Tag: tarts and pies

  • Red kuri squash pie

    Red kuri squash pie

    The first frost has come, bringing with it days that call for a slice of something warm and spiced. There’s already a pumpkin pie on the blog, but this one feels different – gentler, perhaps, with golden sugar adding its quiet warmth to the filling. The pâte brisée, crisp and buttery, is a joy to work with, and I’ve shared a few notes to make handling it as simple as it is satisfying.

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    Red kuri squash pie

    A silky, spiced potimarron [red kuri squash] filling nestled in a buttery, päte brisée crust – this classic pie is autumn comfort at its finest. Best served with a dollop of lightly whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.

    Notes

    On squash/pumpkin purée: 
    I almost always make my own squash/pumpkin purée. This time, I used potimarron [red kuri squash], but pumpkin or butternut works just as well in this recipe. To do so, I simply cut the squash in half using a large serrated knife, scoop out the seeds, and place it cut-side down on a tray lined with baking paper. Bake at 175°C / fan 150°C until soft – you can test the doneness using a skewer.
    Once cooled, scoop out the flesh and purée it in a food processor until smooth. For this recipe, I like to cook the purée on the stove for a few minutes to reduce any excess water. This step ensures a thick, velvety filling that holds together beautifully when baked and concentrates the pumpkin’s natural flavour. 
    Mixing the dough in a food processor:
    If you prefer to use a food processor for the pâte brisée, pulse the flour, sugar, and salt together first. Then add the cold butter, pulsing until it resembles coarse crumbs. Finally, add the cold water gradually, pulsing just until the dough comes together. Be careful not to overmix – you want the dough to stay tender and flaky.
    Blending the filling:
    I’ve found the best way to make the pumpkin filling is by using a hand blender. It creates a beautifully smooth texture, but be sure to blend gently and avoid incorporating too much air. 
    More on blind baking: For detailed tips on how to blind bake your tart crust, take a look at my post on the subject here. I find that it’s best to blind-bake the tart case until golden.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time1 hour
    Cook Time1 hour 20 minutes
    Total Time6 hours 20 minutes
    Makes 12 slices

    Ingredients

    For the pate brisée

    • 185 g plain flour
    • 2 tsp golden caster sugar
    • 1/2 tsp flaky sea salt
    • 115 g cold butter cut into 1cm cubes
    • 2.5 tbsp ice-cold water

    For the pumpkin filling

    • 420 g squash or pumpkin purée homemade or store-bought (see note above)
    • 145 g golden caster sugar
    • 1/2 tsp flaky sea salt
    • 2 tsp cinnamon
    • 1 tsp ground ginger
    • 1/4 tsp ground cloves
    • a pinch of nutmeg
    • 330 g whipping cream
    • 3 eggs

    Instructions

    Make the dough:

    • In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, and salt. Rub the butter into the mixture with your fingertips until it resembles coarse rolled oats, then stir in the cold water using a rubber spatula.
    • Turn the mixture onto a clean work surface and gently bring it together – avoid kneading. Pat into a disc about 2cm thick, wrap in clingfilm, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour or up to 2 days.

    Rolling out the pastry:

    • Butter a 23-25cm tart tin and set aside.
    • Lightly flour your work surface, then unwrap the chilled dough and place it on the floured surface. Dust the top of the dough and roll it out to a 3-4 mm-thick circle, roughly 10cm larger than your tart tin. I find it easier to start flattening the dough by making indents in it with my rolling pin, see note above.
    • Carefully roll the dough around the rolling pin and unroll it over the tart tin. Gently press it into the corners and sides so it fits snugly. To trim the edges, roll the pin over the top of the tin for a clean, even finish.
    • Place the prepared tart crust in the freezer for 15–30 minutes while preheating the oven to 200°C/180°C fan.

    Blind baking the tart crust:

    • Line the pastry with baking paper and fill it with raw rice or dried beans. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove the paper and weights. Bake for another 5 minutes, or until the base is lightly golden.

    Making the pumpkin filling:

    • While the crust bakes, prepare the filling.
    • In a medium saucepan, combine the suqash/pumpkin purée, sugar, salt, and spices. Cook over medium heat, stirring regularly, until it starts to bubble. Continue for 5 minutes to reduce excess moisture.
    • Remove from the heat and transfer to a bowl. Whisk in the cream until smooth, then mix in the eggs with a hand blender, being careful not to incorporate air.
    • When the crust is ready, reduce the oven temperature to 170°C/150°C fan. Pour the filling into the tart shell and bake for 45–55 minutes, or until the centre is set but still has a slight jiggle. A skewer inserted in the middle should come out clean.
    • Allow to cool completely for at least 4 hours before slicing. Serve with lightly whipped cream. A dusting of cinnamon or nutmeg is a lovely addition too!

    Follow along as I add the finishing touch – a dollop of lightly whipped cream to slices of spiced pumpkin pie.

  • 3:2:1 pie dough

    3:2:1 pie dough

    pie dough in a form

    I recently stumbled upon a new-to-me pie dough recipe thanks to the talented American baker, Cecilia Tolone, who has made Stockholm her new culinary playground.

    Cecilia, who previously worked as head pastry chef at the 3-Michelin-starred restaurant Frantzén, has since embarked on her own culinary adventures, which she chronicles in short vlogs. For one of her latest dinner parties, she made charming Västerbotten cheese quiches, baked in mazarin tartlet pans. The dough? A 3:2:1 pie dough that she calls “a classic ratio that every baker should know”. Of course, I can only agree.

    What struck me about this dough is its remarkable simplicity. The 3:2:1 ratio – with three parts flour, two parts fat, and one part water – creates a dough that is easy to work with and makes for a flaky pastry crust. It is also immensely versatile – add a couple of tablespoons of golden caster sugar when making a sweet tart, or maybe some finely chopped herbs and a handful of grated cheese for a quiche.
    Oh yes, the possibilities are endless!

    Of course, I couldn’t help but draw a comparison with a French classic, and perhaps the very first recipe my grand-mère ever taught me: pâte brisée.

    Now, don’t get me wrong, pâte brisée will always have its unreachable first-love status, with its indulgent, buttery flavor and delicate texture. But this 3:2:1 pie dough offers a simplicity that can’t get matched – and no eggs to separate!

