Pear Almond Tartlets
When life gives you lemons, make tartlets.
Lately, I’ve been cooking so damned much that I hardly have time to write about it. At this very moment, I am nixtamalizing corn on the stove in preparation for hand-ground masa tortillas while my duck carnitas slowly render in the oven.
Oh, and then there’s my obsession with learning all French pastry techniques before Christmas. For instance, I made my own puff pastry a week ago. Still not sure what I’m going to use it for, but by God I’ll be ready when the time comes! I have a list of all the recipes I want to master: Canelés de Bordeaux, kouign-amman, a true Parisian macaron, something pâte-à-choux with crème pâtissière or Bavarian cream inside, a gorgeous passionfruit or coffee or hazelnut entremet with perfect mirror glaze, and of course, an unimpeachable almond croissant.
On a completely unrelated note, I am on the last day of my 5-day fast-mimicking diet in which I go gluten-free, vegan, low calorie and zero alcohol. Because pandemic calories are no joke, my friends. I do believe I will need to do this every 6 weeks or so at my current pace of pastry-making.
We do what we must.
Today’s recipe uses frangipane, which is an almond cream filling used in tarts, cakes, and something called a pithivier, which I just this minute added to my list because it looks amazing and also requires puff pastry, so, win-win!
Frangipane is delicious. Something about the almonds/butter/sugar mixture creates a filling that puffs magically in the oven, caramelizes into chewy goodness at the edges and stays brownie-moist in the center. Possibly, it’s witchcraft.
It goes with just about any fruit you throw at it, although cherries and pears are the classic adds.
Lastly, it is incredibly easy to make. Which makes these tartlets easy to make, as long as you don’t count the pastry, which I know some people have issues with. But never fear! I will strive to make that easy as well.
This was very nearly a full sized tart when fate intervened. I was half-way through making a 9-inch pear-frangipane tart but couldn’t find my tart pan. So I divided my pâte sucreé into 6 portions and filled individual tartlet pans. When life gives you lemons, make tartlets.
If you don’t happen to have mini-tart pans, go with my plan A and throw this into a full-sized tart pan instead.
Speaking of flexibility, frangipane goes gluten-free amazingly well. Substitute your favorite gluten free flour in the filling, or go without any flour besides almond…you can totally get away with it.
As for the crust, I will need to do a little research on an effective gluten-free tart crust, but I have no doubt it can be done. I’ll get back to you on that. In fact, I plan to do a whole series of posts on pastry crusts, ‘cause it’s kind of my jam.
But for now, on to some kick-ass tartlets.
Shit You Need
Makes 6 tartlets
I have included volume measurements just in case you don’t have a kitchen scale. But for the love of God, go get one! It makes everything easier, faster, and you use fewer dishes!
For the pears:
4 cups water
225 grams sugar (1 heaping cup)
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons brandy
2 ripe Bosc pears, halved and cored ( for a full-sized tart, use 3)
For the crust:
6 4-inch tartlet pans with removable bottoms.
190 grams all-purpose four (1 1/2 cups)
60 grams confectioner’s sugar (1/2 cup)
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
128 grams (1 stick plus 1 Tbs) cold unsalted butter, split lengthwise into quarters, and diced
1 egg yolk, whisked with 2 teaspoons cold water
For the filling:
100 grams sugar (1/2 cup)
140 grams almond flour ( I use Bob’s Red Mill finely ground almond flour)
30 grams flour (3 Tbs)
140 grams butter ( 1 stick plus 2 Tbs) room temperature butter
1 teaspoon almond extract
2 eggs, room temperature, lightly beaten
Keep Calm and justeffingcook
Poach the pears:
In a medium saucepan, dissolve sugar in water. Bring to a boil. Lower heat to a simmer. Add lemon juice, brandy, and pears.
Simmer 15 minutes, until pears are tender.
Set aside at room temperature until you are ready to use them.
A nip of brandy? Don’t mind if I do!
Make the crust:
Place flour, sugar and salt in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse a few times to blend.
Make sure your butter is cold! If it isn’t, pop it in the freezer for 10 or 15 minutes. Then add it to the bowl of the food processor and pulse 8 - 10 times, about 1 second each time.
Add the yolk/water mixture and run the processor about 10 seconds, until the mixture starts looking a bit clumpy.
Dump the mixture out onto a lightly floured work surface and press the dough together with your palms to form a disc.
Wrap in cling wrap and refrigerate at least an hour.
Divide the dough into 6 equal portions. Refrigerate the ones you aren’t actively rolling out.
