high-bar baking

I am counting this as a cake because (1) it is fancy and (2) I worked very hard on it. 

This is a croquembouche. Also known as a cream puff tower. It’s a dessert traditionally served at French weddings, and after you’ve tried to make one you will understand why. This is not something you want to be making on the regular. It is for special occasions. 

And today is a special occasion. I have outdone myself for a reason. Today, the Notre Dame Fighting Irish are competing against the Ohio State Buckeyes (yes, I did intentionally leave “the” uncapitalized, you pretentious Ohio-ians) for the College Football National Championship. I had to bake something to honour the magnitude of the event. Something with some height. 

First you make pastry cream. That sits in the fridge overnight. Later it is mixed with crème fraîche (Claire, you are a genius) to become the filling for the puffs. Usually Claire’s recipe calls for chocolate pastry cream (like you’ve died and gone to heaven), but because I wanted to dye it green for the Irish, I kept it vanilla this time. 

Then you make the craquelin, which sits on top of the puffs and keeps them spherical as they rise, the better for doing architecture with them later. Did mine succeed? Not so much. But I was too tickled that they rose at all that I cared not.

Then you move to the puffs themselves. Choux pastry is cooked on the stovetop first (my most excellent Made In stainless steel pot let me actually see the “thin film” on the bottom of the pot that recipes refer to, so that was cool). Then you pipe them into rounds that you’ve traced onto baking sheets (WHY are there so many arts and CRAFTS in this recipe??). Those rounds get topped with the craquelin, and then you sit in front of the oven and watch while the puffs get baked.

Or, you do if you’re me. Because you consulted a special high-altitude choux pastry recipe just for the occasion, because your puffs collapsed last time, and you don’t want that to happen this time. You simply must know. 

You poke the shells with a toothpick when you rotate them at the 25 minute mark, to release steam. At this point you are cautiously optimistic.

When the shells are finished cooking, you poke all the bottoms with a paring knife to leave a hole for the piping tip and to release steam again. Then you put the pastry cream into a bag with a star piping tip, only half full this time because you’re smart and following the notes you left yourself last time. You proceed to immediately want to tear your hair out because the regular-sized star tip is wiggling around in the mouth of the bag as you’re trying to use it to stab the pre-made holes in the puffs. 

You remember that the point of this year is to learn some goddamn patience, so you slow down and get even instead of mad. You bought a tip specifically for filling pastries a couple of years ago; this is the time. You transfer the cream to a new bag with the extremely long tip (wedged in there very tightly) and proceed to fill the puffs. After a couple bag refills, all the puffs are filled fit to burst (ok, some did burst), and it’s time for the next step.

It took 5 hours, by the way. I did walk to get kolaches, so we have to subtract out that time technically, but this is a project, not a recipe. 

Now it’s caramel’s turn. I loathe making caramel. It always crystalizes. Once I got burned; I still can’t believe that didn’t scar. I boil the water and the sugar, brush down the sides of the pot probably too many times, but we make it work. It’s dark, it smells like caramel, it goes in the glass measuring cup. 

And we architect. 

Eleven rings start the base. (Do you know how badly I wanted to pull a line about eleven rings from Tolkien’s poem about the One Ring?? Sadly, the Elves, Dwarves, and Men get 3, 7, and 9 rings, respectively). You dip a puff in caramel, then hold it where you want it and wait a couple of seconds for the caramel to dry. Claire recommends wearing a latex glove for safety, and I heartily agree. I was fine this time, but a caramel burn is not worth it, folks. She also tells you to make two batches of caramel, the first one to dip the tops of every puff and the second for construction. I will not be doing that. One caramel is difficult enough for me. 

And then you just… build. And sometimes the back looks like a Doctor Seuss villain cliff, and sometimes the entire structure does. Thankfully, this time it was only the former. The front looks cute! 

If you try and use hot caramel to stick chocolate lettering onto your tower, the caramel will melt the chocolate. I don’t know why that was a “I have to learn this while doing, I couldn’t think it through beforehand,” but it was. You’ve been warned. 

Go Irish. Let’s do this thing.