    IngredientsPâte Brisée3:2:1 Pie Dough
    Plain Flour100%100%
    Salt1-2%1-2%
    Butter50%67%
    Egg Yolks8%0%
    Water25%33%

    This pie dough felt slightly flakier compared to pâte brisée. Let’s have a look at a few points:

    – fat content: the higher fat content in the 3:2:1 pie dough (67% fat) compared to pâte brisée (50% fat) contributes to a flakier texture. The fat creates pockets of air when it melts during baking, resulting in more layers.

    – water content: pâte brisée (25% water+8% egg yolks – for reference, egg yolk contain 45-50% water) has a slightly lower water content than 3:2:1 pie dough (33% water). This could explain why pâte brisée feels shorter and crumblier, as gluten development is reduced.

    – mixing technique: the mixing technique used for the 3:2:1 pie dough, which involves letting the butter in larger pieces, is one I will apply to pâte brisée in the future. Often, I will give the dough a single turn – when it isn’t quite a dough yet, more like a lumpy, floury mess -, as I find that it helps the dough come together and creates the flakiest pastry.

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    3:2:1 pie dough

    Adapted from Cecilia Tolone.
    This recipe is a wonderful base for all your tarts and pies. It makes for a great dough that's easy to work with, and a crisp and flaky pastry crust that is very versatile. Perfect for both sweet and savoury fillings!

    Notes

    As mentioned above, I almost always give the dough a single turn – when it isn’t quite a dough yet, more like a lumpy, floury mess -, as I find that it helps the dough come together and creates the flakiest pastry, not unlike a rough puff pastry. 
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time25 minutes
    Total Time4 hours 25 minutes
    Makes 1.2 kg dough, enough for 3x25cm pies

    Ingredients

    • 600 g plain flour
    • 400 g cold salted butter
    • 1/2 tsp sea salt
    • 200 g ice-cold water
    • butter extra to butter your tart pan

    Instructions

    • Start by grating the butter onto a piece of baking paper. it is easier to do so if the butter is really cold. Set aside in the fridge – or better yet, in the freezer – while you get on with the rest.
    • In a large bowl, mix the flour and salt together.
    • Add the grated butter to the flour mixture, and quickly mix it together using your hands. The mixture should be very coarse.
    • Add in the water, and mix until the dough just comes together. It should feel dry and lumpy.
    • Form the dough into a ball – sometimes, I will give the dough a single turn before it even comes together, read note above.
      And wrap in clingfilm. Chill in the fridge for at least one hour, or even better, overnight.
    • Once the dough is cold, generously butter your tart/pie pan and set aside. Lightly flour your work bench, and roll the dough out to the desired thickness. Line your prepared pan.
    • Chill in the freezer while you pre-heat your oven. This dough bakes beautifully at 200°C/fan 180°C.
  • Tarte à la citrouille

    Tarte à la citrouille

    [Pumpkin pie]

    Originally published on October 9, 2009

    Tarte à la citrouille
    A strong favourite around our house, pumpkin pie often appears on our birthday table (yay for autumn birthdays!!).
    I make this one with muscovado sugar, which brings lovely caramel undertones, complements the earthy flavour of fresh pumpkin.

    The first step is to make pumpkin purée, by roasting the pumpkin, then blending it with a touch of butter. The roasting helps to get rid of the moisture naturally present in pumpkin flesh, and thus, creates a smooth (bubble free) pumpkin flan. But it also adds a depth of flavour with a bit of caramelising here and there.

    For this recipe, you’ll need a pâte sucrée tart case, which you can easily make in advance from the recipe here.
    I find that it’s best to blind-bake the tart case until golden.

    Tarte à la citrouille

    makes one 24-26cm wide tart
    For the pâte sucrée
    a 24-26 cm wide fond, baked blind

    For the pumpkin purée
    500 g pumpkin, peeled and diced
    1 tbsp butter

    For the pumpkin flan
    2 eggs
    70 g light muscovado sugar
    170 g double cream
    1/2 tbsp cinnamon
    a touch of grated nutmeg
    1/2 tbsp vanilla extract
    seeds from half a vanilla pod
    pinch of salt

    Preheat the oven to 180˚C. Place the diced pumpkin flesh into a baking pan and roast until tender, approximately half an hour. Blend in a mixer, adding the butter. Then allow to cool until it reaches room temperature.

    When the purée is cold, mix in the eggs, sugar, cream, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and vanilla seeds. Pour into the blind-baked tart case, then bake at 175˚C/fan 160˚C for 45 minutes, or until set.

    Allow to cool down completely before serving.

  • Saffransmazariner

    Saffransmazariner

    [Saffron mazariner]

    Twelve weeks ago, almost to the second, Sienna was put on my chest; pink as a candy, eyes wide open. Twelve weeks that went quickly, and also, twelves weeks when winter came and went more times that I can count.

    There was the night we rushed to the maternity; the air suddenly so sharp we’d forgotten how it felt against our cheeks. There was the first snow, as early as the third of October, which was gone a few days later; and as it did, the longing for a winter as I had known it only became more intense with every morning that passed by without a snowflake. And then, one day, winter was here, not that it didn’t come without a warning.
    The afternoons by the river, frost on every branch. That Sunday when snowflakes were big as cotton balls. And the clear evening skies we had last week when the temperatures dropped to -20°C.

    In our kitchen, there is a bread made of rye and filmjölk [sour milk] on the counter. And every time we open the pantry, the earthy smell of saffron fills the room. We have blueberry cakelets in the fridge, and lussekatter in a jar above it. A mjukpepparkaka [gingerbread cake] on our table, and a baking tray filled with brown butter and cardamom salted caramel, waiting to be cut.

    Yes, there is so much I want to tell you about, but Christmas is only a few days away, and some things cannot wait, like these saffransmazariner.

    Saffransmazariner

    A mazarin is a tartlet traditionally composed of three elements:
    – a crisp pâte sablée case
    – an almond cream filling, not unlike the French crème d’amande
    – a simple icing sugar glaze

    Sometimes, a thin layer of jam covers the bottom of the tart shell, or the filling can be topped with fresh berries before baking, in which case, the mazarin isn’t glazed.

    Its origin – although I haven’t quite had the time to research – seems rather uncertain, possibly linked to an Italian cardinal who moved to Paris and first assisted Richelieu, only to succeed him in the mid seventeenth century.
    Through his regency, Cardinal Mazarin has been thought to popularise pasta and perhaps, other Italian delicacies in France and Sweden (which were rather new allies then). And although there is no evidence of it in literature, mazariner do strongly remind me of the traditional crostata di mandorle, a very similar tart from Italy.

