The Hunter Becomes the Hunted.

 While strolling through a really lovely hotel recently for work, looking out of place struggling with a large box full of male mannequin heads (who all look like stylish Jesuses), i was stopped in my tracks by one of the prettiest little pastry shops I've seen. This time the french macarons found me for I was not hunting for them on this trip being that it was for business (my clear and focused mind was obviously on business). They caught my eye when they winked at me. I swear to gods. Or better yet, I swear to my box full of stylish Jesuses.
I couldn't help myself. I set down the fellas and walked into Koko Patisserie, where I found some very creatively flavored, albeit dull colored french macarons. My favorite was the lemon basil. It was just tangy enough and sweet enough but with a perfect bit of peppery licorice flavor from the fresh basil.
They also had a chocolate covered macarons filled with strawberry cream (The white shell and pink filling looked a little like a ham sandwhich covered in chocolate. That would not taste good at all. These did). It was delish but a little hard to eat because the chocolate crumbled when you bit into it. They were cute enough but I really think the naked macarons are far too darling to be covered in chocolate. 

 But really, this joint had it all pretty spot on, as far as me and the Jesuses were concerned. Cute little shop, lovely display case (a far cry from the ghetto glass case pictured in my last entry from Las Vegas) and your pastries wrapped up to go in little boxes tied with blue ribbon by a good lookin' gal working the counter. And the most important part was that they tasted good! Definitely worth checking out if you're in Saskatchewan's capital city. If I get the chance to go again, I'm going to try to leave the stylish Jesuses at home. Amen.

Macaron Hunting Abroad: Part Trois. I'll be damned.

Fake boobs, false sense of glamor, artificial sense of wealth, hotels that are all designed to look like something else. The Las Vegas strip is the phoniest place I've ever visited and frankly, not my favorite place on earth. I don't really gamble but luckily I like to drink and people watch so I guess its not all bad. I hadn't expected to find any French Macarons while there on a recent business trip but thought I'd look anyways since macaron hunting abroad has become a fun part of my project.
Well imagine my surprise when not only did I find some (appropriately at hotel Paris) but that they were some of the best I've eaten (besides my own obviously. That's not saying that I'm a superstar but I make 'em with love, damnit). Though, the experience was altogether unauthentic: an angry black woman from New Jersey sold them to me out of a damp and somewhat clinical looking display cabinet in a hotel in a sleazy American city that was made to look like one of the most beautiful on earth. To make the experience authentic to Vegas, my friend and I sat down at a slot machine and sunk our teeth into perfection. My only complaint is that they were carelessly filled with plain old raspberry jam. Its a shame to get that far then crap out at the end. It would be like getting brand new fake boobs, healed and ready to show off for swimsuit season only to wear loose turtle neck sweaters.

Purple Shows Sweat.

I have a couple friends who get sweaty upper lips when they're really hot. I'm not one of those people. In general, I'm not a very sweaty person. Last week was an exception. We were experiencing a heat wave where I live and I loved it. It was so hot, in fact, that I experienced this sweaty upper lip phenomenon that I have often teased my saucy friends of having. So what better time then during a heat wave to bake! And even better yet, to bake French Macarons, which require that the oven be on for over an hour. Fun tidbit that is the basis of this entry: weather can effect the success or failure of macaron shells, especially humidity. We're lucky here because in general its a very dry climate so that's one thing we can all cross off our lists of variables that will muck with the success of this endeavor.
Except for last week. High humidity, high heat, an air conditioner that poo-pooed out this season and macarons that had to be made for a friend before I left town for a week meant that I became sweatier than I ever remember being before and apparently this didn't sit well with my meringues either. Small spots appeared on the shells the day after I baked them. I have no explanation for this nor could I find one. I guess dogs pant, humans sweat from their upper lips and macarons sweat out in little unsightly spots.

Welcome Summer!

Eagerly gathering to discuss their filling.

As it turns out, I'm nothing like a fast food restaurant! That's good news. I already suspected this was the case but it's now been confirmed!
A few months back, a dear friend asked me if I could make macarons for her wedding to which I enthusiastically agreed. I made two batches this past Wednesday evening (Summer Solstice!) and save for a few duds (okay about ten duds out of the approximate 100 I made) they were all nearly perfect! I couldn't believe it. Maybe it was the sun shinning outside. Maybe it was the cold beer by my side. Maybe it was the excitement to share in the wedding of two really super lovely people. Maybe it was that I was finally able to find a half inch piping tip rather than just piping from a cut open end. Who knows for sure but whatever it was, it proved that quality doesn't have to be sacrificed for quantity, even with something as finicky as mes petites macarons. If my next try goes this well, I might be ready to graduate on to flavored shells. Oh my.....

