Because nobody else is going to save you any, that's for sure. It's just too sweet and buttery. Tender on the inside and crispy around the edges like a croissant, it has a crackly caramel top that adds just the right je-ne-sais-quois (I wrote that in French because don't know how to say it in Breton).

I'll admit that this "simple butter cake" kicked my can this week. I went into it thinking I'd be able to do it blindfolded, since I consider lamination something of a specialty. Five days, two sacks of flour and $40 worth of butter later, my pride was in the ash can, along with sixteen awful kouigns. Say what you will about the recipe I finally settled on, it's been tested!

Earlier in the week I wrote that I'd be leaving the sugar out of the folding process. However rolled-in sugar is one of the defining features of this bread. In the end I couldn't leave it out. The kouign amann that resulted didn't rise as high as the version without the rolled-in sugar, but the result is probably a lot closer to the real thing. Here's how it goes. Combine your flour and yeast in a mixer fitted with a paddle and add the melted butter...

...and the water.

Stir until everything is moistened, then switch to the dough hook and knead for about a minute. The dough will be a bit shaggy, that's OK. If it's very shaggy and won't hold together at all, add a bit more water. It will smooth out and become more elastic as it rises.

Press it together into a ball, put it into a large bowl and apply some oil or nonstick spray. Since this dough has lots of yeast and no salt, it's going to take off like a rocket. Half an hour should be plenty of time for rising.

When the dough has about ten minutes to go, make your butter block according to the directions for laminating dough under the Techniques menu. Pastry Chef Laura suggested that working a couple tablespoons of flour would help absorb moisture and make the resulting pastry flakier. Why didn't I think of that? Add it.

When the dough has risen and is nice and puffy, you're ready to roll. Literally.

Lightly flour your board...

...and pat the dough into a square.

Apply your butter. My block isn't perfect, but by this time I'd made kouign amann nine times. I was frustrated. Anyway, this is a rustic pastry, right? Oh, and I should mention that you want the best quality salted butter you can lay your hands on for this. As with every laminated dough, butter is the star, so don't skimp if you can help it. Euro-style cultured butters will not only taste better for this, they'll be drier, and that will give you a better result.

Make your butter envelope...

...roll it out...

...and letter fold it.

Lay it out on a lightly floured sheet pan (I forgot the flour here), cover it with plastic wrap and refrigerate it for 20 minutes. This is the first of your three "turns."

After twenty minutes, do another "turn", which is to say, repeat the rolling and letter fold and return the dough to the refrigerator for another twenty minutes. The dough will hold at this point, if you wish, for 2-3 days in the refrigerator and 2-3 months in the freezer, cut into pieces of course. If you don't want this much dough you can cut the below recipe in half, even half again if you only want to make one pastry.

When you're ready to make your pastries, do your final turn. This time you're going to add sugar to the top of the dough before you fold it. Here I'm adding too much. What can I say, I got excited. I brushed about a third of it off.

But Joe, you said sugar is a no-no for laminated doughs! Yes, and it is if you allow the butter and sugar to come into direct contact. However if there's a layer of dough in between, you don't get the same reaction, provided you don't allow the sugared dough to sit for very long (as in several hours).

Fold the dough and put it back into the fridge.

Prepare your pan. Line a cake layer pan with parchment.

When you're all set to roll, take the dough back out of the refrigerator and cut it into pieces (there's enough dough here for four pastries, just under 16 ounces each). Turn one piece out onto your floured board and apply the pin.

Roll it to a rough circle and place it in the pan. Let it rise for about 1 1/2 hours until puffy. Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 400.

At that point, apply your egg wash...

...and a generous amount of sugar. This is necessary to create crunchy caramel top.

Bake until the bread has risen nicely and the top is a deep brown. Say, that's not a particularly appealing picture.

Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' bout.

Eat it warm. With wine or spirits it's especially good, and trust me, I needed that after the week I had.

UPDATE: Reader Evan D. adds:

I wanted to mention that Kouign Amman can be made from scrap croissant dough, and that this is how a lot of bakeries do it. An extra turn or two with superfine granulated sugar is all it takes. A little jam in the center really ties it all together.

For all those who've put off getting their hands dirty with laminated doughs, kouign amann is a great place to start. Somewhere between a bread and a Danish, it only requires a couple of "turns" of the dough, and they need not be perfect. This is a rustic pastry, so your standards need not be terribly high. As I've said before in regard to laminated dough, you shouldn't let fear of failure stop you, because with this much butter there is no failing, only degrees of winning.

This recipe is rather large, enough for four larger 9" pastries, or up to twenty individual, Danish-like versions. Why the extra quantity? I've always felt that if I'm going to go to the trouble of laminating, I might as well make enough to freeze for some other occasion. I've also always been of the opinion that a larger quantity is easier to work with. You'll need:

1 lb. 12 ounces all-purpose flour
1 ounce melted butter
14 ounces water
1 tablespoon, two teaspoons instant yeast
1 lb. lightly salted butter
egg wash (2 beaten eggs plus two teapoons water)
1 cup granulated sugar for topping

Combine the flour, melted butter, water and yeast in the bowl of a mixer fitted with a paddle. Stir until all ingredients are moistened and switch to the dough hook. Knead for 1-2 minutes, until a dough forms. Transfer the dough to a large bowl, apply cooking spray or a small amount of oil, cover with plastic wrap, and allow it to sit for 1/2 an hour, until about doubled.

About ten minutes before the dough is ready, make your butter block according to the instructions on laminating dough under the Techniques menu. Make your dough packet, roll it out and give it two turns, resting the dough for 20 minutes in the refrigerator after each turn, covered with plastic wrap. The dough will rest happily in your refrigerator for 2-3 days days at this point, or it can be frozen for three months.

When ready to make your pastries do a final turn, this time sprinkling sugar over the dough before you fold it. Cut the dough into four pieces (just under 16 ounces each) and roll them out to 8" to 9" circles. (alternately, you can roll the dough out flat, cut it into small square and shape the squares as you would cheese Danishes). Place the circles into parchment-lined pans, cover with plastic wrap and let them rise for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until puffy.