    My saffron mazariner are the festive version of the Swedish favourite. You see, I have the bad habit to buy mazarinformar [mazarin moulds] at every garage sale; so really, I’m always looking for an excuse to bake them under one form or another.
    You can use any tartlet moulds, ideally around 5-6cm in diameter, but in a pinch, I suspect a muffin tin will do fine too. A large mazarin, sliced in thin wedges would also look fantastic on a cake stand!

    The dough – my usual pâte sablée, with a touch of baking powder for an extra brittle shell – will make more than you need, but you can:
    – do as I usually do and line additional moulds (around 40), and keep them in the freezer for up to two months
    – freeze the extra dough, which you can later use to line a 24cm tart tin
    I tend to make it in the food-processor, but a stand-mixer works too. As always, I can only recommend rolling it before letting it to rest in the fridge; however this dough is quite forgiving, and when I don’t want to use up a lot of baking paper or if I’m feeling lazy, I will wrap the dough in clingfilm, and chill it for 20-30 minutes, then roll it onto a lightly floured bench. For more tips on how to handle tart dough, please refer to these posts here.

    Mazariner freeze beautifully. On the day you want to eat them, simply take them out for a few hours, and glaze them with a simple icing sugar glaze.

    Saffransmazariner

    Makes 28

    For the pâte sablée

    360 g plain flour
    90 g icing sugar
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    1/4 tsp baking powder
    200 g unsalted butter
    100 g eggs (2 medium)

    butter, melted to grease the moulds

    For the saffron filling

    150 g unsalted butter
    1 g ground saffron
    300 g good quality marzipan (minimum 50% almonds), coarsely grated
    100 g eggs (2 medium)
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    10 g plain flour (approx. 1 tbsp)

    For the glaze

    250 g icing sugar
    water from the kettle

    Make the dough. In the bowl of a food-processor, place the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and butter, and mix until the mixture ressembles wet sand. Add the eggs and pulse until it just starts to form a dough.
    Divide the dough in two and roll each piece to 3-4mm thick between two sheets of baking paper. Place onto a tray and chill in the fridge for 20-30 minutes.

    In the meantime, preheat the oven to 175°C/fan 160°C, and brush 28 (or more, read note above) tartlet moulds with melted butter; setting them aside until needed.

    Make the filling. Melt the butter in a small pan and add the saffron. Mix well and allow to infuse for a few minutes.
    Place the marzipan, eggs, salt and flour in the bowl of a food-processor and mix to a smooth paste. Slowly add the butter, mixing as you do so.
    Transfer the filling to a piping bag.

    Take the dough out of the fridge and loosen the top sheet of baking paper. Flip over and remove the other sheet, this way, the dough still is on baking paper, yet doesn’t stick to it (I hope that makes sense).
    Cut out the dough into small ovals or circles, depending on the shape of your tins, and line each with dough, trimming the excess using your thumb or a small paring knife.

    Place the lined moulds onto a baking tray, and fill them with your saffran almond cream, around 3/4 full.

    Bake for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown. Allow to cool down for 10-15 minutes, then unmould.

    Mix the icing sugar with a drop of hot water, just enough to form a thick paste, and spoon on top of the mazariner. Allow to set for an hour or two, then store in an airtight container for up to five days. You can also freeze the unglazed mazariner for up to 3 months (see note above).

  • Carrés au citron

    Carrés au citron

    [Lemon squares]

    You can ask any chef; staff meals are a luxury in the restaurant industry. Over the past ten years, I’ve come across almost anything.

    The baguettes we’d be sent to buy at the wonderful Des gâteaux et du pain, sliced in half lengthways, and placed on the bench along with a container of Bordier butter, one of home-made strawberry jam, and one filled with fleur de sel. The barely-warm café au lait, drunk standing by the oven. The amazing canteen that had a soft-serve ice-cream machine, a salad bar and one for toasties too, oh and an espresso machine too! The delivery driver slash tarte tatin chef who’d make a pit-stop at the corner boulangerie during his rounds, and bring back warm pains aux raisins to the labo. The leftover chips from an order, eaten with saffron aioli at the end of a dinner service as the kitchen was getting scrubbed. The best poached eggs a breakfast chef placed in your fridge with a little note. The grenadine mister freeze I mass-produced in the summer months. And the watermelons we sliced and left around the kitchen in nine-pans, to be eaten whenever a rare quiet minute appeared.

    One of my favourites were the “family” dinners we had every day at four pm when we opened John Salt with Ben Spalding.
    I still remember vividly that my turn was on wednesdays. Vividly, because it was perhaps the worst day for it to happen: the usual putting-away of the morning veg and dairy deliveries, the weekly dry-store delivery, the morning deep-cleaning, the 10am kitchen meeting. This meant very little time to prep for service, let alone cook dinner for all of us.

    If you’d ask me what I thought about staff meal at around three-thirty pm on a wednesday, you might have heard some French, and yet, four years on, it’s one of my fondest memories from my London years.

    Some weeks, I’d make a simple salade niçoise. Or a large pissaladière. Maybe some cheddar toasted sandwiches. And a few crisp leaves dressed in an quick lemon vinaigrette. And, always something sweet: at times cookies, taken out from the oven a few minutes before the table was set; at times, burnt-orange marmalade loaf cakes or lemon squares.

    And just like this, I thought I’d introduce a new feature: Feed the chefs. It’s something I’ve had in mind for a while; in fact, I have a draft from 2013 called Feed the chefs: Wholewheat flour and hazelnut cookies.
    In this feature, you’ll find simple recipes that can be made at home or for a crowd.
    For reference, a gastro is a 53×32.5cm metal tray, which is widely used in professional kitchens.

    Lemon squares

    This recipe has been in my notebooks – under one form or another – for years. What started out as a curd made with only eggs, lemon juice and zest, sugar, and butter has evolved under the years into what I consider my perfect lemon bar.
    I increased the butter dramatically. Added egg yolks to improve the texture. And reduced the amount of sugar, a little at a time. Sometimes, I like to add a dash of cream to the curd mixture as I find it takes the lemon squares to another level, on a par with my best lemon tart. However, if you’re out of cream, the lemon squares can also be made without!

    It has a crisp tanginess and is wonderfully creamy, yet it still slices beautifully and holds well.

    At times, I’ll make it with the most brittle shortbread, the one I talk about in Paris Pastry Club, but most days I’ll go for a flaky biscuit dough, with light brown sugar and demerara, which I think complements the lemon flavour in the best way possible.