Lightly dust a work surface and rolling pin with flour. Press one portion into a disc with your palm, dust lightly with flour, and roll into a very thin round - less than the usual 1/8 of an inch, but not so thin it isn’t workable. Use a minimal amount of flour to re-dust if necessary as you turn and flip the dough.
Cup the dough between your hands so that you can lower it into a tartlet pan. Press it into place. If it breaks, just patch it. No problem. There will be excess that overhangs the pan. Also no problem. Press and brush it off with your fingers.
Refrigerate the tartlet pan. and repeat for remaining 5 tarts.
Refrigerate the whole shebang for 30 minutes at least while your oven preheats to 425 degrees.
Bake 10-12 minutes, until lightly golden. I got by without pricking the bottom, lining the shells, or using pie weights. The dough puffed a bit at the bottom, and I simply pressed it back with a spoon when I pulled them from the oven.
If using a large tart pan, follow the same process with the entire portion of dough, but bake 15 minutes or until the edges are lightly browned.
Make frangipane:
In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream the butter and sugar together on medium speed. As a reminder, your butter and eggs should be at room temperature. If they aren’t, go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.
Add almond flour and flour and beat to incorporate.
Add almond extract and eggs (also room temperature) and mix on medium speed, stopping once or twice to scrape down the bowl, until everything is one homogeneous happy-delicious batter.
How easy was that?
Assemble and bake tarts:
Lower oven temperature to 350 degrees.
Transfer pears to a cutting board. Lightly pat dry and remove stems and ends. Slice thinly, then slice right down the middle lengthwise. Each quarter will top a tart . You may not be able to fit the entire length - if not, you’ll leave a bit of the neck behind.
If you are baking a 9 inch tart, leave the pears in their halves and thinly slice. All 6 pear halves will top the tart.
Pipe or pour frangipane into the center of each tart, to fill 3/4 full. Smooth the top with the back of a spoon if necessary.
Using a knife or cake server, lift each pear quarter, allowing the slices to tilt and fan. Lay on top of the frangipane and press slightly into place.
(For the large tart, place each pear half on the filling, small end toward the center and fat end toward the edge, like spokes on a wheel. Make it look pretty.)
Bake 20-30 minutes at 350 degrees, until filling is puffed and lightly golden at the edges. Cool to room temperature.
(For the large tart, bake 45-50 minutes)
Sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve.
Blueberry Buttermilk Pie
Chess pie and buttermilk pies are both traditional Southern custard pies born out of a lack of the “usual” ingredients, and both are astonishingly great.
It wasn’t until watching The Great British Baking Show that I realized that the “pie” that’s been a part of my life since my childhood is a distinctly American dessert. Sure, Europe has “pies” too, but at least half the time they’re sneaking meat or things that are almost meat into them.
And by almost meat I mean organs…kidneys, brains, intestines. I’m sorry you had to learn about that from me, but really, you’re old enough to handle it now.
In America, pies came to mean something different. A flaky pastry enclosing the regional or seasonal fruit available to you. Or a pastry cradle holding custard, nuts, molasses, you name it. They were made in a thrifty round shape in a size meant to feed a family. Pies became synonymous with family celebration. Sure, you made a cake for someone’s birthday, but when the whole fam-damily got together for Thanksgiving or Christmas, you always had a pie or five.
Pie was so important that when we ran out of ingredients, we just figured that shit out and made it happen anyway.
Enterprising cooks who couldn’t get lemons but loved lemon meringue threw down and made a damn delicious vinegar pie. No apples or peaches? How about tomato pie? Likewise, chess pie and buttermilk pies are both traditional Southern custard pies born out of a lack of the “usual” ingredients, and both are astonishingly great.
My first taste of chess pie was at Pour Richard’s in Bluffton, South Carolina, where Allie’s chocolate bourbon pecan chess pie rocked my world. It was like discovering a new country, or being the first person into space, or maybe inventing cheese.
So when I saw recipes for buttermilk pie (chess pie’s creamy cousin), I was all over it like a donkey on a waffle.
My first run at it was delicious. I used the traditional ratio of 1 cup buttermilk to 3 eggs to 1 1/4 cups sugar to 1/2 cup butter. Plus a little flour and about a cup and a half of fresh blueberries.
Pie number one.
It was a very pretty pie, and a lovely creamy custard. But it didn’t wow me. I thought, “You know what else is a custard, and does wow me? Lemon bars.” Lemon, blueberries - a beautiful combination. Therefore, I tried to bend this pie toward a lemon bar. I broke out my Ina Garten lemon bar recipe, which is completely beyond compare…and ironically, proceeded to compare it. One problem, though was that lemon bars don’t contain butter. Hmm. You know what does contain butter? Lemon curd!