While the kouigns are proofing, preheat your oven to 400. When they're fully proofed, paint them with egg wash, sprinkle them liberally with sugar and bake for 20-25 minutes until browned. Serve warm.

This post is all about housekeeping. I've received quite a few requests for a pâte brisée recipe lately. I've had one on the site for quite a while now, but it's been filed under "quiche." This dedicated post on the subject will make it easier to reference.

Pâte brisée is one of the simplest of all crusts, a "short" crust of the type that's used mostly for savory tarts. It differs from sweet tart crust (pâte sucrée) in that it has no sugar in it. The recipe goes like this:

10 ounces (2 cups) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
8 ounces chilled butter cut into pieces
2-4 tablespoons ice water

First, put half the flour and the salt in the bowl of a mixer with a paddle attachment and turn it on low. Add the butter a few pieces at a time until the mixture looks like so:

Next add the flour...

...and turn the mixer up to medium. When the flour has all been incorporated add two or three tablespoons of water and mix for 30 seconds or so until the dough looks like this:

Pat the dough into a flat patty, wrap it in plastic wrap and and put it in the fridge for an hour. You'll notice that this process differs from that of a standard pie crust in that the dough is worked a lot more. This is intentional since a flaky crust would tend to leak a when a runny filling like a custard is poured in. This crust is smooth, but because it's been worked it contains activated gluten and will tend to want to shrink in the oven. Thus you'll want to rest it at every opportunity and leave plenty of excess around the lip of the form when you bake. This recipe makes plenty of extra.

So, assuming at least an hour has passed, preheat your oven to 375. Take your dough out of the fridge and apply it to a well floured board. Sprinkle with more flour...

...and start to roll, dusting with flour and turning as needed to get it into a rough circle, about 16 inches across and a little less that 1/4 inch thick. You'll notice that this dough is much easier to work with than pie dough.

Once the dough has been rolled out pick it up and place it gently in your mold of choice. You'll notice there's a good deal of excess most of the way around. Leave it there.

Carefully but firmly press the dough down into the corners of the mold and press in the folds so the dough is of a fairly uniform thickness. About like so:

If the dough hangs over by much more than an inch, trim some off with scissors and put it in the fridge (just in case you need a patch). Put the mold on it in the fridge for 20 minutes to let the dough rest and firm up a bit.

Now then, seizing the nearest piece of baking parchment, gently push it down into the mold, into the corners...

...and fill it up with dried beans (yes, I keep a big airtight container full of 'em in the closet just for occasions like this).

Put the mold in the oven on a middle rack and bake until the crust around the edges starts to brown lightly (this can take 20-35 minutes depending on the depth of the mold). At that point you want to remove the mold, spoon the hot beans back into their storage container, get rid of the parchment, and put the crust back into the oven for 10-15 more minutes until the interior of the crust is golden. Like so:

You'll notice there isn't as much extra crust around the edges now. That's because the activated gluten in the dough caused the whole thing to shrink up a little in the oven. However since there was excess all the way around, the shrinkage won't cause the crust to pull down below the mold's rim. That's the genius of this method.

Your tart crust is now ready for filling and baking. Once your tart is baked and cooled, you can trim off the excess crust with a serrated knife, like so:

Obviously this method doesn't allow for a sculpted rim, so if that's important to you, you'll want to skip the machine and work this dough by hand, incorporating as little water as you can, just like you would a pie dough. For me a savory tart like a quiche is a more utilitarian item, so I tend not to worry about it.

I don't go nuts on plating as you know. Yet I'm uptight enough to have an aversion to desserts that simply land on a plate in a heap. That's what happens most of the time with tiramisu, since it's normally made in a large dish. Try as you might to cut tiramisu into neat squares, by the time it's scooped out and plated it's mostly a mess. Sure it still tastes good, but isn't there a better way?

What about wine glasses? Works for me, and it's not terribly difficult. But before we get into that, we need to get the tiramisu "cream" made. As mentioned, it starts with a custard. Combine your eggs and sugar in a small saucepan...

...and whisk to combine.

Now whisk in the Marsala. If you've only ever eaten tiramisu spiked with Kahlua, you're in for a treat. Marsala makes a demonstrably better dessert.

Whisk it all together and set it over medium-low heat. For all you sticklers for authenticity who don't want to cook the eggs, skip this step and leave out the wine, which will make the finished product too liquid-y. I recommend the cooked version, however, not just because it's safer, but because it's got more depth and interest.

You want to keep whisking gently until the mixture thickens. Your target temperature is 196, though thick enough to coat the back of a spoon is good if you don't have a thermometer. Just don't let it boil.

Allow the custard to cool a bit. While you're waiting, scoop a pound of mascarpone into a medium bowl and beat it up until it's smooth. Add the custard.

And whisk to combine.

Now for the whipped cream. Pour the cold cream into your mixer, fitted with the whip...

...and whip to soft peaks. Oops, I overdid it a little. No matter, all is still well.

Fold the cream into the mascarpone mixture...

...and you're done.

Add the sugar to your espresso, and, ladyfingers in hand, you're ready to assemble.

The standard assembly in a baking dish is easy enough (instructions are in the recipe post below). To do the wine glass thing, use a cutter to cut out circles in your ladyfinger rows that match the circumference of your glasses.

Save those scraps! You can use them for other things. Like ice cream.

Dip the bottom round into the espresso. Get it out quickly before it gets too wet.

Carefully insert it into the glass...

...and cover it with the mascarpone cream.

Now lay down the next level of ladyfingers. Here I needed to break mine up into individual pieces since the whole round wouldn't fit through the mouth of the glass.

A quick adjustment with the handle of a spoon...

...and a couple more ladyfingers...and it's time for the espresso. I'm painting it on because pre-moistened ladyfingers are too soggy to work with.

More cream...

...followed by another layer of ladyfingers...and more cream...

...and you're done. Now chill that for at least a couple of hours.

