Holding - The Little French Bakery cookbook: sweet & savory recipes and tales from a pastry chef and her cooking school

Copyright 2014 by Susan M. Holding

Photography copyright 2014 by Susan Holding

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Amy Lee Sullivan

Cover photo credit: Susan Holding

ISBN: 978-1-62914-551-8

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63220-031-0

Printed in China

For Gary

CONTENTS

Chapter One

LETS GET STARTED

Bonjour!

Welcome to the Little French Bakery and Cooking School. In each class at The Little French Bakery, students receive a collection of recipes based on the topic of the day. In this book, youll find many of the recipes Ive been teaching since my classes began. Some are sweet, some are savory. While some are easier than others, Ive written the directions so new, aspiring cooks and bakers can be successful.

In 2010 I began blogging about pastry school experiences, baking, cooking, and life here in rural Wisconsin. My photography started out underexposed and out of focus. With the help of some great tutors, books, and classes, my photography is improving. My Canon 7D and I have become good friends. Im delighted I was able to shoot the photos for this book. The photos of me, Gary, and our dogs were taken by Mike and Heather Krakora of Krakora Studios. Lindsey Carlyle Eastman of Lindsey Carlyle Photography took the photo of me with my camera when we were in Ireland studying food styling and photography with Beatrice Peltre, of La Tartine Gourmande.

Tucked between the recipes and photographs of this book youll find my stories. I hope youll be able to join me in person some day as we bake, eat, and share time together.

How Did This All Begin?

As a little girl, I loved to bake. My parents made a great choice when I was in kindergarten. Rather than going the Easy Bake Oven route, they gave me a set of small pans and bowls with tiny mixes for Christmas. With some adult supervision, I could make a cake and bake it in the big oven. I remember my grandma was a great cook. It was so fun standing at her side with an apron tied around me. Sometimes it was a dish towel, sometimes a pretty embroidered apron from her kitchen drawer. As I grew up, I baked in Girl Scouts for badges, baked for family events, and baked with my college roommates trying recipes in the cooking magazines and cookbooks.

Fast forward a few (ok, more than a few!) years. Like many of my students and readers, I was an enthusiastic home cook. I was working in the healthcare industry, and I was trying all kinds of recipes and enjoyed taking evening demo-style classes at local cooking stores on evenings and weekends. New pieces of cooking equipment were my favorite gifts.

One day, I decided to expand my horizons and enroll in a weekend baking class. Since my work required travel, I was accumulating many frequent flyer miles. My plan was to use some of the miles and learn more about baking. I wasnt sure where I wanted to go so I found the most recent edition of Gourmet magazine and looked for the ads for cooking schools. I pulled out the reader response cardyou know, the little cardboard postcards that used to be tucked in between the pages. There were about one hundred numbers on the card corresponding to ads in the magazine. I circled the numbers for all the cooking schools I thought were a good match. The schools were mostly on the East or West Coast of the United States featuring weekend bread and pastry classes. My plan was right on target.

I waited for the materials to arrive. Now remember, this was pre-internet so information was gathered by phone or what is kindly referred to now as snail mail. Over the span of a few weeks, literature began to arrive: little pamphlets with schedules and class descriptions. The next step was to decide which class and when. Then came the big day. When I arrived home from work one day, there was a large, thick white envelope waiting for me. I opened the outer wrapper to find a shiny, high-quality folder containing the registration materials and information for Le Cordon Bleu, Paris. It was beautifully organized and contained all I needed to apply for culinary school. I had circled the number on the reply card by accident. I had no intention of leaving my job and heading off to school, so I set it aside and continued to review the other classes info.

A few weeks went by. I couldnt get the Cordon Bleu folder out of my mind. What if I did go away to school? I loved school and maybe this could work. As I read all the requirements and schedules in Le Cordon Bleus folder, I found a program they referred to as Intensive. Each part was three weeks long and held in August or December. The first class was called Ptisserie de Base, Basic Pastry. By now the wheels were really turning. What if I took a short leave of absence from work and went to Paris to take this class? I could learn enough French to get by. I had the miles, and there must be places the school could recommend for lodging. Gary and I had a long talk about my idea. He was excited, and encouraged me take the next step.

One of the prerequisites was experience in a commercial kitchen. I found a local European-style bakery who kindly welcomed me to help with odds and ends after my real work day was finished. I got to see firsthand how a commercial kitchen works. I learned how to handle batches larger than one or two dozen, and several pieces of really big equipment. Experience, check. Now I was ready to apply.

I sent off the application and within the month was accepted into Ptisserie de Base. Even the acceptance letter was beautiful. Each correspondence arrived Par Avion Air Mail. I was going to Paris to study at Le Cordon Bleu.

After sending in my uniform sizing information, my dream was becoming a reality. I now needed to brush up on my French. And Ill be honest, it wasnt brushing up, it was essentially learning from scratch. Using tapes, CDs, books, and flashcards, I taught myself enough French to get by. Looking back, my French was terrible, but I was enthusiastic and trying my hardest.

Now that I had been accepted I needed to find a place to stay. Rather than an apartment, which seemed daunting, I looked through the hotels listed in guide books and lists provided by the school, and found a hotel in the 17th arrondissement. The description sounded lovely, was near the school, and offered a monthly rate. In my best French and with the help of notes with phonetic spelling scribbles, I called the hotel, made the reservation, and was set.