Thus, armed with three recipes and three ratios, I attempted to combine them into One Pie to Rule Them All. I broke out pen and paper and got to work.
The result is a lemony custard chock full of blueberry goodness. One that wowed me. One I would be proud to share with Allie…and am also sharing with you.
Don’t thank me. Thank science.
Shit You Need
For the crust:
This is 3:2:1 pastry dough, a classic for pies. By keeping the butter in slightly bigger flakes, you get a flaky crust. By rubbing the butter into smaller pieces, a more tender “short” crust is the result. For a par-baked single-crust pie, the shortcrust version is preferred by most people, including me (which is all that counts on this blog).
I am giving you weights in grams. If you are a regular baker, I know you have a kitchen scale, and grams just make the math easier.
360 grams all-purpose flour (3 cups)
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons sugar
240 grams unsalted butter, chilled. Or you can go with 170 grams butter and 70 grams shortening/lard. The use of shortening or lard is believed to make the crust a bit shorter in texture.
120 grams ice-cold water (1/2 cup)
For the filling:
Let’s stick with the weight theme!
300 grams sugar (1 1/2 cups)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons finely grated lemon zest (1 - 2 lemons)
40 grams flour (1/4 cup)
110 grams unsalted butter, melted (1/2 cup)
3 whole eggs plus one egg yolk
250 grams buttermilk (one cup)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
60 grams freshly squeezed lemon juice (1/4 cup, 1 1/2 to 2 lemons worth)
200 grams blueberries (2 cups)
Keep Calm and justeffingcook
Don’t be put off by the length of the directions here. Virtually all of it is about the crust. If you are a regular at making pie crust, it will be more than you need. If you’ve never made pie crust before, you may actually need to call me for a consult. I’m here for you.
Make the crust:
Fill a 2 cup measure with ice and add water to fill it. Give it a stir and set it aside.
Measure the flour, sugar, and salt into a large bowl and whisk to combine. If using a food processor, weigh the flour, sugar, and salt into a bowl, tip into your food processor, and pulse to combine.
Cut the butter (and shortening or lard) into 1/2 inch pieces. Do it quickly, but if you drag your feet, pop it back into the refrigerator for 15 minutes or so before adding it to the flour.
Next, cut the fat into the flour. If I use shortening or lard, I cut the fat into the flour in two batches: lard/shortening first, aiming for a sandy texture at the end, rather than lumpy. Then I add the butter and smush/rub/cut until I have fat lumps the size of small peas. Because I use my fingers, I do it quickly, and sometimes pop the bowl into the refrigerator at the end to let the mixture cool again. Alternatively, you can do all this with a pastry cutter.
If using a food processor, add the fat in two batches - even if using all butter. Pulse 7 or 8 times after the first add, and 8 - 12 times after the second add, aiming for those pea sized bits at the end.
Make a well in the center of the mixture. (If you’ve used a food processor, empty the mixture into a mixing bowl.) Measure 1/2 cup ice water and add it all at once to the flour/butter mixture. Toss quickly with a rubber spatula, bowl scraper, or your fingers, using a light touch until the water is evenly distributed and the dough just starts to come together.
Dump the mixture onto a lightly floured surface (pastry stone, silpat sheet, clean countertop), and gather and press it together with your hands. Divide into 2 portions, shape each into discs, enclose in cling wrap, and refrigerate at least 1 hour.
Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. You’re going to par-bake a crust!
Roll one of the discs into a circle about 1/8 inch thick. Use a floured surface, floured rollin pin, and dust the top of the dough with flour. Roll from the center outward, and flip the dough from time to time to re-flour the top and bottom.
Drape the dough into a 9 or 9 1/2 inch pie plate, careful not to stretch it. Shape it into the pie pan, and leave 1/2 inch overhang past the edge, trimming the excess.
Roll or tuck the overhang underneath itself, keeping the crust on top of the edge of the pie plate, making it less likely for the crust to slide down into the pan as it bakes.
Crimp the edge any way you like - I make a ruffle. Pop it into the freezer for 15 minutes, or the fridge for 30 minutes.
Normally, before par-baking, you prick the bottom of the crust with a fork. Here, you won’t. Any fork holes (insert joke here) will let the filling seep underneath and fork up your bottom crust (there’s the joke!)
Instead, dust the bottom lightly with flour and press parchment paper or foil smoothly into the pie crust, making sure it’s in contact with bottom, sides, even over the edge.
Fill the whole thing with pie weights, beans, rice, etc. The lentils that you forgot at the back of your pantry for 5 years are an excellent choice here. But do use a generous amount, and make sure whatever you pour in there also supports the sides.