When ready to serve, dust some cocoa powder into/onto/around the glass. NOTE: This is also not traditional!

It looks nice though, I think.

Eat!

Tiramisu bears a striking resemblance to English trifle, or at any rate the Italian-ized version of it, a preparation called zuppa Inglese, English "soup" or "stew." Both involve spirit-soaked cakes, laid down in layers and covered with custard. The ladyfingers in tiramisu are soaked in espresso, but the principle is the same.

It's said that originally tiramisu wasn't made with a custard, but rather with a simple mixture of raw egg yolks beaten with sugar, to which mascarpone and whipped cream were added. Some contemporary tiramisu recipes do indeed call for uncooked egg yolks. Given that uncooked eggs still carry a risk of salmonella, I see no reason to press the issue. These days most "traditional" tiramisu is made by combining zabaglione (a sweet custard made with Marsala wine) with mascarpone and whipped cream, and that is what I shall do.

I'll add that the original tiramisu recipes supposedly left out the alcohol, the reason being that it was a children's dessert. I find that suspect for three reasons. First, zuppa Inglese contains alcohol. Second, since when did Italians ever begrudge their kids a taste of wine? But most importantly, I can't believe any parents would ever allow their children to consume a dessert with this much caffeine, unless they enjoyed watching them chatter like vervet monkeys who've just spotted a snake.

You'll need:

1/2 cup to 1 1/2 cups espresso, according to taste
1 tablespoon sugar
4 egg yolks
3.5 ounces (1/2 cup) sugar
4 ounces (1/2 cup) Marsala wine
16 ounces mascarpone cheese
1 cup heavy cream
about 40 ladyfingers (made with bread flour if homemade)
cocoa powder for dusting

Combine the espresso and tablespoon of sugar in a small bowl and set aside. In a small saucepan, whisk the egg yolks until light in color, whisk in the sugar and then the wine. Stir over medium-low heat until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon, about 195 degrees. Set the custard aside to cool.

In a medium bowl beat the mascarpone until light and creamy. Add the room-temperature custard and stir to combine. In the bowl of a mixer fitted with a whip, whip the cream to soft peaks and fold into the mascarpone mixture.

To assemble, secure a 12" x 9" baking dish. Dip half the ladyfingers in the espresso mixture one by one (for less of a coffee kick, use a pastry brush to simply paint some espresso on the tops). Lay the ladyfingers down in the dish, covering the bottom. Apply half the mascarpone mixture. Repeat the dipping with the second half of the ladyfingers and lay them into the dish. Add the last half of the mascarpone mixture, and dust with cocoa powder.

Or, you can try a more unusual presentation...

Time and temperature are the secrets to a successful batch of mascarpone. Other than that all you have to work with are cream, some acid, a thermometer and a pan. Simple, right? Right...

The formula is one pint of heavy cream and one pint of half-and-half, which I have found gives a firmer texture than all cream (though that works too). As for the acid, you'll need 1/4 teaspoon of tartaric acid (cream of tartar) OR 2 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice OR two tablespoons of white vinegar. Different people have different preferences, I like the powdered acid since it's always reliable. The acidity of both lemons and vinegar, depending on the variety, can fluctuate.

Most mascarpone recipes begin with a double boiler because the heat is gentler. I prefer a small straight-sided saucepan. Yes, there is a risk of over-heating, however 1 quart of dairy isn't much, and it tends to get lost inside a typical double boiler. It comes maybe one inch up the side of the pan, which makes it hard to get a reliable thermometer reading. A small pan gives me more depth, and as long as the pan is thick, very little risk of overheating. So then, pour your cream (or mix of cream and half-and-half) into the pan. Place it over medium-low heat.

I should insert, for those who might be inclined toward flavor infusions of some sort, that this is an excellent time to get busy. I can imagine a small cheesecloth bag containing perhaps citrus rinds, maybe spices or herbs, even coffee beans being dropped in at this point. Cream, because it is so full of fat, is a sponge for flavor.

While the cream mixture is slowly coming up to temperature, mix your tartaric acid into about a tablespoon of water. Stir it up and keep it ready. If you're planning on using a liquid acid, you can skip this step.

Now start watching your temperature closely. You'll want to bring the mix up to temperature slowly, over the course of ten or fifteen minutes. Once it hits about 185...

...give your acid mixture one last stir and pour it in.

Begin to stir again. This will help the mixture curdle.

Now then, you want to maintain a temperature of right around 190 for about five minutes, until you see evidence that the acid is having an effect. What will that effect be, exactly? A slight thickening of your mixture. No, it won't break into curds like other types of cheese mixtures will. However the thickness will tell you that your uncoiled proteins are starting to coagulate and interlock with one another, slowing the mixture's flow. Instead of making lots of little curds (think ricotta or quark) it's rather like, in fact it's very like, in fact it's exactly like, making a single large curd.

Keep stirring gently until...ah yes: there. About the thickness of a finished crème anglaise. See those little bulging waves? When you stir the mixture slowly, that's what you'll get. And no, those bubbles are not evidence of boiling, what you're seeing is just some light foam the whisk created. For extra verification that you've reached the right point, remove the pan from the heat, insert a spoon, turn it over and run your finger down the back side. Does it make a clearly defined stripe? Then you're done.

Set the pan aside and allow it to cool down to room temperature. This might be another prime opportunity, if you were so inclined, to introduce a flavoring in the form of an extract...if you wanted to...I'm just sayin'. Park it in the fridge for 24 hours. Yes, I drink Diet Coke. So what? I like the taste.

The next day, grab a medium-sized strainer or colander and set it in/over a pot or large bowl.

Line it with at least two layers of cheese cloth.

Take the pan out of the refrigerator and pour the mixture — which by now will be a good deal thicker — into the strainer.

Don't worry if the last of it seems rather runny, it still has a good deal of sitting yet to do. Return the cheese to the refrigerator, lightly covered with plastic wrap, for another 24 hours.

At the end of that period it will be thick, with a texture somewhere between sour cream and cream cheese.

