Longer Days
May 08, 2009
It's been three weeks since we reluctantly shut down the oven at the chocolate factory, and we are only just beginning to recover. The company has a lot of irons in the fire at the moment, what with the recall of California pistachios, the ongoing lawsuit from the retailer next door to us, and the upcoming hearing concerning our cooking license--not to mention keeping up with seasonal matters like Easter, Mother's Day, and the imminent Student Exodus (and concomitant graduation ceremonies). So I'm not surprised that they've responded slowly to our pleas for a solution, a replacement, anything to compensate for the croissants and tarts that I'm not allowed to make anymore. But the false starts, and moreover the endless miscommunications, have been...frustrating.
A little over a week ago we underhandedly got the strawberry roulade back. This is a pastry that we usually introduce in late June (when strawberries supposedly come into season in New England), but desperate times call for--honesty. We buy our strawberries from the fruit vendor, who gets them from Florida just like everyone else. The pastry kitchen in Walpole obligingly sent me sheets of vanilla-citrus sponge cake and a bottle of elderflower syrup (is this a German flavor? WHY YES I THINK SO), Gian gave Draw and me a ten-minute demonstration, and lo! It is an instant success. The whining about absent the raspberry tarts has nearly dried up.
The roulade resembles a strawberry shortcake, but sexier. I like it because it is essentially very simple (three ingredients: cake, strawberries, flavored whipped cream), but involves a few invisible magic tricks (sheet gelatin to keep the cream from weeping, the elusive elderflower flavor) and requires a certain amount of deft handling. (Ever tried to roll a cake? How about slicing a rolled cake? And then decorating those slices. That's right.)
Then last weekend Gian sauntered into the kitchen at 7:20 and said that I needed to head over to the Charles Hotel in ten minutes to pick up breakfast pastries from the hotel's restaurant. Bam. The owner had gone over all of our heads and made some misguided arrangements for the oven-less interim. Accordingly we received a sheet each of croissants, pain du chocolate, and assorted danish, and the entire café staff spent the day apologizing to customers who bluntly informed us (with unexpected perspicacity) that our croissants weren't as good as before. Which was unquestionably true.
By afternoon the rest of the plan unfolded. We were to recommence production of our own croissants by walking them over to the hotel every morning and borrowing the Charles' ovens to bake off our product. I tried to express my disapproval of this brainwave as diplomatically as I could. Any arrangement is better than nothing, but the hotel is inconveniently several streets from our café, and the idea of elbowing the hotel kitchen staff aside (while they are trying to get breakfast ready for their own customers) and demanding the use of their ovens during the busiest part of the day made me want to get on the phone and ask if everyone at chocolate headquarters had taken leave of their senses.
Fortunately, the plan never progressed that far. We continued receiving baked pastries from the hotel for a few days, and then I received word that we'd made an arrangement with a restaurant a block and a half up the street. It isn't flash ideal by anyone's standard. I got yelled at by their pastry chef on the first day, because I hadn't disappeared into a puff of smoke by 8am when her shift started, leaving only a lingering warmth in the oven. She actually pulled the tray of madeleines out of the oven when they were only half cooked, and I had to (illegally) finish baking them back at the café. If only someone had TOLD me that she would need the oven back at 8 on the dot, I can't say I EXPECTED it given that the restaurant doesn't open until 11:30. At any rate, consequently my workday now begins at 6:30am to give me some extra lead time. I have to say that lugging four very heavy trays of croissants down the street when I have not yet had any coffee is not my notion of the beginning to a beautiful baking day. But they're offering us their kitchen for free, and even supplied me with a key to the side door. Andthe customers the staff have croissants to eat with their chocolate again so everybody is happy.
I am really looking forward to getting that goddam license.
A little over a week ago we underhandedly got the strawberry roulade back. This is a pastry that we usually introduce in late June (when strawberries supposedly come into season in New England), but desperate times call for--honesty. We buy our strawberries from the fruit vendor, who gets them from Florida just like everyone else. The pastry kitchen in Walpole obligingly sent me sheets of vanilla-citrus sponge cake and a bottle of elderflower syrup (is this a German flavor? WHY YES I THINK SO), Gian gave Draw and me a ten-minute demonstration, and lo! It is an instant success. The whining about absent the raspberry tarts has nearly dried up.
The roulade resembles a strawberry shortcake, but sexier. I like it because it is essentially very simple (three ingredients: cake, strawberries, flavored whipped cream), but involves a few invisible magic tricks (sheet gelatin to keep the cream from weeping, the elusive elderflower flavor) and requires a certain amount of deft handling. (Ever tried to roll a cake? How about slicing a rolled cake? And then decorating those slices. That's right.)
Then last weekend Gian sauntered into the kitchen at 7:20 and said that I needed to head over to the Charles Hotel in ten minutes to pick up breakfast pastries from the hotel's restaurant. Bam. The owner had gone over all of our heads and made some misguided arrangements for the oven-less interim. Accordingly we received a sheet each of croissants, pain du chocolate, and assorted danish, and the entire café staff spent the day apologizing to customers who bluntly informed us (with unexpected perspicacity) that our croissants weren't as good as before. Which was unquestionably true.
By afternoon the rest of the plan unfolded. We were to recommence production of our own croissants by walking them over to the hotel every morning and borrowing the Charles' ovens to bake off our product. I tried to express my disapproval of this brainwave as diplomatically as I could. Any arrangement is better than nothing, but the hotel is inconveniently several streets from our café, and the idea of elbowing the hotel kitchen staff aside (while they are trying to get breakfast ready for their own customers) and demanding the use of their ovens during the busiest part of the day made me want to get on the phone and ask if everyone at chocolate headquarters had taken leave of their senses.
Fortunately, the plan never progressed that far. We continued receiving baked pastries from the hotel for a few days, and then I received word that we'd made an arrangement with a restaurant a block and a half up the street. It isn't flash ideal by anyone's standard. I got yelled at by their pastry chef on the first day, because I hadn't disappeared into a puff of smoke by 8am when her shift started, leaving only a lingering warmth in the oven. She actually pulled the tray of madeleines out of the oven when they were only half cooked, and I had to (illegally) finish baking them back at the café. If only someone had TOLD me that she would need the oven back at 8 on the dot, I can't say I EXPECTED it given that the restaurant doesn't open until 11:30. At any rate, consequently my workday now begins at 6:30am to give me some extra lead time. I have to say that lugging four very heavy trays of croissants down the street when I have not yet had any coffee is not my notion of the beginning to a beautiful baking day. But they're offering us their kitchen for free, and even supplied me with a key to the side door. And
I am really looking forward to getting that goddam license.
