate glaze…setting in quickly and rendering everyone immobile. Again, the whole incident was just so French! As long as I stayed close to Isabelle’s, the strike would not affect me much…so I’d work from internet cafes these remaining week days and walk to school as I normally do. In my wider circle of contacts within Paris, no one seemed remotely worried about it, except maybe a couple of people who live outside the city and have no option but to commute by RER and metro to get to school. Everyone else cast a gallic shrug as if they were all a bit blasé about the whole thing, kind of a ‘been there, done that’ attitude that suggested that a day of working from home (or in some cases not working at all) would not even come close to shattering their world. And in seeing all those shrugs, I realized my theory about weekend strikers was probably spot on.

Madame Butterfly

Sometimes a nice cake comes together without a lot of effort. It reminds me of those times when you can pull together a great outfit from bits and pieces lying around your wardrobe. It doesn’t always happen, but when it does it brings a smile to your face.

For this weekend’s metamorphosis in patisserie, all I had to do was make a fresh batch of crème mousseline. And the rest of the creation came together from bits and pieces I had stowed away in my pantry or freezer.

For technique, the composition of this cake took inspiration from the Fraisier, using an exposed border of fruit and crème mousseline between two layers of imbibed vanilla genoise. Since I had canned peaches and frozen raspberries available, and I love this taste combination, I decided to put them to use. I created a gellified raspberry coulis filling, topped it with drained peach halves, using some of the peach syrup to imbibe the cake layers.

The remaining peaches were sliced into wedges and used for the decorative border, along with some spiral cake slices. These fun little spirals were made from some leftover strips of Joconde sponge cake and chocolate ganache, rolled together and then sliced into decorative rounds. It would have been perfect if they’d been just a little bit larger in diameter; still I loved the fun, swirly effect it provided as a border element. I can totally imagine playing further with this idea in future!

The garnish used consisted of a couple of sliced & fanned peach halves and the dried vanilla pod (from making the crème patissiere). Since I am still attracted by acetylene but torchless in my home kitchen, I decided not to make any Italian meringue as I could not have burnished the edges unless I used my oven broiler (and this would have destroyed the rest of the cake). I found a box of mini meringues in the pantry and used one of these to provide a simulate a small white flower and give some differing proportion. Then I added one nice, pistachio macaron as the final touch of color. I’d been experimenting with my macaron making technique earlier in the week (and finally got the results I was after…yea!)

The cake was a small glimpse of summer in the middle of winter. Despite being an impromptu composition, it looked pretty good even upon slicing with the miscellaneous layers of color coming into view. Taste was great…using branded canned peaches made a noticeable difference in taste vs unbranded, and having real vanilla pod in the crème provided a much more authentic flavor to the mousseline than we’d achieved in the Fraisier practical. Of course, if I could have used fresh, in-season fruit this one would only taste better. Better hold that thought until July. Anyway, it delivered a small slice of sunshine that was well worth the practice session.

Les Petits Gestes

It seems since starting my patisserie classes, many people have been giving me little gifts in acknowledgement of my adventures. I never expected this but it is delighting me to no end.

I made off like a bandit when visiting family at Christmas, returning to Geneva with a suitcase bulging with kitchen loot. My siblings gave me all sorts of gadgets, some electrical, some gimmicky, and even a couple inexplicable ones - all of which are intended to recognize and enable my recent pursuits in the culinary world.

Some of these gifts included salt & pepper shakers, a kitchen rug and wall clock from Susan – all with the classic, fat & mustachoed chef theme. (I’m still working hard on my facial epilation, but otherwise these are a spitting image of me at school…tee hee)

Then from Jeanne, I got a round hatbox (again with the classic chef illustration) containing all sorts of kitchen doo-dads. This included, amongst other things, a one-handed chopping contraption, a mysterious battery-powered scrub brush, a zesting blade, and some wonderful oven mitts containing neoprene. The mitts are not technically professional kitchen gear, but they are meeting the requirement of handling super hot (and quite heavy) baking sheets at school. Plus they fit neatly into my cuisine kit without any added bulk. Excellent!