Oh and...here's a quiz: what would you get if you employed this technique not with cream but with whole milk? Answer: paneer. And if you tried it with goat's milk? Answer: goat cheese. Pretty cool.

Fruit poaching is a simple process, and, at least for a fruit as delicate as peach, a quick one as well. Start by making your poaching syrup, a mixture of two parts water and one part sugar by weight. Here I have a pint (pound) of water and 8 ounces of sugar. Bring it to a simmer over medium heat, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. If you feel like it, the seeds from one vanilla bean make a great addition. You'll have enough syrup to poach half a dozen peaches or so.

Now split your peaches...

...and remove the stones.

Gently scoop out some of the fibrous bits around the stone.

Now's the time, if you don't want to poach with the skins on, that you need to blanch the peaches. To do this, you'll make shallow cuts in the skins here and there, then plunge the halves into simmering water for 30-60 seconds. Once cooled, the skins will peel off fairly easily. I want to leave the skins on for color, so I'm skipping this step.

Gently put the peaches into the simmering syrup. Notice that the syrup isn't boiling, that's by design. You want the syrup only hot enough so that you see the odd bubble or two come up every few seconds. Try to ensure that the peaches are completely submerged, especially on the skin side. Let them poach for five minutes.

After five minutes, remove the pan from the heat and let sit another five minutes. Once again, push the peaches under the level of the syrup since they'll want to float. You'll notice the skins beginning to fade.

When the poaching period is up, remove the peaches to a shallow dish and pour the warm syrup over them. Allow the dish to cool completely, then refrigerate overnight.

The next day you'll notice that the skins have started to wrinkle. No worries, the fruit underneath will be lovely. Simply slip the skins off. The flesh will be a soft pinkish-white, ready to use for whatever purpose you wish, like oh say, topping a charlotte. You'll also have a quantity of peach syrup leftover. Use that as your imagination dictates. Mixed drinks, anyone?

This method is terrific for white peaches, and works for regular yellow peaches as well, though for obvious reasons the colors will be darker. Also, if the peaches are very ripe, you'll want to poach for a shorter time lest you cook them into mush.

Though a charlotte is a great choice any time of year, it's especially good in the hot summer months. For one, it's a no-bake dessert. For two, it's light and airy yet still rich and creamy, and can be adapted to just about any summer fruit. Here I've added on some sliced poached white peach, but that's just one of any number of possibilities. Begin the process a minimum of six hours ahead of serving, a day or two ahead is ideal. To prepare the mold — and I'm using a classic slope-sided mold — get yourself a two-foot long sheet of aluminum foil.

Fold it in half.

Insert it into the mold along the sides. It won't be a perfect fit...

...you'll need to tear the edges so you can fold the foil down over the lip.

Press the foil as flat as you can.

For the bottom you can use a cut circle from a pre-made waxed cake circle. If you don't have that, a piece of cardboard and a piece of wax paper work great.

Now to lay in the ladyfingers. You can see I've piped these a little longer and narrower than my last batch, this is because the sides of a classic charlotte mold are about 4" high. If you were using a different mold, say a springform pan or a cake ring, standard-sized ladyfingers are all you need. Work with them frozen if you can, they're a little easier to handle.

Trim up the edges for neatness.

Drop one ladyfinger in the mold for size.

Trim off any excess.

Then use the trimmed one as a guide for the others.

Lay them into the mold, overlapping slightly so the filling doesn't leak out the sides.

Hmm...I seem to have a few corners still poking up there, better trim them down to the level of the bavarian cream so they won't throw off the balance of the finished charlotte. Now where did I put my shears?

Ah yes, there they are.

Time to scrape the Bavarian cream into the mold and get it into the refrigerator.

It will take a good four hours for the Bavarian cream to set up. I recommend overnight.

Here's what it looks like, but as you can see it hasn't changed terribly much, except for that little rough patch where I tapped it to make sure it had thickened. To unmold it, peel back the foil around the lip and bend it outward so it won't get caught on the mold.

Now place your platter of choice over the top, upside-down of course...

...and flip everything over.

Take off the mold...

...gently remove the foil...

...and peel back the top. Those small blobs of Bavarian cream that leaked out around the top can be easily removed at this point if you wish, or you can leave them. Either way is fine. Decorate the top however you'd like. I used peaches I'd poached, canned is fine, fresh berries or piped whipped cream work cream too.

Don't that look purty on a plate? Tastes good, too.

Oh silky, lovely bavarian cream...all set to be poured into a mold (after I've dipped my finger in it a time or two, of course). Making a crème anglaise-style Bavarian cream is only a little more complicated than making crème anglaise. All you're doing is combining your custard with whipped cream and gelatin. Easy. Below I'm attempting to make it outdoors in mid-afternoon on the hottest day of the year so far, which is less easy. Why bring that up? Because I wanted you to know how much I toil and suffer for you. Feel guilty? Good, then let's move on. Prepare an ice bath in the largest bowl you have.

Now add the gelatin to the small quantity ice water (swiped from your water bath, of course).

Now add your egg yolks to your sugar in a large bowl...

...and whisk until well-combined.

Combine the half-and-half with the vanilla seeds in a small saucepan, whisk and bring to the boil over medium-high heat.

Slowly pour the boiling half-and-half into the egg mixture, whisking all the while. No, I know I'm not whisking, I'm taking pictures! Gimme a break!

Pour the mixture back into the saucepan...

...and heat the mixture to thicken the yolks. Your target temperature is 196 degrees. Much more than that and the eggs will start to cook into lumps. A lot of very experienced pastry chefs don't use a thermometer during this stage of the procedure, preferring to wait until they see the first bubble, indicating that the custard is about to boil. Then they remove the custard from the heat. They get lumps, but then the mixture is strained anyway. It's really up to you what you'd like to do here.

When the crème anglaise is up to temperature, strain it into a clean bowl.

Now dump in your blob of gelatin — plunk!

...and whisk it in. It will melt very quickly.

Now's a good time to add any flavorings that might complement your preparation. Here I'm adding a little Amaretto, maybe two tablespoons.