Bake for 15 minutes. Remove from oven, carefully remove parchment or foil along with the weights, and cool.
Make the filling:
First, set your oven temperature to 350 degrees. Let it either preheat, or cool down if you’ve just par-baked the crust.
Whisk sugar, lemon zest , flour and salt together in a large bowl.
Add melted butter and whisk to combine.
Whisk in eggs, vanilla, buttermilk and lemon juice.
Add blueberries to the par-baked pie shell, and pour the filling on top.
Bake for 55- 60 minutes. Check after 45 minutes. If the crust is looking brown, add a pie shield or a ring of foil around the edge.
Once your filling has puffed up all around, is slightly golden, and has a slight jiggle evenly across the top, it’s finished. Let cool. A little time in the refrigerator prior to serving makes it perfect.
Because this is a custard pie, this needs no accompaniment like ice cream or creme anglaise. Even whipped cream might be gilding the lily a bit, but who am I to judge you?
Twenty Year Apple Pie
I've been aiming for apple pie perfection for 20 years. Not just the occasional glorious pie but consistent, knock it out of the park, perfect crust, zero drippy fillings no matter what apples or pie dish or phase of the moon, mouth-watering, covetable pie-fection.
It's fucking apple season, motherfuckers.
I have lived in Minnesota for the past twenty-five years, and I can say with great authority that there are one or two pretty significant downsides to choosing a life this far north.
Winter, for instance.
Sure, Christmas is pretty. But by the time February rolls around and you haven't seen the sun in 40 days your shoulders are spasming from the constant shivering, you're pretty much over it.
It stops being pretty. The snow is now the color of dirt and half the grocery store parking lot is taken up by a mountain that looks suspiciously like a gigantic poop emoji which you'll be stuck with until Memorial Day.
Once, on a winter yoga retreat, I went out for wine during a snowstorm and almost didn't make it back with all my fingers and toes. My car got stuck in a snowdrift on a dark country road and I sat there for an hour with the car running on fumes and me in yoga pants and fucking backless clogs hoping someone might come along. They eventually did, but not before I got out and, standing ass-deep in snow, attempted to dig the tires out of the snowbank with a shoe.
So yeah, some downsides.
But those downsides are very nearly matched by the upsides of the apple season. No place outside of Eden can match the luscious glory of the Minnesota apple. Minnesota apples are fucking magic.
And apple pie is the best career to which an apple can aspire.
I've been aiming for apple pie perfection for 20 years. Not just the occasional glorious pie but consistent, knock it out of the park, perfect crust, zero drippy fillings no matter what apples or pie dish or phase of the moon, mouth-watering, covetable pie-fection.
And if you are a math whiz like me, you know that 20 years of apple pie = pi raised to the 20th power. Which is 8,681,463,856. Which is a very big number.
The components of a good pie are the crust and the filling. Obvious, sure, but they bear discussing separately.
For a double crust fruit pie, one needs flaky pie crust. You achieve flakiness by having minimal gluten formation and layers of butter between layers of flour. Butter contains water, which steams as the pie bakes, creating the layers that become flakes.
Let us bypass all the bullshit of vodka, vinegar, and all other additives that purport to help you achieve perfect flakiness. Let's go right to technique:
Do not overwork the dough, especially after liquid has been added to the flour
Laminate your crust
WTF does it mean to laminate the crust? Lamination is the process of rolling and folding the dough to bring it together, creating thin sheets of butter within the dough, rather than chunks of butter. This equals layer after layer of brittle flakes that explode on impact, becoming a buttery, appley ticker-tape parade of flavor on your tongue.
Pie crust perfection. It only took 20 years. Whatever.
Lamination legit changed my life.
Now for the filling. I want crisp-tender apples in a matrix of gently thickened apple juice. Not crunchy apples. Not apple pudding. Not runny juice fucking up my bottom crust. To achieve this magic, one must use some sort of thickener, the most common being flour or cornstarch.
I don't like using flour. You need to use a lot in order for it to work as a thickener, and I don't like the slight grittiness it leaves in the filling. I prefer the texture of a filling made with cornstarch, but cornstarch comes with one huge drawback. If the filling does not boil - all the way to the center - that shit won’t thicken. A relatively small or thin pie will come up to temperature in the center pretty quickly. Not so for a 10 inch deep dish pie. In order for the center of the filling to boil you'll have to cook it long enough that either your crust will overbrown, or the apples will overcook, or both.
One solution, or course, is to bake a smaller (or thinner) pie.
Fuck that.
My solution is to make science work for me, rather than against me. I give the apples and their juices a quick shot of heat on the stovetop before piling all that lusciousness into a crust for the final bake.