The stuffed toys looking like Ratatouille and the Pillsbury Dough Boy which I got from Debra are adorning my desk at work and bringing me smiles.

From work colleagues, there have been other acknowledgements. Nadia gave me lovely perfume with a Paris name. And the latest trinket from Design colleague Caroline is an adorable key chain which looks like a mini whisk! Apparently all my stories about the extreme sport of whisking in Paris were remembered during December’s Design presentation.

Each day that I see or use these items I remember you all. So thanks for thinking of me. You didn’t need to buy these gifts, but I am grateful and enjoying them.

Please, just don’t ask me to make an Italian Meringue with that keychain!!! :-)

Turd on a Doily: What would Le Notre say about this differentiation strategy??

In the world of fine patisserie, it seems no effort is spared on quality. Every item that is placed in that shop window looks as good as it possibly can, in the hopes that it will attract customers and build the longevity of the enterprise.

The finest grand patisseries in Paris such as Le Notre, Pierre Herme and Dalloyau have achieved legendary status only by focusing on excellence. In every imaginable detail. In my observation, none of these establishments would willingly make any one of their creations look less appealing in an attempt to make another of their products stand out. Each creation is different, and each appeals to different types of tastes and budgets, but everything must look (and of course taste) as good as possible.

Clearly this strategy makes sense. When everything in a shop window is as good as it can possibly be, the chef or the business ultimately gains more: more attention from passers-by, a stronger reputation, and of course more sales. Not everyone looking at the display will be attracted to buy the same things. But in applying a base strategy of excellence for all goods, the people who crave chocolate overload get their fix, whilst the others who want a bit more fruit & cream find something of interest. And the real beauty of this strategy is that even when a customer can’t decide between that éclair and the tartlette, he or she might just buy both… or return again tomorrow to further investigate whatever was beautiful enough to stick in their memory. The fact is, when the cakes always look and taste their best, people appreciate what the shop stands for and more importantly, they keep coming back.

It is this lesson in merchandising I would like to pass on to some of my marketing colleagues in my everyday world of fast moving consumer goods. As a Design Manager, I am being asked more frequently by my Marketing colleagues to make the appearance of some lower-tiered products look less attractive so that the other more expensive tiers of the same brand will thus look better and sell more. Hmmmm. Applying my patisserie logic, I just don’t get this…especially when all items are effectively part of the same ‘shop window’ (ie, the parent brand).

Oh I fully understand the need for differentiation between product lines. And it makes sense to make the expensive tiers look like they deserve the price premium. But apply the differentiation logic in reverse and you’ll just crash into a wall. How can you downgrade the appearance of one product line and still believe that all the other products from the same window will succeed? It is counterintuitive.

To make my point in a very extreme way, imagine if one of these big patisseries displayed a dog turd on a doily just to boost sales of the other items in that shop window. Undoubtedly, it would achieve differentiation (possibly also creating a riot)…but for obvious reasons it would defeat the entire display and kill the reputation of the shop!! When a differentiation strategy erodes the expectations or reputation of the brand (or the category), you risk sending the customer walking to another shop (or in this extreme example, RUNNING!).

It really doesn’t matter if you’re selling pastries or disposable diapers… there is only so far you can (and should) go with the brand reputation. Sometimes Marketers forget that low-tier does not mean cheap or low quality. Rather than looking visibly less good, differentiation choices should be based on providing what is essential to the consumer in that segment without the extras. For less premium products, this may mean using fewer embellishments and focusing on the core benefit desired (or expected) by the consumer. In a patisserie, this differentiation approach might require using less luxurious garnishes, but certainly the shop would never go to the extreme of omitting a key ingredient or making the decoration look so awful it wouldn’t meet base expectations. Doing so would irreparably damage the reputation of the whole enterprise.

In my case, I advised the brand manager that we could cut back on a few color embellishments in the printing of the product graphics, but we would certainly not eliminate this printing all together (which was his request). I tried to explain to him that totally eliminating all printing may leave a consumer to be tempted by a better looking competitor brand in the same segment (a competitor which is undoubtedly trying to look at least as good as our brand). But more importantly, it would jeopardize consumers’ correct usage of the product, ultimately disappointing them and eroding their trust. So for me there was no further need to discuss this. While he didn’t offer a better argument and eventually relented, he was not happy with my resistance to his request. But since I consider myself a shop owner, not just a window dresser, it was as far as I was prepared to let him tamper with the display.