After everything is whisked together, place the bowl into the ice water bath. This not only cools the mixture, it helps the gelatin to start setting up.

While the custard is cooling down, turn your attention to the whipped cream. Add the cold heavy cream to the bowl of a mixer fitted with a whip...

...and whip to soft peaks.

Now return to the custard. It should be only slightly warm by now. Stir it gently with your spatula, scraping any congealed custard away from the sides of the bowl. It will re-melt as you stir. Continue to do this as the mixture cools down. The texture you want is a bit hard to describe. You want it thickened slightly, but not so thick that the gelatin makes lumps in the finished product.

You can sort of see what I mean. Look at the edge of the pool of custard where it meets the pan. As I'm stirring and scraping, it's bulging a little.

And when I pick up the implement up out of the custard I'm seeing very faint tracks. This texture is almost like a yogurt drink, like kefir. Make sense?

Now that your custard has started to thicken, remove it from the ice water bath and start folding in the whipped cream...

...until it's all incorporated. (For more on folding, see the tutorial under the Techniques menu).

Done! Now promptly pour the finished Bavarian cream into whatever mold you intend, because the gelatin will set up in earnest before too much longer.

So there you have it. I confess it's a touch involved, but trust me, good Bavarian cream is one of life's great simple pleasures. You will enjoy it.

I hesitated at first to do Bavarian cream because I've had so many bad experiences with it. No, not making it. Eating it. For Bavarian cream is a much abused substance in the baking world. So often it has so much gelatin in it that it comes off like JELL-O pudding. Thankfully, pastry chef Laura N. — another solidly obsessive personality — was kind enough to help me find a formula to get excited about. It's by Chef Roland Mesnier from his book Dessert University and it goes kinda sorta like this:

1.5 ounces (3 tablespoons) cold water
2 1/4 teaspoons gelatin
4 large egg yolks
3 ounces (1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon) sugar
1 1/2 cups half-and-half
Seeds from one vanilla bean
1 1/2 cups heavy cream, cold

Put the cold water in a small bowl, sprinkle on the gelatin and let it stand. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and sugar.

Get a large bowl of ice water ready.

Put the half-and-half in a small saucepan, add the vanilla seeds and whisk to combine. Bring the mixture to the boil, then slowly pour it into the egg mixture, whisking the whole time. Pour the entire mixture back into the saucepan and bring it just to the boil. When the custard starts to bubble, pour it through a fine mesh strainer into another bowl. Whisk in the gelatin and place the bowl in the ice water bath.

While the custard is cooling, whip the cream. Add the cold cream to the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a whip and whip to the soft peak stage. When the the custard has just started to thicken but is still liquid, fold in the whipped cream. Scrape the mixture into the appropriate mold and chill in the refrigerator for a minimum of 3 hours. It can be kept several days or frozen for up to three months.

I was going to write about how to modify ladyfingers before putting up the tutorial, but I think it'll be easier to show the recipe first, then talk about adjustments. Ladyfingers are a lot easier to make than this series of photos might make them appear. They require a few steps, but the batter is nowhere near as temperamental as, say, macaron or even génoise batter. So go forward fearlessly.

Preheat your oven to 375. Put the room-termperature egg yolks and 2.5 ounces of the sugar in the bowl of your mixer.

Whip until very pale, voluminous and thick. You want the first ribbons that fall off the whip to be meaty, like so:

Add your vanilla and whip another 10-15 seconds.

Scrape the mixture into a large, shallow bowl and sift the flour over it. Sprinkle on a pinch of salt and set the bowl aside.

Now for the meringue. Wash and dry your bowl and whip. Put the room-temperature whites in the bowl...

...and whip until frothy. Add the cream of tartar (this strengthens the foam).

Whip to soft peaks and start adding in the last ounce of sugar.

Whip to the "bird's beak" stage.

Now all we do is combine our foams. Start by simply stirring the first third of the meringue into the bowl containing the yolk mixture and flour. It'll look a little messy at first, be not afraid. What you're trying to do is simply combine everything and lighten the mixture a little. Stir until there are only a couple of spots of unincorporated foam.

Now start your folding in earnest. Fold in the next third of the meringue gently, then the next (for more detailed instructions on folding, see the tutorial under the Techniques menu).

Here's about where you want to be when you're done. Notice that there are a couple of blobs/streaks of meringue still left. That's a good thing.

Scoop the batter into a large fabric pastry bag fitted with just the coupler — no tip — and prepare to pipe! (For more on assembling pastry bags, see the tutorial under the Techniques menu). You want to do this fairly promptly, because the batter will start to lose its fluff. First, drop a spot of batter at each corner of the sheet pan, this will glue down your parchment paper.

See?

Hey! What's that funky parchment paper? Oh just a little something from the folks over at Bulls Eye Baking Company: pre-measured paper that helps you pipe, place and cut a whole bunch of different stuff. Pretty cool, and especially handy for jobs like ladyfingers, where consistency is crucial. (No, they didn't pay me to write that, but they did send me two dozen free sheets, which is serious swag when you consider the economics of blogging). Pipe your ladyfingers about like so:

What you want to do here is pipe them about 1 1/2 inches wide by about 3 1/2 inches long. Go as straight as you can, leaving about 1/4 inch gap between the fingers. But Joe, won't they bake into each other as they rise in the oven? Indeed they will, and that's what I want, for ladyfingers tend to spread out as they bake. If I leave a large gap between them, the result will be flatter, crispier cookies. I want mine taller and more cake-like, so I pipe them close together. The batter will still expand, but what can't spread out must go up, it's one of Pastry's Elementary Laws of Batter.

When piping, be sure to resist the temptation to touch the nozzle-end of the bag to the sheet. Keep it a good half inch or so up in the air so the batter can pour out and puddle a little. Just go slowly, you'll see what I mean.

These aren't perfectly straight, but hey, it's tough to pipe and take pictures at the same time, so cut me some slack! In truth piping isn't my strong suit. The good news is that in the world of ladyfingers, baking redeems many a piping sin. Now just dust on some powdered sugar. You can also use superfine sugar if you like a slightly crustier finish. Up to you.