    Notes:

    – You’ll notice that the “home” recipe below makes a larger quantity of dough than you’ll need; but unless you’re willing to break an egg, whisk it, and use 16g for a third of the recipe – not to mention leave out the amazing cinnamon crisp biscuits you could make with the leftover dough – then I’d suggest you make the large batch, use 275g of it for the lemon squares and roll the rest in between two sheets of baking paper to 4-5mm thick and then proceed as mentioned in this beautiful recipe from Trine Hahnemann.

    – The shortbread base does not need to be blind-baked with weights (or pulses). I like to prick it with a fork to avoid large bubbles and bake it as it is for a flakier result.

    – I always rub my zest into the sugar to extract as much essential oils as possible.

    – Whenever I’m making custard or curd tarts, I like to cook my curd over a bain-marie until it reaches 70-75°C. This has two purposes: first, it makes the final baking much more even and quick – you won’t find a custard tart with puffed up edges and a runny centre in my house. Secondly, it makes the bubbles disappear, leaving you with lemon squares that can be served without their traditional dust of icing sugar.

    Lemon squares


    Makes 25 small squares or 9 large ones


    Makes one gastro (around 60 squares)



    For the shortbread base
    100 g light brown sugar
    25 g demerara sugar
    zest from 3 lemons
    375 g plain flour
    1 tsp baking powder
    1 tsp ground cinnamon
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    250 g cold butter, cubed
    1 egg


    For the shortbread base
    100 g light brown sugar
    25 g demerara sugar
    zest from 3 lemons
    375 g plain flour
    1 tsp baking powder
    1 tsp ground cinnamon
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    250 g cold butter, cubed
    1 egg



    For the lemon curd
    240 g caster sugar
    zest from 2 lemons
    150 g egg yolks (around 7-8)
    110 g eggs (around 2 large)
    180 g lemon juice (from approx 3-4 lemons)
    120 g unsalted butter, cubed
    40 g double cream (optional, read note above)


    For the lemon curd
    650 g caster sugar
    zest from 6 lemons
    420 g egg yolks
    300 g eggs
    500 g lemon juice
    300 g unsalted butter, cubed
    120 g UHT cream (optional, read note above)


    Make the dough

    Butter your baking tin (or gastro) and line the bottom with baking paper, leaving 3cm on each side to use as handles to take out the tart from its tin after baking.

    Place the flour, sugars, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl, and mix to combine. Add the butter, and rub it in the flour mix until it resembles coarse oats. Add the egg and work the dough until just smooth.
    If you’re making the smaller lemon squares in a 25x25cm tin, use only 275g of shortbread dough and keep the rest to make cinnamon biscuits as mentioned in this recipe.

    Place the dough in your prepared tin and flatten using the palm of your hands. Prick with a fork and chill for at least 30 minutes or up to 4 days.

    Preheat the oven to 175°C.
    Bake the shortbread for 20-30 minutes or until golden brown.

    Once baked, set aside until needed and reduce the oven temperature to 120°C.
    In the meantime, make the lemon curd.

    Make the curd

    Place the sugar and zests in a large bowl, and rub in between your fingers to extract the oils from the lemon zest.
    Add the egg yolks, eggs, lemon juice and butter, and cook over a pan of simmering water until it just starts to thicken and the foamy bubbles disappear; it should be around 70-75°C.
    If using, add the cream now and stir to combine.

    Immediately, pass the curd onto the cooked shortbread base using a fine-mesh sieve. And bake for 15-20 minutes. The centre should still jiggle slightly.

    Allow to cool down to room temperature, then chill in the fridge for at least 2 hours before gently lifting it from the tin and cutting it into squares.
    To do this, fill your sink with hot water and dip your knife in it for a few seconds. Wipe the blade clean making sure the sharp edge isn’t facing your fingers, and slice the tart into 5x5cm squares (or 8x8cm if you’re a lemon lover), rinsing and wiping your knife in between each slice.

    Serve with a dust of icing sugar or some blow-torched Italian meringue for a faux-lemon meringue tart.

  • On pâte sucrée (and my favourite lemon meringue tart)

    On pâte sucrée (and my favourite lemon meringue tart)

    I intended for today’s post to be short – almost-wordless short. Really, it was just meant to be a recipe that I developed for a nut-free pâte sucrée.
    And that what it is, in essence. With a few notes around it.

    In France – or at least at the pâtisseries where I worked, and in books and magazines – pâte sucrée will always call for ground almonds (or some other kind of ground nuts, depending on the finished tart). This gives the dough a short, crumbly texture, and a wonderful roasted aroma. No questions asked.
    But here in Sweden, I’ve found that many people have food allergies, so I’ve had to improvise. And after many trials, I’ve finally worked out a nut-free recipe that I’m happy with, and that stands against the pâte sucrée I grew up making.

    Now, I could tell you a few stories about chefs that I worked with in London and their relationships with customers who have allergies or dietary requirements. But I think it would be 1) too mind-your-French kinda stories and 2) too long to tell them all.
    I must, however, share my favourite of all. Picture a couple of vegetarians asking about options in a very meaty menu. All I heard in response went along the lines of: “Do I go in a *insert swear-word of your choice* vegetarian restaurant and ask for a *insert swear-word of your choice* rib-eye?”.
    Of course, a beautiful vegetarian tasting menu was promptly made, but this sentence somehow stuck with me, and I love to remember it fondly every now and then, and of course, to tell it to anyone who cares enough (or not) to listen.

    The recipes

    Pierre Hermé

    This is the recipe that I started with. It’s absolutely beautiful – a given when it comes to Pierre Hermé, really.
    However, over the years, I’ve come to adapt it into an easier-to-work with dough; which to this day remains my standard and usual recipe.

    Pierre Hermé’s pâte sucrée

    300 g unsalted butter
    190 g icing sugar
    60 g ground almonds
    1 tsp sea salt
    seeds from 1 vanilla bean
    100 g eggs
    500 g plain flour


    My favourite

    This recipe, which I think stems from a combination of Pierre Hermé’s, Valrhona and a few tweaks here and there, is as its name reveals without a hint of suspense, my favourite.
    It’s one I can make with my eyes and my recipe notebook closed.

    Of course, I always make a much bigger batch, somewhere along x5.5, which gives me enough to dough to roll fourteen 28.5x45cm sheets (a format, rather than being practical, obeys the rule of the baking paper that we have in kitchens: 45x57cm, which religiously gets cut in half in the morning, forming large piles that fit into gastros and baking trays, and lasts us through the day).
    For those of you wondering about regularity of thickness between sheets, read further down to Notes, where you’ll find the answer.

