Vanilla Bean

There is nothing more comforting than a light and fluffy sponge, overflowing raspberry jam, and too much vanilla bean whipped cream. To achieve the cake’s perfect spongy texture, be careful to not overmix the batter once the flour is added. When making the whipped cream, don’t substitute vanilla extract for the vanilla bean paste—you won’t get the same warm vanilla notes that this cake needs!

It’s a lover’s thing to start the morning with coffee and croissants, and though I am nothing if not willing, I’m not the best at making either from scratch. French toast is the way I oblige. The sugar at the end is the best part. It caramelizes over heat, and as it cools, sets to a crisp. I still relinquish the role of coffee maker but sometimes steal the grinds to add into the custard for a more toothed grit.

A buckle was one of my signature cakes when I worked as pastry chef for the Gjelina Group. Every bite is tangy, tart, and deliciously rich. I love this cake with mixed berries, but using one single variety can also be nice. If you’re serving it after dinner, add some fresh berries and a little whipped cream on the side. 

When unmolded onto a large platter garnished with fresh fruit, such as grapes, lady apples, tiny pears, and some greenery, this gelatin can serve as the centerpiece on a holiday buffet table. It is a stunning presentation and tastes so good, too. If you are not a fan of alcohol, you can replace the wine with any cranberry juice mix.

It will be completely un-shocking that my visit to Japan was more cake-centric, less fish-focused. I ate the flooffiest pumpkin doughnuts, elegant apple shortbread cookie sandwiches, silky coffee caramel flan and cheesecake. At the tiny pastry shop Equal Pastryshop, I ate a strawberry shortcake whose perfection made me want to hang up my apron, because if such baking beauty already exists in this world, then my efforts are futile. 

The Japanese shortcake is their refined version of the American shortcake and is layers of dairy-rich sponge, cream and strawberries. Eating it feels like hugging a puppy, the first day of t-shirt weather in spring and knowing you are loved all at once.

A proper tart shell should be golden brown, uniformly thin, crispy, and have smooth, clean edges. When you bite into it, it should melt in your mouth as you chew. I’m practical when it comes to tart shells. To me, a tart shell must serve a purpose: it should carry as much fresh fruit as possible. During the summer in France, this means a punnet of ripe woodland strawberries—they taste so sweet, they could be candy—arranged on top of a layer of whipped vanilla ganache. I add as many as I can, so there’s not a sliver of ganache visible. A little strawberry jam piped on top deepens the tart’s flavor. 

This recipe is old-fashioned in the sense that it doesn't involve any canned milk, powders, or artificial flavorings. It results in a flan that is not too eggy thanks to the use half-and-half instead of milk to help thicken it.

Unlike most pie lovers, if I’m given a choice between a fruit- or custard-filled one, I always reach for the custard one first. The rich, custardy smoothness draws me in every time. This pie is no exception; the added brûléed sugar top gives the ensemble a slight crunch and added dimension in flavor.