See? You can hardly tell how lousy I am at piping. Quite nice...and they taste good, too.

This is a fairly standard ladyfinger recipe that produces a nice general-purpose cookie. It's quite similar to other sponge cakes like génoise, except that it contains no butter. You can of course mess with this basic formula to create different effects, and in the next couple of posts I'll tell you how.

4 eggs, room temperature, separated
3.5 ounces (1/2 cup) sugar, separated
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
3.75 ounces (3/4 cup) all-purpose flour
small pinch of salt
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
powdered or superfine sugar for finishing

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and lubricate with cooking spray. Combine 2.5 ounces of the sugar and the yolks in the bowl of mixer fitted with a whip attachment. Whip on medium-high until the mixture is pale and has almost tripled in volume. Add the vanilla and whip about 10 seconds more. Scrape the mixture into a large shallow bowl. Sift the flour over the mixture, sprinkle on the salt and set the bowl aside while you prepare the meringue.

Wash and dry the mixer bowl and whip (not getting obsessive about making sure every last tiny speck of yolk mixture is washed away). Add the whites to the bowl and whip on medium-high until the whites are frothy. Add the cream of tartar, then whip to soft peaks. Slowly add the last ounce of sugar to the egg whites and whip to stiff peaks (the "bird's beak" stage).

Now then, with a rubber scraper, stir the flour into the egg-sugar mixture until it's almost completely combined. Add a third of the meringue and stir until almost incorporated, leaving a few streaks. Fold in the next third, and the next third, until you completely run out of thirds.

Gently spoon the mixture into a large pastry bag. Pipe onto the parchment in 3"-4" lengths, doing your best to be uniform. You want the individual fingers to be only 1/4" apart from one another so that they spread into each other as they bake. This is important for reasons I'll go into later on. Dust the ladyfingers with sugar and bake about 15 minutes until lightly golden. Remove the pan from the heat and carefully slide the parchment onto a wire rack to cool completely.

Use right away or freeze for up to three months.

It may not be traditional, but I can tell you how it tastes: phenomenal. The assembly goes like this: roll out your puff pastry to about 1/4" thickness and cut out your crusts. You want the circles to be as big around as the outside lip of the ramekin molds. Once they're cut, store them in the refrigerator until needed.

Now for the caramel. Pour 4 tablespoons of sugar into a small saucepan, add a tablespoon of water and place it over high heat.

Swirl the pan gently until the mixture melts, bubbles and finally turns a medium-to-dark amber (for more detailed instructions on making caramel, see the tutorial under the Pastry Components menu to the right). Remove the pan from the heat and add a 1/4 teaspoon of sherry or red wine vinegar. It will bubble a little. Swirl to combine.

Spoon about a tablespoon of the caramel into each ramekin.

Add three olives and a roasted garlic clove to each.

Then insert a roasted tomato half, cut side up.

Next go the caramelized onions, about one and a half tablespoons.

Salt and fresh ground pepper.

Top it all off with a puff pastry round. Don't worry if it sags in the middle.

Bake at 425 for about 20 minutes until nicely browned.

Let the tarts rest for about a minute before turning them out. Careful now, they're hot. Turn them out by placing a small plate on the top of the ramekin (don't worry if that crushes the pastry a little...you need a flat bottom anyway).

Using a towel, grasp the hot ramekin with one hand and the plate with the other and flip the whole thing over. Jiggle the mold a little to loosen the tart. If it doesn't come out, try running a sharp knife around the edge of the tart and repeating the process.

Some caramel will run down the sides and pool on the plate. You can either serve the tarts as-is for a more rustic presentation, or re-plate them as I've done above. Garnish with a sprig of fresh thyme.

Onions are sweet little bulbs. In fact they're unusually so, only their sweetness is hidden in the form of long chains of fructose molecules. Unadulterated, those fructose chains don't register as sweet sensations on our tongues because our taste buds don't have receptors capable of recognizing them. Add to that the fact that they're disguised by stinging compounds that are released when the onion is cut (broken cells allow enzymes and sulfurous defense compounds to mix like chemicals in a glow stick).

But that's an onion in its natural state. Cook it and two remarkable things happen. First, the onion's sulfurous defenses are destroyed, broken up into a variety of savory, almost meaty-tasting molecules. Second, the onion's fructose-based energy stores begin breaking down into shorter-chain sugars that our tongues can recognize. The longer and gentler the heating process, the sweeter and more savory onions become.

Caramelizing onions isn't a complicated thing. The key ingredient is time, something few of us have to spare in modernity. However the rewards are well worth the effort. These take only about an hour, but to my mind they're every bit as good as those you get from much longer cooking times (plus the shorter cooking won't totally suffuse your house with onion odors). One taste and you'll be a convert.

Use caramelized onions on Alsatian onion tarts, on sandwiches, in salads, pastas and relishes. Heck I like'em just on toast. Chopped and mixed into scrambled eggs with a little smoked fish and they're a meal fit for the gods! But I digress.

Start by slicing your onions, six of them. I like the following method for caramelized onions. Peel your onion and slice off the ends.

Then cut the onion in half along its length. Cut the halves into quarters, again along the onion's length.

Now then, for the slicing. The idea is to sliver the onion by cutting it from the outside inward. So, using a nice sharp knife, angle the blade nearly parallel with your cutting board and slice toward the onion's center.

Keep angling the knife upward as you slice until you get to the top.

Do that for all your onion quarters and this is what you get, some very consistent not-too-big, not-too-small slivers. Can you cut the onions cross-wide into rings if you want? Sure. I won't come straight to your house and ridicule you like some other bloggers will. That's what makes me different.

Now then. Apply about half a cup of olive oil to your widest sauté pan or a Dutch oven.

Heat it over medium-high heat until it runs easily across the pan and gives you that shimmery look:

Now add the onions and toss until they're all coated with oil.