    Fanny’s favourite pâte sucrée

    255 g unsalted butter
    190 g icing sugar
    70 g ground almonds
    1 tsp sea salt
    seeds from 1 vanilla bean
    100 g eggs
    510 g plain flour


    A nut free alternative

    When I realised many people here had food allergies, it made me question everything I had learn, heard or done in the past.
    In France, at least, back when I was living there, very few pâtisseries catered to dietary requirements; yes, [to be said with a French accent] eat the tart or don’t. It was not something I’ve ever seen anyone – chefs or customers – think about, let alone be concerned.

    In Sweden, it’s on the literal opposite of the spectrum, so much, that I always make sure to have at least three or four gluten-free options, two dairy-free alternatives, a couple of nut-free pastries, and a lactose-free crème brûlée (flavoured with tonka bean at the moment, because I think tonka and winter were always meant).
    And this is why I had to give up my favourite pâte sucrée. I started working on a recipe, with mixed results – from my perspective only judging by how quick the lemon tarts sell out every time I put them in the display.

    But after a few batches, I found the one that I’ve now been using for the past few months. A crisp, golden-brown crust that stays so.

    Fanny’s nut-free pâte sucrée

    280 g unsalted butter
    180 g icing sugar
    1 tsp sea salt
    seeds from 1 vanilla bean
    100 g eggs
    40 g egg yolks
    545 g plain flour

    The process

    If you’ve never made pâte sucrée before, I can only recommend you to head over to my old blog foodbeam, where you’ll find a detailed step-by-step.

    Or simply follow this process:
    1. In the bowl of a stand-mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the cold butter (see note n°1 below), icing sugar, ground almonds (if using), salt, and vanilla, until just smooth.
    2. Add the eggs (and yolk for the nut-free recipe) one at a time, mixing well after each addition, a minute or so. If making a larger batch, the eggs can be added a couple at a time.
    3. Mix in the flour (read note n°2 below if making a larger batch) and work on low speed until just combined.
    4. Divide the dough into three pâtons, roughly 350-360g each. Flatten each onto a feuille guitare (cf note n°3) using the palm of your hand and top with another feuille. Roll, always from the centre upwards, giving the dough a quarter turn every time, into a large disk, around 3-4mm thick. Place the dough onto a baking tray and set aside. Repeat with the other two pâtons; and either freeze for up to two months, or chill in the fridge for at least two hours or for up to a week.
    If making a bigger batch, please refer to note n°4.
    5. Line your tart ring and chill or freeze for an hour or two. Blind bake (see ressources below for a link to one of my posts “A few notes on blind-baking”).

    Notes

    N°1. The butter does not need to be at room temperature as many recipes might suggest. Yes, it makes for an easier mixing (especially by hand, which I suspect this rather obsolete step comes from) but it also makes the water contained in the butter more available to bind with the flour proteins, hence developing gluten more than cold butter would.
    The quick mixing of the cold butter with the sugar acts as a mechanical (as opposed to physical) softener. And before you know it, you’ll have a smooth paste, ready to receive the eggs.

    N°2. If making a large batch – larger than 5 kilograms in total weight – I’d recommend adding around 10% of the flour to the butter/sugar/egg mixture and working on low speed until incorporated; and then adding the remaining flour and mixing until just combined. Never overwork the dough as it would make the tart shell tough instead of crisp and crumbly.

    N°3. Feuille guitare, litterally guitar-leaf, is a transparent polyethylene/acetate film that is somewhat rigid. Although it can be replaced by baking paper, I would – if given the choice – always use it to roll dough. It prevents the formation of creases in the dough (which could later results in cracks during baking) and yes, it looks neat.
    They are also amazing for chocolate décors, which i could show you if you’re interested (let me know!).

    N°4. When I make a x5.5 batch, I divide the dough into 14 pieces, around 450g each. And then roll them into 28.5x45cm sheets, making sure to trim the edges into a neat rectangle. This way, I can store my dough in the freezer in an airtight plastic gastro, and take out sheets when I’m making a tart shell mise-en-place.
    By weighing each pâtons and rolling to the exact same size every time, I ensure an even thickness throughout the batch. This produces a dough that bakes uniformly, making sure all the tartelettes on one baking tray will be ready at the same time.

    N°5. My absolute favourite rings when it comes to tarts are not the traditional tart rings that have rolled edges. I like simple entremet rings from Matfer. They’re 35mm-high and are completely smooth, with no welding mark.
    I find that with 35mm-high rings, I get more use out of them. If I want to make a 2cm-high tart, then I simply cut a 2cm strip of dough that will become the edges of the tart. However, if I’d like to make a deeper tart, perhaps chocolate or pecan, then I simply line the ring up to its rim.
    I know DeBuyer has recently come up with perforated rings in collaboration with Valrhona; and although I’ve tried them a couple of times, with great results in term on crumb texture and even baking, I don’t really like the marks they leave on the outer edge of the tart case.

    N°6. I always bake my tarts onto Silpain – a variation oriented for bread bakers of the now-famous Silpat. I find that it gives the quickest and most even baking.

    La cerise Le citron sur le gâteau [The cherry lemon on top]

    Just like I did in Paris Pastry Club (almost its two-year birthday!!), I can’t resist to share the lemon tart recipe that has followed me for years – despite the MANY other lemon curds that I’ve tried to like. Of course, it’s from Pierre Hermé. And really, trust me, it’s the best you could, and will, ever make.

    The recipe will leave you with some extra lemon curd – that always tend to disappear on top of ice-cream if my mum and sister are around. Or you could also, divide what’s left in piping bags, tie them tighly and freeze for up to 2 months.

    Tarte au citron meringuée

    Makes one 24cm tart, serving 12-16.

    one 24cm blind-baked tart shell, using the pâte sucrée of your choice (or as I do in my book a lemon shortbread topped with a lemon sponge).