Gaston Le Notre, one of the world’s most legendary chefs who passed away earlier this month, summed it up well. "French pastry-making taught me to be precise, to have discipline, and that my name goes on every product," Le Notre once said in an interview. "If I see that things are sloppily done, I lose it."

Gaston, I totally appreciate what you mean. Surely in this quote you were referring to your temper, but oddly enough it could mean losing something even harder to regain …consumer trust!

Conductor of the Opera

Even if you don’t like Opera music, you’ll still probably feel like singing a happy tune when you taste the cake bearing this name. Combining the perfectly harmonized flavors of coffee and chocolate, Opera is an opus magnum of French patisserie.

The first origins of this amazingly flavored cake identify a man named Louis Clichy who apparently invented it in 1903 for his own patisserie. Louis, obviously the marketing visionary of his generation, decided to name this stunning masterpiece… “Clichy.” (whooaaa dude, slow down! Like my imagination – not to mention tastebuds – can't keep up with you…zzzzzz). Mispronounce this name and you end up with cliché, which may inspire significantly fewer tasters reading the dessert menu. While poor Louis didn’t seem to understand the staying power of a name (or imaginative storytelling that can sell an idea) I’ll give him credit for the root idea.

More popular histoires associate the cake with the famous Parisian patisserie Dalloyau. And certainly it is these folks who have given the cake its legendary status in worldwide culinary circles. Apparently Dalloyau have updated this classic with a variation they call Opera Rock, which is apparently hot pink and tastes of raspberry & chocolate. Bravo! Now when I imagine that one, I realize TGV may not be fast enough to race me back to Paris to try it! (final note to Monsieur Clichy: If left to your inventive brain, we might all be buying something called a Rock Cliché right now…featuring some has-been musical performer in the ad campaign...zzzzzz).

Despite a fairly straightforward ‘layer-cake’ appearance and well-known reputation, Opera proved to be a relatively challenging gateau to make. It consists of three fine strata of Joconde sponge, which are heavily soaked with coffee-flavored syrup, then layered alternately with chocolate ganache and coffee buttercream. It is then finished with a ultrafine coating of dark chocolate glaze, which sets to a glossy and croquant finish. Then the cake is cut down for final presentation, typically into approximately 20cm squares or individual oblong portions. And as the final crescendo for the square cakes, the name and final decorative embellishments were carefully piped in chocolate onto the top surface of the cake using a paper cornet. (Usually a small amount of gold leaf is applied for final *bling* effect but we didn't get quite this far with our ingredient list...)

During the demo, Chef Tranchant's ample experience made our future preparation look too easy. Still I managed and was more or less happy with the look of my finished cakes. The technical trick is mastering use of the angled spatula, essential for nearly every step of the preparation and finition. By the end of the class, I finally felt like I was just starting to get the hang of this important instrument.

Chef Deguignet was attending us in our practical. I know him by sight but had not yet had the chance to work with him until today. He comes from a long line of well-regarded patissiers and is reknowned for his chocolate mastery – a skill which has earned him many awards and distinctions.

As I discovered today, Chef D is a bit bossy and an absolute stickler for details (not really a surprising personality type around this place). But he pushed the bossiness nuance to a level I hadn’t yet experienced before. This all began the minute he stepped into the lab, expressing extreme dissatisfaction with the class for not preheating the ovens. Personally I'm not a master of clairvoyance, but if this had actually been mentioned in the demo then I'm sure someone in my group might have picked up this task...but anyway we know what to do next time.

He then sauntered over to a workbench in the far corner and staked claim on this entire area, thereby displacing about 4 of us who had stored our surplus equipment there. He basically told us this was 'his area' and demanded that these things be moved somewhere else. (What was particularly funny to me was that for having all this precious real estate at his disposal, the only item of residence during the entire practical was a wad of keys.)

