continued from the last post

We were greeted at the door by a tall handsome woman who introduced herself, shook hands and kissed those she knew on both cheeks in the usual French manner of greeting which we, too, have grown accustomed.  Coats off — aprons on –  and into the kitchen.   A large square table in the center of the kitchen was set with 8 red placemats as two more women joined us.  The conviviality of our group continued – jokes, and laughter and lots of chatting.  In fact, the tempo seemed to pick up a bit and I found myself straining again to understand what was being said.  Our cooking teacher, Caroline, began to explain what we would be doing: first,  we would learn how to make macarons, a special cookie not like the macaroons Americans think of, and then we’ll learn to make a salmon torte.  Véronique was sitting next to me and quietly asked, “Did you understand her?” I simply replied, “Not a word!” ( and chuckled!) Our teacher’s mode of speaking – staccato and rapid—was very difficult for me to understand.  Fortunately, again, there were many friends on all sides willing to translate.  Nothing was lost!

Soon we were all up and doing —weighing (even the egg whites) ,  mixing, sifting ( by hand with a strainer and two spoons), beating the egg whites to stiff peaks, adding one kind of sugar here – another there – carefully,  being sure everything was  just right.  After slowly combining the dry ingredients into the egg whites – by hand with the stirring movement always in the same direction,  getting to the bottom, mixing slowly, mixing well – our teacher stopped us.    She stopped us when the consistency was exactly right.  Holding the spatula high above up and she let the egg whites mixture, now a soft dough drip down to the bowl — not too thin, not to thick — but just right.

In the meantime, some of us had used a bottle  she’d given us  to trace circles on cooking parchment – just the right size for a macaron.   Next, we put the dough which had been prepared with so much care and labor into a plastic bag – one with a spout which would,  when squeezed  over the circles we’d drawn,  make a round soon to be half a macaron.  Not quite finished –good macarons have a slightly crunchy crust with a soft inside,  and since we didn’t have all night to let the dough dry out, we simply spent 10 minutes ‘blow drying’ the dough.  Ingenious!  Voilà – they were ready for the oven and now we were ready to make the ganache.

I won’t go through the details, but two types were made.  One was the most delicious caramel (ganache caramel au beurre salé to be exact) I’ve ever  tasted, and the other a lemony lemon- like custard filling (ganache citron).   Baked and cooled, the macaron halves were ready to be assembled with a bit of ganache gently placed between them.   Yummy isn’t the word!  What you learn from all this is that one wouldn’t dare eat more than one – possibly two of these cookies.   Why? Making them is too much work and second they are rich as can be!  Just a little is all you need to be totally satisfied and in heaven!

I won’t go through the details of the Tourte Saumon Poireaux (salmon torte with leeks) – and with crème fraiche and salmon eggs –also known as caviar!) except to say, this was much easier to make than the macarons were.   The pastry was bought all ready to bake.   (Most  French grocery stores and supermarkets, sell the various types of specialty doughs used in French cooking.  How nice!  The one we used today is called pâte feuilletée which when taken out of its box unfurls into a large round more than 12” in diameter. )

On one pâte, which formed the bottom of the torte,  chunks of  salmon were spread, then the sliced leeks layered over it,  and the crème fraiche and salmon egg mixture poured over all.  A  second pâte was placed over everything and the edges of the two pâtes pressed together, painted with egg yolk and scored.

So beautiful and amazingly easy!  Since there was no time to bake it, we each got a slice to take home along with our macaroons.

Holding my torte and macarons carefully, as Véronique made her way through the rush hour traffic back to Paris from Versailles, I was happy not to be balancing these treasures on a train to Gare Saint Lazare.

My slice of the torte was baked for diner and George got to enjoy it while I went on and on about how much fun the day had been.