    For the lemon curd
    240 g caster sugar
    zest from 3 lemons
    200 g eggs
    140 g lemon juice     (around 3 large lemons)
    300 g butter, cubed, at room temperature

    Place the sugar and lemon zest in a large bowl, and rub the zest in the sugar for a minute or two. This step, although optional, diffuses the fragrant lemon oils into the sugar, resulting in a deeply flavoured and more complex lemon curd.
    Whisk in the eggs (I like to handblend the eggs before adding them to the sugar as I find it gives the smoothest texture) and the lemon juice.
    Set the bowl over a pan of simmering water and cook the lemon curd until it reaches 81°C, stirring every minute or so.
    remove the bowl from the bain-marie and allow to cool down to 55-60°C. Then whisk in the butter, one cube at a time. Handblend the curd for 6 minutes then pass through a fine-mesh sieve into a plastic container.
    Clingfilm to the touch and chill in the fridge for at least 4 hours or better yet, overnight.

    When ready to assemble the tart, make the Italian meringue.

    For the Italian meringue
    100 g egg whites
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    200 g caster sugar
    60 g water

    Place the egg whites and salt in the bowl of a stand-mixer fitted with the whisk attachment.
    Place the sugar and water in a small pan, and bring to the boil over medium heat.
    When the syrup reaches the boil, start whisking the egg whites on medium speed.
    Cook the syrup to 118°C and pour over the soft peaks egg whites, making sure to run the syrup along the sides of the bowl to avoid it from splashing around the bowl.
    Increase the speed slightly and keep on whisking until the meringue feels barely warm.

    In the meantime, pipe a generous layer of lemon curd into your blind-baked tart shell using a piping bag fitted with a 12mm nozzle.
    Pipe the meringue on top into a pattern, or simply pile it on and swirl. Burn using a blowtorch, making sure to rotate the tart to get every nook and cranny.

    Ressources

    – The way I roll pâte sucrée.
    – Where to buy feuilles guitare? They deliver in the north-north of Sweden, so I assume the rest of the world is ok!
    – A few notes on blind-baking tart shells.
    – My absolute favourite not-for-tarts-tart-rings: Matfer entremet rings (24cm for 14-16 portions or 8cm for indivdual tartelettes). For comparison: traditional tart rings. The DeBuyer/Valrhona perforated rings.

  • Pastry chef tips – Flatten the dough with the palm of your hand

    Pastry chef tips – Flatten the dough with the palm of your hand


    More often than not, I always share tips and techniques in my posts. Why clingfilm to the touch, how to fold cream when making a mousse, how to get a neat crack on top of a loaf, how to blindbake tarts, and so on.

    But since so many of you requested, I thought I’d start a new feature* where I give you not-so-secret tips from a pastry chef. I’ve found over the years, that it – almost always – gets down to these little things. Yes, they usually make all the difference.

    Today, as I was rolling some craquelin (a thick dough made of butter, demerara sugar and flour; and used to top choux before baking – but more on that soon!) I realised there is one thing I always do when rolling dough; and yet, I haven’t told you about it before. Read more…

  • La tarte tropézienne

    La tarte tropézienne

    There is the sound of the icebergs bumping into each other with every wave, not unlike a distant thunderstorm. There is the forest that I’ve walked through so many times before, now covered in a thick blanket of snow. There are lakrits [liquorice] cookies in the oven. And lights by every window we see.

    Yes, this is it. Sweden.

    And really, it’s just as wonderful in the vinter [winter] as it’s ever been in the sommar [summer].

    What’s up with the Swedish words? Well, I need to learn. And if I was ever able to speak English by writing about food back-back-back in the days. I’m hoping the same will – almost magically – happen with Swedish.
    But I’ve found some amazing companions. Just yesterday, I saw Donal on television. Perfect accent and all. And today, I went to buy Linda’s beautiful baking books, which I’m utterly in love with.

    In fact, I’ve been keeping an eye on every blueberry bush – how wonderful it is to walk surrounded by blåbär och lingon [blueberries and lingonberries] – waiting, very impatiently, for summer to make blåbärssylt [blueberry jam], blueberry crumble tartlets and Linda’s blåbärsrutor [literally, blueberry squares/boxes].

    The tartes tropéziennes here have barely anything to do with it all. Perhaps that’s why it took me so long to tell you about them.
    But when Karl ate one, he said they reminded him of semla. So there is that. And I might have to make some semla inspired tarte tropézienne very soon.

    La tarte tropézienne
    Adapted from Paris Pastry Club.

    Back when I was a child, you could only buy a tarte tropézienne in St Tropez. We would drive through les Maures, a natural reserve not unlike the savanna. The road meandered between cork oaks and arbousiers [strawberry trees].

    It was the late 80s and St Tropez still had a fishing village vibe to it. Nothing compared to what it once was, yet nothing compared to what it’s now become.

    We would walk along the port, and through the market. Sometimes, we’d go up to the fort, the best view over the gulf.
    And, before we’d leave, we’d always stop at the boulangerie to get a tropézienne. A brioche filled with crème madame – pastry cream with butter and whipped cream; delicately flavoured with orange blossom.

    When I wrote Paris Pastry Club, more than gimmicky or trendy recipes, I wanted to share my absolute favourite basics. Ones you can tweak endlessly, creating an amazing répertoire of recipes to call your own.
    And when I see all your beautiful creations on instagram or on your blogs, I’m blown away. And so so so proud to inspire you – at least a little, with my words.


    These tartes tropéziennes are just this.
    A tweak on two recipes from my book. The brioche, also known as the last brioche recipe you’ll ever need, and the crème mousseline, turned crème madame for the occasion, from the fraisier (and please, as soon as the strawberries will actually taste like they should, please, make one on a Saturday, and have it for Sunday lunch, trust me on that).


    A few notes on the brioche:
    – I made half a batch in my stand mixer without problems, but it did take a little longer than the usual double batch. If I were you, I’d make a double batch, use half for tropézienne buns and shape the other half into a loaf, which you can then bake, slice and freeze for instant morning happiness.
    – Here I’ve used T55 flour, but you could also use plain flour, although make sure the protein content of your flour is around 10-12g per 100g of flour.
    The higher the protein content, the stronger the flour is, which means it has more gluten. I’ve found that for brioche, I like to use flours with eleven percents of proteins.
    – When you knead the dough, I recommend doing the windowpane test after around ten minutes. It’s kneaded enough wuen you can stretch a walnut-sized piece into a very thin membrane without it tearing apart. This stage is called full gluten development, and for my brioche recipe, it’s usually reached after 10-12 minutes of kneading in the stand mixer on medium speed. If the dough tears when you try to stretch it, simply knead for a couple more minutes before testing it again.