During the rest of the session, Chef D kept the pace accelerated by repeatedly asking us if we were sleeping. He was constantly pointing something out that we’d failed to do as well as he’d hoped, but to his credit at least he’d take the time to show you what he meant. As annoying as it might be, in expressing all these instructions he remained very even tempered, never once raising his voice. So it gave the class a clear set of expectations and in the end was less stressful than having someone act like a clown then moments later unexpectedly start yelling like a drill sergeant.

At one point I asked Chef D what he wanted us (as a class) to do regarding a step in the procedure. He looked me in the eye and responded, with a slightly exasperated tone, “Oh, just go home…I’d really like everyone to just go home.”

“Hey!!” I retorted instantly, throwing in a couple of disappointing tsk, tsk sounds and reminding him that this remark was pas tres gentil . I’m pretty sure he was joking but who can tell with these guys sometimes. I was glad I said something…at the very least my remark seemed to relax him a bit; but I also wanted to communicate some expectations back to him. Frankly I’m prepared to give these guys all the respect they deserve, but then again I’m paying a lot to be here so I’m not going to just stand there like some quiet violet when I hear something I don’t agree with. Mama didn’t raise no fool…:-)

Alberto, Aurore, David and I banded together in our usual corner of the workbench, the happy quartet performing with our usual harmony: passing each other ingredients at just the needed moment, lending each other utensils, advising each other on poorly defined ingredient quantities (like coffee extract); watching each others’ boiling pots of syrup and assisting each other with the pouring phase, and of course sharing a few knowing glances during the ongoing commentary from our conducteur du jour. At one point when Chef D momentarily left the lab, just as we were beating our egg whites, I took a moment to make the 3 of them laugh when I started singing “we’re whiskin’…whiskin’…whiskin’ the night away” to the tune of “Twistin’ the Night Away” (complete with a bit of appropriate hip twisting movements).

Poor David had a pretty tough session…and I know from experience it can happen to anyone when least expected. He had an unfortunate dispensing incident (involving an over-eager squirt bottle of extract), and this had seemingly caused some problems with his buttercream mixture taking correct volume. This unfortunately only became apparent after he’d been whisking in the butter already for several minutes. Chef D came over and told him that this mixture looked “trop bizarre” and that he would have to start over. This meant re-measuring everything, cooking a new pot of syrup and then whisking with the fury of a Tasmanian devil to ensure the butter was smoothly incorporated. I felt bad and offered to cube his butter for him and kept an eye on the syrup pot whilst he was trying to make up lost time.

An area I really focused on during this practical was extreme organization. Before Chef D had even entered the lab, I had done some important yet small steps such as measuring all my ingredients in advance and placing these in orderly groupings on small sheets of parchment. It was time well spent and I’ll endeavor to continue working this way since it meant a lot less stress (plus it just looks more convincing to someone like Chef D). Generally I more or less fly by the seat of my pants, but even a spontaneity freak like myself can break with tradition and benefit from more structure.

I got favorable remarks from Chef D as he passed by to grade each of us. He appreciated my scripted chocolate, praised my glazing technique and relatively even application of ganache & buttercream layers. During the cutting of the cakes into squares, I didn’t crack my glaze and this is one of the more difficult parts of the process, since the chocolate becomes as brittle as Magic Shell and tends to crack and shatter very easily. To avoid this, the knife blade must be carefully heated but of course not become too hot (or the chocolate melts too much).

Despite having added about 70ml of coffee extract to my imbibing syrup (eek - my liver is still quivering), and mopping my layers heavily with the syrup, Chef D cautioned me that I still should add even more next time…which in our case might be during the final exam! Hmm… adding even more extract was not necessarily music to my ears but the test mention I noted with interest.

I was in such a rush to get to my train that I only got a quick photo of one cake (and two of the small but prettier off-cuts) after I'd already packed it into Tupperware. Probably not the most elegant backdrop for such a gorgeous cake, but hopefully you get the idea.

As a final footnote, I had briefly considered scripting Obama instead of Opera on the cake (giving a post-inaugural nod of appreciation to the new US President). Another variation idea for Dalloyau, but given the serious mood of the practical it was probably better that I didn't break with tradition.