We made this about two weeks ago: it's called "tarte meringuée aux poires caramélisées." Otherwise, meringue tart with caramelized pears. The crust on the bottom is a crisp, almond-flour based crust. Filling the tart are, as the name suggests, caramelized pears. But there are also black currants! Surprise! On top is meringue made with ground almonds, finished with slivered almonds and powdered sugar. I'd have to say that this tart was my favorite of any cake or tart we've made so far, because the pears and the almonds complement each other so nicely. And for once, the flavor of the dessert is not based on butter and the cream! Hooray! A close second would be the apple tart we made early on.
Following this cake we made what is called "Moka." Moka consists of two layers of génoise--which is essentially a French sponge cake--imbibed with espresso rum syrup, and frosted in a thin layer of moka buttercream. It is a very classic French cake, so classic that you won't necessarily find them in most pastry shops these days. Traditionally, the decoration is very simple on this cake: just miniature rosettes piped all the way around the edge, and some kind of decoration in the middle. I piped a kind of delicate star medallion in the center, with a chocolate covered coffee bean in the very middle of the medallion. The chef was very complimentary.
But, as usual, we had no way to transport the cake. The box that they provide us with does not, has not once, fit anything we make. Usually this means everyone has to wrap their confections in plastic or aluminum foil. But having spent an hour on piping the little miniature roses evenly around the entire cake alone, to say nothing of hand beating the meringue used for the batter, I wasn't about to smash it down with plastic. Also, we aren't allowed to bring cameras into the kitchen, so I wanted to transport it home as carefully as I could in order to take a picture of my achievement (to put on my blog of course!). But how? I had to take a 25 minute metro ride, including a train change...With my cake on its golden round, balanced on the palm of my hand, I walked into the pastry shop across the street from the school. The pastry chef behind the counter made a disapproving smile and shook her finger at me. "You come into my pastry shop with someone else's cake? Oh, I'm only teasing. We don't sell that kind here anyway. Where did you buy that by the way? That's lovely." I explained that I had just made it myself, but had no way to transport it home in the subway...and could I buy a cake box? "Buy a cake box? No! If you made that cake, you deserve one for free!" And so she took my cake, carefully wrapped it in the box. I walked down the steps of the metro quite jauntily,
so proud of my cake.
I guess I was
too proud:
As the buzz sounded to indicate the impending closing of the doors, a man came running down the steps toward the train, swinging himself with all of his force into the car, losing his balance once inside and falling on my cake with his elbow. "Oh! Désolé, mademoiselle!" (Oh! Sorry, miss!). There was NO way I was going to say "oh, it's okay!" as I normally would have. After all, it wasn't technically his fault--it was....inertia. Instead all I could do was open the top of the box to assess the damage: rosettes gone.
And so there is no picture of the génoise tragedy.