Reduce the heat to medium and cook, stirring every so often to make sure the onions aren't burning. If the edges do start to brown, turn the heat down a little and stir more often. After half an hour they'll look about like this.

Now add a cup of chicken stock and a teaspoon of white wine vinegar (the acid hastens the breakdown of the onion's sugars)

Keep cooking another half an hour until the onions are a rich golden brown and the liquid has evaporated.

Inspired additions at this point include thyme leaves and/or a little anchovy paste, but do what you will. Cool and store in the refrigerator for up to ten days, assuming you can keep from eating them that long.

Nary a year passes in which I don't slow-roast at least a few tomatoes to stash away in the freezer. In the bleak month of February, their bright, concentrated flavors serve as a reminder of happier days past, and yet to come. Before I had a backyard garden, my standard operating procedure was to prowl the produce stands in peak tomato season, hunting for boxes of split or bruised tomatoes that farmers were willing to unload on the cheap. I could usually find someone who'd sell me a half bushel of "seconds" for under a dollar a pound. For you need not have perfect tomatoes to employ this technique. Whatever meat that's left after you cut away the unusable parts will roast up perfectly. As Tom Colicchio points out in his masterful Think Like a Chef, this is also a handy method for intensifying and improving the flavor of out-of-season tomatoes. Start by preheating your oven to 350. Wash and remove the cores from 10 tomatoes:

Slice them in half along their length.

Place the halves in a large bowl. Drizzle them with about 1/4 cup olive oil...

...and about two teaspoons of kosher salt (the salt will draw out a good deal of their moisture).

Give them a stir to coat...

...and lay them out on parchment-lined sheet pans. Don't skip the parchment — that part's important. Why? Because most sheet pans are made from al-yoo-minee-um, and as you likely know, prolonged exposure to aluminum ruins the flavor of tomatoes.

Scatter some thyme sprigs and a full head of un-peeled garlic cloves among the tomatoes.

Roast them in the 350 oven for about 45 minutes, until the skins loosen and crack.

Then simply remove them with a fork.

You'll note quite a bit of liquid in the pan. What to do about it? Apply another sheet pan — gently — to the top...

...and holding the pans with towels or oven mits, pour the liquid into a bowl. This stuff is gold all by itself. Strained, it's perfect for use in light sauces or mixed into risotto broth.

Reduce the oven to 275 and continue to roast for another 3-4 hours, until the tomatoes look like so:

By that time the garlic will be perfectly roasted as well. Use it or store it in the freezer (triple-bagged in freezer bags so as not to let the odor ruin your ice cream) for later use. Pour off any remaining liquid and let the tomatoes cool completely on the pan. Store in the refrigerator for up to a week, or freeze them. If you can fit the whole sheet pan in your freezer, that's ideal. If not, gently transfer them to a plate or small cutting board and put the whole works in the freezer for a couple of hours. Once frozen, simply put the tomato halves in bags in the freezer, where they'll keep for 6-8 months.

I should note that if you wish to dry the tomatoes further, you can, but stop when the edges start to caramelize. Beyond that point, they'll reduce to not much more than tomato paste.

Look around a little and you can find recipes for full-sized tomato tartes tatin, however I think the original mini-tarts still work the best. The New York Times' large version from 2008 calls for a pound of cherry or grape tomatoes, but I think that's still too watery, and I don't much care for the presentation. If you're hell bent on making a single large tart, dry the slow-roasted tomatoes until they're nearly caramelized in the oven, then do your best to arrange the pieces in an attractive pattern. The Colicchio version goes like this:

4 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon water
1/4 teaspoon sherry (or red wine) vinegar
4 roasted garlic cloves (see slow-roasted tomato tutorial)
1 cup caramelized onions (see caramelized onion tutorial)
12 Niçoise olives, pitted
4 roasted tomato halves (see slow-roasted tomato tutorial)
Kosher salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
8 ounces puff pastry, homemade preferred, store-bought is fine

Preheat oven to 425 (puff pastry needs big heat). Combine the sugar and water in a small saucepan and swirl over high heat until the sugar dissolves, then turns a dark amber. Remove the pan from the heat and add the vinegar, swirl to combine.

Pour equal amounts of caramel into four 4-ounce ramekins. Let the caramel cool for about a minute, then drop a roasted garlic clove, 3 olives and a tomato half into each ramekin. Sprinkle on salt and pepper, then add a generous spoonful of caramelized onions.

Roll out the puff pastry to about a 1/4" thickness. Using a round cutter, punch out holes the size of the ramekins and place the rounds on top. Put the ramekins on a sheet pan and place in the oven. Bake for about 20 minutes until the pastry is puffed and golden. Let the tarts cool for one minute, then — carefully — turn them out onto plates.

At the Grammercy Tavern, these are served as an accompaniment to steak, and that's a really, really good idea.

The more you eat, the more you want. It's been the Cracker Jack slogan since 1895 and it's still true. There's a little bit of candy-making process to this never-fail treat, but it's painless if you can lay your hands on a thermometer. First, we make the popcorn. Throw a few kernels in a 3-4 quart saucepan with a couple tablespoons of oil and put the pan over medium-high heat.

When you have a couple of pops, you know you're ready.

Add the rest of the corn.

Cover the pan and leave it slightly off-kilter to allow steam to escape. Shake it back and forth over the burner. What does that do? It helps un-popped kernels to settle to the bottom where it's hotter. Oh, and yes, in case you were wondering, this wooden pastry board doubles as a cooktop. Very hush-hush technology, I hope to take it to market soon, make a billion dollars, and kiss this cyber-popsicle stand goodbye forever!

But where was I? Oh yes: pop the corn.

Spray a large bowl with non-stick spray...

...then pour the popcorn and the peanuts in. Give it a stir. The peanuts will all settle to the bottom. Don't worry about it. Put the bowl in a very low oven — under 175 if your oven will go that low.

Then, make the caramel. Combine all the ingredients except for the soda and salt in a 2-3 quart saucepan. Place over medium-high heat and swirl until the butter melts. The let it sit and boil until it reaches 300 degrees Fahrenheit. It will take about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine your soda and salt in a bowl and stir to combine.