    – Balling the dough isn’t only done to shape it. It’s an essential step to even the distribution of gluten strands, creating a tension layer, and making sure that no large air bubbles are formed.
    To ball the dough correctly, start by portioning your brioche in even piece (I like to weigh them out so that they will proof/bake evenly). Once you have divided your dough, dip the top side in flour and dust off any excess. Place the unfloured side down on a clean work surface and roll gently with the palm of your hand in a circular motion so that the outer layer of the dough stretches into a smooth ball.

    A few notes on the crème madame:
    – Crème madame is a crème pâtissière to which butter and whipped cream have been added. It should be firm and glossy, and will set into a rich cream.
    Really, crème madame = crème mousseline + whipped cream = (crème pâtissière + butter) + whipped cream.
    – I’ve been writing a post about basic pâtisserie creams which should be published very soon.
    – For a detailed step-by-step how to make crème pâtissière, please check this article.
    – When making crème mousseline, start by creaming the butter using the paddle attachment of your stand-mixer until light and fluffy. Then add the cold crème pâtissière in batches, beating well after each addition. If the butter has seized a little, simply place the bowl on top of a pan of simmering water for a few seconds before beating for a minute or two; or use a blowtorch to heat the sides of your bowl. Repeat until all the butter has disappeared and you’re left with a gorgeously thick crème mousseline.
    If you overheat the mousseline, it will become somewhat runny. Place in the fridge for a couple of hours, then beat for five minutes using the whisk attachment of your stand-mixer.

    La tarte tropézienne

    makes 8 individual tropéziennes
    For the brioche
    275 g T55 flour
    30 g vanilla sugar
    one tsp sea salt
    1/2 tsp instant yeast
    3 eggs
    30 g whole milk
    one tbsp orange blossom water
    160 g butter    , thinly sliced

    one egg, beaten, for egg wash
    200 g pearl sugar, to sprinkle

    For the crème pâtissière
    500 g whole milk
    3 vanilla pods
    4 egg yolks
    150 g caster sugar
    50 g cornflour
    1 tsp orange blossom water

    For the crème madame
    600 g crème pâtissière (above)
    150 g butter, at room temperature
    100 g 35% cream, whipped to stiff peaks

    For the syrup
    100 g water
    70 g caster sugar
    one tbsp orange blossom water

    If you have a stand-mixer, fit the dough hook and mix the flour, salt and vanilla sugar together on slow speed. Add the instant yeast. Then pour in the milk, the eggs and the orange blossom water.
    Switch to medium speed and knead for 10 minutes, or until the dough can be stretched without breaking. Scrape the sides of the bowl every now and then to ensure everything is amalgamated.
    Alternatively, mix the ingredients by hand then turn out onto a floured work surface and knead until the dough can be stretched without breaking.
    Now, add the butter, one piece at a time, and when almost all of it is in, increase the speed and knead until smooth (or knead by hand). The dough should stop sticking to the side of the bowl (or work surface) and should be silky and very smooth, although somewhat tacky.

    Transfer the dough into a plastic container, clingfilm to the touch, and chill in the fridge overnight.

    Make the crème pâtissière.
    Bring the milk and vanilla pods and seeds to a rolling boil in a medium pan set over moderate heat.
    In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks and sugar to prevent the egg yolks from clumping. Add the cornflour and mix well until combined. When the milk has boiled, remove from the heat and pour a third of it over the egg mixture, whisking as you do so. This step is key when making crème pâtissière as it loosens the egg yolks but also tempers them, avoiding any lumps .
    Pour all of the egg mixture back into the pan, return to the heat and cook slowly, whisking at all times until it starts to thicken and boil.
    Once it has bubbled for a few minutes, transfer to a plastic container and clingfilm to the touch to avoid the formation of a skin. Chill in the fridge for overnight.

    Make the orange blossom syrup. Bring the sugar and water to the boil. Allow to cool down slightly, then add the orange blossom water. Reserve at room temperature overnight.

    The next day, scrape the dough from the container onto a clean and lightly floured work surface, gently press to degaz, and divide in eight 75g squares.
    Ball each square, then roll into a 1cm-high disk, roughly 8cmm wide.

    Arrange the disks of brioche onto a baking tray lined with baking paper. Cover loosely with a lightly oiled double layer of clingfilm; and proof until doubled in size.

    Preheat the oven to 200°C.
    Brush the brioche with the beaten egg, then generously sprinkle with the pearl sugar. Bake for 15-17 minutes, or until golden brown.
    Allow to cool down completely.

    In the meantime, make the crème madame.
    Cream the butter until light and fluffy. Add the crème pâtissière, one third at a time, beating well after each addition. Once all of the crème pâtissière has been added, beat for 5 minutes. The mousseline should be firm and glossy.
    If the butter has seized a little, simply place the bowl on top of a pan of simmering water for a few seconds before beating for a minute or two; or use a blowtorch to heat the sides of your bowl. Repeat until all the butter has disappeared and you’re left with a gorgeously thick crème mousseline.
    Finally, gently fold in the whipped cream.
    Place this crème madame in the fridge to firm up slightly for an hour or so.

    Once the brioches have cooled down, slice them in half with a large bread knife and generously brush the cut-side with syrup.

    Transfer the crème madame into a piping bag fitted with a 10mm nozzle and pipe the cream around the rim of the bottom brioches, then pipe a large ball in the centre.
    Top each brioches with their matching “hats”.

    Keep in the fridge, loosely covered with clingfilm for at least 4 hours or overnight.

  • A few notes on blind-baking tarts

    A few notes on blind-baking tarts

    Butter the rings

    I like to butter my rings before lining with dough. It will slide down the ring more easily and won’t ever ever stick to it once baked.

    How to roll and cut the dough

    These days I always roll my dough in betwen two sheets of feuille guitare, a thin acetate. If you can get your hands on it, it’s much better than baking paper, as the dough won’t crease.

    If I’m using pâte sucrée or as I show you here my favourite biscuit dough (any kind of soft dough that patches well, really; I can’t think of any aside from pâte brisée or feuilletée), I like to cut strips to the height I want my tart to be and a disk for the bottom.
    This is way easier to handle and creates a flawless tart case with perfect corners.

    To calculate how long the strips that goes around the ring should be, it’s very simple.

    circumference = diametre x 3.14

    And then, for the bottom-disk: just cut it one cm smaller than your ring.

    To line the ring, simply place the strip of dough on the inside, sealing with your fingers where the two ends meet. And then place the disk of dough in the centre, pushing it slightly so that it reaches the sides. Run your finger to smooth out and seal.