3 Strikes You're Out? Hells No! Get me a new bat....

You know the old saying "When it rains, it pours"? This has never meant a whole lot to me until today, as I sit typing this entry with a BandAid on one of my typing fingers.
This morning started out grey and by 2pm it was full on raining outside and hasn't stopped in hours. With the rain has come some stormy weather in my kitchen as well and rain drops pouring from my frustrated eye balls.
Butter cream requires that you boil sugar until it reaches exactly 115 degrees Celsius. Boiling sugar with a candy thermometer that isn't working...blah. Cleaning rock hard, boiled sugar off of the pot, thermometer and beaters three times....double blah. Cutting yourself on hardened sugar (you bet there was blood)....triple blah.
What did all this teach me? Well for one, i need a new candy thermometer and secondly that sugar can be a real asshole sometimes (maybe the folks who avoid refined white sugar like the plague are on to something?). Despite this, the cupcakes I also made today (banana with peanut butter frosting) turned out beautifully. They'll go well with banana butter cream (that worked on the fourth try) filling for the macarons.
Notice I didn't even touch on the macaron shells themselves yet. They were okay. First batch was perfection, second and third I over macaroner-ed (over mixed) so they were somewhat unsuccessful. Frankly after this butter cream trouble, the shells are off the hook this time around.

It all made me long for simpler times when baking just required measuring with cups and spoons rather than scales. And meant turning on the oven, tossing the pans in and forgetting about it for 20 or so minutes. And knowing that as long as you didn't forget an important ingredient, things would turn out just fine.  Sigh*

You can't spell "Bicycle" without "Cocky".

My human feet are nice enough but these feet are better.

 Well, it's been several weeks since i last baked; life has just been busy. But in my head I thought: "Ah it'll be like riding a bike!" Not the case.
Tomorrow I'm going to feed my macarons to people who aren't only family members/close friends. I would like to impress these folks but alas, a great deal of my macaron shells were jerks: many of them slid over and were a messy disaster. Obviously I'd also like to impress you, my readers, so the photos I've included only feature the best in show but rest assured, half of each of the four batches were f#@%*ed up. (Just as I'm only showing you all the few pretty ones, I will carefully place those same few on top of the rest tomorrow when I take them to meet their fate so that the other guests at the party will think they're all that lovely. Sneaky)
Not terribly surprisingly, the baking seemed to be a crap shoot yet again-some on each of the pans were actually perfect while others were a mess. But as usual (and here comes the cocky), they tasted great. Tonight I made Orange Cream (hello orange colored filling that tastes like Creamsicle) and Maple (hi there cute pink filling) butter cream fillings which, combined with the tasty macaron shells, made for some pretty badass tasting little pastries.

Hm, at least my hiatus from baking hasn't caused me to lose much ground as far as baking technique goes (things were the usual disaster there) nor have I lost any arrogance in terms of how tasty my pastries are: I'm strutting through Flavor Ville, y'all.

A Mother's Love.

Purdy's, stick to the chocolates.

Ahhh, Mother's Day weekend. A time for moms everywhere to spoil their bratty adult daughters. Oh wait....

On a recent business trip to Vancouver BC, my lovely mother was thinking about me and bought me macarons from not one but two places. Who's heard of Purdy's Chocolates? They do decent chocolates. I've gorged myself on their dark chocolate with blueberries and almonds a couple times (although they did their version of an Easter Cream Egg this year. Don't even get me started there. You can't mess with perfection, Purdy's. Pfft). Anyways, over coffee and the Saturday morning news paper, I ate 6 bites of 6 different macarons. The two from Purdy's were weak. If i didn't know better, I'd say they were made of dry cake. I'm suspicious that perhaps Purdy's is trying to pass off something else as macarons. Imposters. Stick to the chocolatier-ing, yo.
The other 4, from a place called Stuart's Baked Goods in the Granville Public Market, were pretty damn good. Great texture, pretty colors. But here's what worries me: i think i might be a bitch. I felt pleased that theirs too had crooked feet. Also, the flavors were good but far too subtle to guess what they were without knowing. I mean, maybe it's 'cause I'm pretty much hollering from my roof and wearing a flashing sign that says what flavor mine are, but it seems to me that they are pretty obvious.  Maybe I'm delusional the way a mother is blinded by love for her child and thinks her's are the prettiest/most handsome and smartest even if they're ugly and stupid. Maybe I'm blinded by love for my little babies. Well at least I don't feel completely left out of the motherhood thing this Mother's Day.

Ba! Crooked feet here too!