Unsurprisingly, the overburden of fever, cough, headache, nausea, and congestion had left my appetite suppressed. Food-centric content simply wasn't consumed the same way. The enthusiasm had withered, which pained my heart as much as it had numbed my gut.
Alas, when the desire to bake was recovered, I nearly jumped with joy. My YouTube feed could be regarded with enthusiasm once more.
The first item to be attempted was none other than Sunday Baking's latest release: Choux Pastry with Diplomat Cream.
In truth, it was a rather intrepid foray after weeks of absence from the kitchen. But my love for custard was boundless, as was intrigue for choux. Ever since the initial failure of Cooking Tree's edition (and the incredulous excess of mango whipped cream), I had banished the idea of homemade cream puffs ever again. That is, until Sunday's upload.
The entire project comprised of four components:
- Pastry Cream (Custard)
- Diplomat Cream
- Craqueline (Cookie Coating)
- Choux Pastry
in which (1) pastry cream would be folded with unsweetened heavy cream whipped to stiff peaks to form (2) diplomat cream.
Despite vigorous whisking and keeping a watchful eye on the formula, the poorly lubricated centre scorched. The mistake was apparent from the moment small brown bits began to surface in the once pale yellow, speckled mixture. My best attempt at straining the burnt pieces weren't very successful. Though, the sumptuous eggy flavour hadn't been compromised whatsoever. I would proceed to cover and chill the mixture while preparing the other components.
At a later point in time - four hours to be exact - 100 g of heavy cream would be summoned for incorporation.
It is important to be mindful that the size of the choux dictates not only the baking time but amount of diplomat cream to be piped within: 25 g for the small and 50 g for the standard.
The decision was been well-informed, for the discs were still relatively pliable after chilling. Excess craqueline was formed into a sphere once more, re-rolled, and baked on its own, ultimately yielding a brittle, caramel-looking thing of sorts.
Transferring the batter to a wide-brimmed bowl to cool slightly, I set out to prepare my beaten egg mixture. The specified 110 g equated to roughly 4 and 1/3 eggs. My smaller dozen offered specimens weighing in at 30 g each or slightly under, thus five eggs were required to surpass the minimum (5 eggs x 30 g = 150 g). The excess of 40 g was transferred to the fridge.
Alas, even after the extent of my beaten egg mixture had been depleted, the batter failed to display the specified "V" shape. It was dry and chunky, but oddly peeled away from the bowl easily.
Panicking, I turned to my remaining 40 g of egg for hydration. The additional quantity assisted in recovering a sense of smoothness, along with a block-shaped - "U-shaped"? - trail when lifted from the bowl. It was improvement enough for me. I set out to pipe.
I obtained 13 choux in total: 12 measuring 5 cm in diameter (or slightly more) and 1 tinier one, which I placed at the edge of the baking sheet.
Ten were topped with uniform craqueline discs. The remaining three were either subject to a broken disc or asymmetrical sections of the remaining dough.
Warned we were to refrain from opening the oven in the first 15 minutes of baking, as the insulation of heat was crucial for the choux to rise and expand. I followed suite with these instructions, further keeping a watchful eye on my frustratingly fluctuating oven temperature and raising it as necessary.
I removed the tray from the oven with glee, glad to have obtained promising visuals. Then, I turned away briefly, only to revisit the scene moments later to find my beautifully puffed rounds plummeting. All had managed a glorious, golden appearance, yet a good portion had deflated underneath the cracqueline topping, eliminating its support and causing the cookie to crack.
Interestingly, even after hours of chilling, the cream was still quite loose. The runny consistency, in conjunction with imperfect pâte à choux, made for quite the challenging eating process.
- Uniform mixing of flour to ensure gluten development for structure
- Quantity of beaten egg
- Preserving oven temperature while baking - absolutely no opening of oven door
- Doneness - Was the choux cooked inside?
Her gracious - not to mention speedy! - troubleshooting assistance allowed us to narrow down potential causes for subsequent trials. Lumpiness in the batter was learned to be a consequence of not mixing the flour vigorously enough in the dough-forming stagings. This was evident in the non-uniform caved bottoms across the batch.
Moreover, the collapse could also have been alluded to an excess of egg and insufficient flour for support. Doneness and temperature preservation appeared to be handled decently, for the choux was golden and cooked through.
It dawned on me that developing a robust foundation of pastry-making basics as a hobbyist home baker would constitute no easy feat. Yet, I was particularly privileged to be have crossed paths with Sunday, both virtually and physically. A disciple in my own right, this space documents the efforts undertaken, data documented, and guidance received to progress my self-led journey to baking excellence.
Beyond Cookie Choux, a second project had been constructed in parallel.
- 120 g of granulated sugar, instead of 150 g
- 180 g of golden yellow sugar, instead of 145 dark brown sugar
Unlikely were these swaps to have impacted the structure of the cake tremendously, however, the results were utterly dissimilar to the images featured on the website. Baked in two 6-inch aluminum pans instead of one shallow 9-in aluminum pan, the sides began to peel away after twenty-five minutes, though the centre remained damp and jiggly. Additional bursts of ten, then fifteen, then another ten would allow the cake to solidify. While the surface began to shrivel, the centre began to collapse. It was still damp.
The tops were removed, for the obvious reason of attaining uniform surfaces. Scraps sampled by yours truly radiated an astringency about them: not unreacted baking soda, but the signature savouriness of olive oil paired with copious amounts of cocoa powder.
I wasn't a fan. Neither had I been fond of my olive oil and cocoa powder inventory being depleted so soon!
1) Sugar
Egg whites x 2.2 = 160 x 2.2 = 352 g
2) Butter
Egg whites x 3 = 160 x 3 = 480 g
But I was running low on butter. The remaining stick weighed in at 327 g. I proceeded with this 47% reduction of fat, willing the meringue to provide stability and compensating any excess sweetness with additives of espresso and melted chocolate.
Swiss buttercream prevailed as the safer, forgiving alternative to Italian buttercream, as my egg white-sugar mixture had surpassed its required 162 F (reaching 180 F!!) when I came to the realization. Persistent whipping enabled formation of the meringue still, but the mixture was hardly spreadable after incorporation of partially melted butter chunks. It goes without saying that a stand mixer is the optimal weapon of choice for this venture, though I have none and resorted to my trusty hand mixer.
The finished slice was as satiating as I envisioned, though, thankfully not as sugary. The buttercream had set up nicely, compensating the cake with much-needed structural integrity and balance of non-vegan decadence. One-inch wide cuts are advised for sanity's sake.