    Blind-baking with clingfilm

    I usually go for clingfilm whenever I’m blind-baking a large tart (bigger than 10cm-wide), as it’s the most convenient.
    Simply layer two large pieces of clingfilm, smoothing out with a tea towel, then place over your unbaked tart case and add rice or pulses up to the rim. Press with your hands to compress your baking weights, making sure they go well into the corners of your tart. Loosely close your clingfilm. If you wrap it too tight, the clingfilm as it shrinks a little with the heat, won’t be in contact with the sides of your tart anymore.

    This technique is amazing as it bakes the dough much more evenly than any other. But it can be a bit of a pain at times, with the clingfilm breaking and spilling rice everywhere. Yes, it’s happened before 😉

    Blind-baking with cupcake papers

    This is my go-to method, one that I learnt at Pierre Hermé, back in 2007. Using your fingers you “break” cupcake paper so that they are the size of your ring. Fill with rice or pulses. And you’re pretty much set. It’s incredibly easy, reusable for almost-ever and the fastest.

    This method has only one downside: it will leave imprints on the baked tart case.

    The baking temperature

    At the restaurant I always go for 155°C, but at home, in my not so amazing oven, I’ve found that 165°C works perfectly.
    Of course it also depends on the kind of dough you’re using. The best is to experiment, until you’re happy with the results.

    As a general rule though, 150-160°C for fan-assisted ovens, and 165-170°C for traditional ovens.

    Peel your tart

    This is my absolute favourite trick to make tart cases neater than neat. Simply trim any bits of dough that might have popped out a little out from the rings, either at the base or the top with a peeler.

    Do this when your tart case is completely cold. And ever so gently.

    Ceramic baking weights?

    No thank you. They’re too big: don’t get in the corners. Too heavy: break the delicate structure of your dough, leave imprints. Too expensive.

    If you have any other question, please leave me a comment and I’ll try to answer. Also, if there is any technique or ingredient you would like to see broken down, tell me. x

  • Tarte à l’abricot et à la pistache

    Tarte à l’abricot et à la pistache

    [Apricot and pistachio tart]

    I had a pâton of pâte sucrée in the fridge. And a little bag of roasted pistachios a friend brought back from Lebanon. And of course, too many apricots sitting on the counter.

    An hour later, all this turned into a tart.

    The kind of tarts that are simple and rustic. And yet, ever so delicious. We had a piece still warm from the oven for lunch. And another for dinner, after a baguette garlic steak sandwich that was so good I want to remember it forever. Inside, thick slices of juicy steak with plenty of grated garlic, a dollop of cancoillotte, and salad leaves from the garden.

    With a glass of rosé and a few radishes we’d just picked, it was fairly close to the perfect summer dinner.

    A few hundreds kilometres away, my friend Anna-Sarah* is having her very own perfect dinner. On a péniche [houseboat] with never-ending glasses of champagne. It’s her birthday and I wish her the happiest one ever.

    And if I’m lucky enough, I might even join her on the boat next week-end. Just before I fly back to London. And step into whites again. At the Capital, to give a hand to my friend Richard Hondier who’s now running the kitchen and plating the most delightful dishes I’ve ever seen. And really, I can’t wait.

    * You might know that Anna-Sarah hates apricots, she’s already told me off when I posted this a few days after she’d left (of the I-see-you’re-waiting-until-I’m-gone-to-write-about-apricots kind), so sharing an apricot recipe on her birthday, let’s hope she forgives me!

    Tarte à l’abricot et à la pistache

    This tart is super-quick to put together. Especially if you have some pâte sucrée ready in your fridge or your freezer. I know I always do, and this way, dessert is almost always less than an hour away.

    There is nothing tricky. Pastry, crème d’amandes, fruits, and a little glaze. Ah, yes, just a quick word on crème d’amandes, a stapple in French pâtisseries. I forgot to include it in this list, and really it should be there. The mistake has been corrected since more often than not, you’ll find crèmes d’amandes that feeleither too buttery or too spongy. And most of the times, it even gets called frangipane, and trust me, crème d’amandes in no frangipane.

    To make a gorgeous crème d’amandes, you just have to make sure the eggs are at room temperature. I keep my eggs in the fridge, so they never are. If you add them fridge-cold to the creamed butter, the mixture will split and might leak butter during baking. The trick I use is so simple it hurts. I just place the eggs in hot water – of the tap kind – while I cream the butter and sugar for several minutes. And then, one egg at a time, with a good two minutes of beating in between to bind the emulsion, and make it smooth and airy.

    Now, enough words for such a doodle of a recipe…

    Tarte à l’abricot et à la pistache

    serves 8

    For the pâte sucrée
    130 g butter, at room temperature
    95 g icing sugar
    1 teaspoon sea salt
    1 teaspoon vanilla extract
    30 g ground almonds
    1 eggs
    250 g plain flour

    Cream the butter, sugar, salt and vanilla extract for a few minutes, until light and fluffy. Add the ground almonds. And the egg and beat well for around 3 minutes.
    Tip in the flour and mix until just combined.

    Flatten the dough and wrap in clingfilm. Chill for at least 3 hours – or up to 5 days – before using. Or keep frozen, for up to 3 months.

    On a lightly floured work surface, roll the dough into a 4mm-thick rectangle. Carefully wrap the dough around your rolling pin and place on top of a 10x30cm tart tin. Line the tart case with the dough, then trim the edges. Place in the freezer while you get on with the crème d’amandes.

    For the pistachio crème d’amandes
    80 g butter, at room temperature
    100 g caster sugar
    2 eggs    , at room temperature
    60 g ground almonds
    60 g roasted pistachio    , roughly ground
    30 g plain flour

    For the montage
    8 apricots, halved and stoned
    1 tablespoon apricot jam

    Preheat the oven to 180°C.

    Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, for 8-10 minutes, scraping the sides of the bowl every now and then. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well – at least 2 minutes – after each addition.
    Tip in the ground almonds and pistachios, then the flour and mix until just combined. Scrape the crème d’amandes into a piping bag fitted with a 12mm nozzle and pipe the cream at the bottom of the prepared tart case.

    Arrange the apricots halves, cut-side up onto the crème d’amandes and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until golden brown.

    In a small pan, place the apricot jam with a little water (around a tablespoon) and bring to the boil. Gently brush this glaze over the hot tart, and allow the tart to cool down at room temperature. Slice into wedges and serve, perhaps with a scoop of ice-cream or a dollop of whipped cream.