Lay out a piece of parchment paper and spray with cooking spray.

When the caramel hits 300 degrees, take it off the heat...

...and stir in the salt/soda mixture.

It will start growing. This is the part where you'll wonder if you haven't made a big, big mistake because this stuff looks downright weird. However there's method to the baking soda madness, since it's creating an ultra-light caramel that will lay on extremely thin.

It will keep growing and probably fill up the pan. Stir it down to contain the reaction.

Remove the popcorn from the oven and pour on the crazy caramel. You need not use every last bit of it. I didn't. I left maybe 15% of it in the pan.

Toss with two wooden spoons.

Lay out the big mass of caramel corn on the greased parchment and separate it into small pieces with the spoons or by hand (careful, it's hot).

And you're done! You'll need to soak your caramel pan in water for at least 20 minutes before you can clean it, because the caramel will set up like rock. If you make caramel corn in humid weather, be sure to store it in an airtight container or zip-type plastic bag. Above all, don't start eating it, because you won't stop.

And with that I'm outta here for at least a week. Summer vacation. Back soon kiddies!

What we have here is more like Cracker Jack than regular caramel corn, which is the way we roll in the Pastry household. Leave the peanuts out of you prefer, but be sure to add an extra teaspoon of salt to compensate.

1 ounce (2 tablespoon) vegetable oil
3.75 ounces (1/2 cup) popcorn kernels
5 ounces (1cup) salted peanuts
7 ounces (1 cup) white sugar
7.5 ounces (1 cup) light brown sugar
5.5 ounces (1/2 cup) light corn syrup
4 ounces (1/2 cup) water
1 ounce (2 tablespoons) butter
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda

Preheat your oven to 120 degrees. Pour the oil into a large 4-quart sauce pan and set it over medium-high heat. Drop in three our four kernels of the popcorn and shake the pan a bit to coat them with oil. When one or two of the kernels pop, add the rest of the popcorn and cover the pan, leaving the lid slightly askew to allow steam to escape. Shake the pan back and forth over the burner until the kernels stop popping, about four minutes. Apply cooking spray to a large bowl (stainless steel is nice), pour in the corn, toss in the peanuts and put the bowl in the oven to keep it warm. Lay a large sheet of aluminum foil out on your counter and apply cooking spray to that as well.

Next, in a medium saucepan combine the sugars, butter, corn syrup and water. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pan or have an instant-read thermometer standing by. Place the mixture over medium heat and swirl gently until the butter melts. Boil without stirring until it reaches 300 degrees. Take the saucepan off the heat and gently stir in the salt and baking soda. It will foam up some, so be prepared.

Take the popcorn bowl out of the oven and pour the caramel over. Toss with two wooden spoons to coat, then lay it out on the greased foil. Using two forks, break the big clumps up into smaller pieces if you wish. Allow the mixture to cool, then store in an airtight container for a week.

Reader Roger adds:

One thing you failed to mention however is the secret to that wonderful movie theater pop corn with the lovely yellow hue and flavor. The secret is popping the corn in coconut oil. While the health nazis tend not to like coconut oil it really makes the difference in popcorn.

I also notice that your recipe doesn't specify the type of peanuts. I suspect crackerjack traditionally uses Spanish peanuts that tend to be smaller and have tighter red skins than the Virginia peanuts. I think that's what beer-nuts are also. I am unsure if that makes a big difference however.

I was fiddling with pita over the weekend and came up with this new formula. It's much faster than the original version, assuming you have some refreshed and active starter hanging around. I put sourdough in quotations since a bread that's not made with a starter that's local to the San Francisco Bay area can't really claim to be "sour" in that sense. But it still tastes darn good.

11 ounces unbleached all-purpose (AP) flour (substitute whole wheat four for up to half if desired)
10 ounces bread starter
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons instant yeast
2 1/4 teaspoons sugar
2 tablespoons (1 ounce) olive or vegetable oil
3/4 cup (6 ounces) lukewarm water

Combine all the ingredients in the bowl of a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, and stir on low until all the ingredients are moist, about 30 seconds. Switch to a dough hook and knead 5-7 minutes, until dough is smooth and elastic. Let rise in an oiled bowl for an hour, until almost doubled in size.

Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 550 and arrange a pizza stone on the middle rack. Turn the dough out of the bowl and divide it into nine 3-ounce pieces. Roll each into a ball according to the bun shaping instructions under the How to Shape Buns and Rolls tutorial over to the right. Let them rest for 20- 30 minutes. Roll out to circles about 7 inches across. Let rest about 10 minutes.

When ready, simply pick up one or two pitas and drop them onto the baking stone. Bake for 2-3 minutes, until puffy, then gently, with tongs, turn over. Bake another two minutes or so, until the breads achieve the desired color (the lighter the pitas, the more tender and flexible they'll be...I like mine a little darker for flavor). Cool and eat. These freeze very well.

Beignets offer a great deal of payoff relative to time spent planning and preparing them. As long as you have a fry rig ready to go, they can take as little as two hours from mixing to frying. Start by combining your dry ingredients in a mixer bowl and giving them a whisk (you can also stir with the paddle attachment).

Combine your wet ingredients and pour them in.

Mix with the beater until everything is wet.

Then switch to the hook and knead until a dough forms. It will be quite wet and sticky, but for fried things the rule of thumb is the wetter the dough the better (that's why most fried things are coated in batter, because more flour generally means a tougher end product).

Put the dough into a lightly oiled bowl...

...and let rise until almost doubled, about 45 minutes.

Transfer the dough to a well-floured surface...

...and pat into a rectangle.

Roll it out to about 3/8"...

...then cut the dough one way...

...and the other.

Place them on a kitchen towel or proofing cloth.

Let them rise another 45 minutes to an hour until puffy, and fry 45 seconds a side until golden.

Drain them on paper towels, transfer to plates while still hot and dust them liberally with powdered sugar.