Downside: one more pan to wash. Upside: 1. Apples tossed in browned butter, motherfuckers! 2. Perfect filling no matter the kind of apples, no matter how many.
That means consistency. No more holding your breath, palms all sweaty as you cut that first slice after Thanksgiving dinner thinking, "Shit. Maybe the apples were too juicy this year. Did I add enough cornstarch? Am I going to look like some B-list chump?"
Nope. You slice that shit and lever it onto a plate smiling the whole time, never once breaking the gaze of your mother-in-law or boss or smart ass neighbor. As they ooh and ahh, you just shrug and say, "Oh, this old thing? I just threw it together."
But you’re really thinking, “Welcome to fucking apple season, motherfuckers.”
Shit You Need
Pie crust:
13 ounces all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) very cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
1/3 cup very cold vegetable shortening, cut into pieces
1/2 cup ice water.
I add a few handfuls of ice to a 2 cup pyrex measuring glass, give it a good stir, and set it aside as I throw the rest of the crust together. Once I am ready, I measure 1/2 cup in a 1 cup measuring glass, then add it to the rest of the ingredients.
Filling:
About 8 apples, peeled, cored and sliced into quarters, then each quarter sliced into thirds - or halves if they are small apples. You are aiming for 2 1/2 pounds of apples slices when all is said and done.
Let’s take a moment to talk about apple choices. My sweet spot (haha, see what I did there) is a combination of mostly one sweet/tart/firm/juicy variety like Honeycrisp, Sweetango, First Kiss (Rave), Haralson, or Zestar. To these I add one small granny smith apple (for pectin) and one golden delicious. That golden delicious will break down and add an applesaucey matrix around the other apples.
5-6 ounces sugar, depending on the sweetness of the apples
Pro tip: taste the apples
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1 1/2 ounces cornstarch (about 3 generous tablespoons)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
A few tablespoons of milk, to brush to top of the pie
Extra sugar mixed with a bit of cinnamon, for dusting.
First kiss (Rave) apples, one Golden Delicious, and one Granny Smith.
Keep Calm and justeffingcook
Pie crust:
Position a rack in the upper 1/3 of the oven and preheat to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.
Add the flour, salt, and sugar to a large mixing bowl and whisk together.
Working quickly with your fingers, cut the shortening into the flour mixture until it looks like coarse sand.
Add the sliced butter and again, using your fingers, smush the pieces flat. Some pieces will break, others will flake. It’s fine. Don’t overdo it.
Make a well in the center and pour in the ice water. Yep, I do it all at once, and the whole thing. Because I know it’s going to work, that’s why.
Still using your fingers, toss the water in with the flour mixture, scooping along the bottom a bit to get the finer bits of flour. Once it starts to haold together a little, you’re done.
Dump the flour mixture onto a lightly-floured rolling surface, Using a dough scraper, corral all the bits the best you can. With a floured rolling pin, roll that mess in into a vague rectangle.
Using the dough scraper, lift up one short end and fold it to the other side. Corral the strays, get butter bits off the rolling pin and re-flour it, and roll the folded dough into a slightly less messy rectangle.
Repeat until the dough holds together and you’ve completed four or five folds. Cut the dough in half, make two rough disks, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least an hour, or up to a day.
Filling:
Add all the apple slices to a large mixing bowl.
To a smaller bowl, add the sugar, spices and cornstarch and whisk together.
Add the sugar mixture to the apples and mix well. Let them sit, mixing occasionally over the next 15-20 minutes, until the apples have released some juice and they are now coated in a runny, sugary mess.
While the apples sit, add the butter to a large skillet or dutch oven and heat over medium high heat, swirling as the butter foams. Turn down the heat as needed so that the butter doesn’t burn but rather turns golden brown and smells nutty and awesome.
Add the apple mixture and turn the heat to high or medium high, aiming for the juices to bubble and thicken before the apples cook much at all. This should only take 2 or 3 minutes. Set aside and let cool to room temperature.
After tossing the apples, sugar, spices and cornstarch in browned butter, the house smells exactly like a hug feels.
Assembly:
Roll out the larger of the two disks of dough to 1/8 inch thick. Tease up an edge, roll it onto your rolling pin, transfer to the pie plate and unroll. Gently ease the dough into the pie plate without stretching it.
Leaving 1/4 to 1/2 inch overhang, cut off excess dough.
Top with the apple filling. If your pie plate is like mine, it will be slightly mounded above the rim toward the center.
Roll out the other crust to 1/8 inch thick and using the same method, release it onto the top of the pie. Leave 1/2 inch overhang and cut off excess. Fold the two edges over one another and crimp decoratively.
Cut slits in the top of the pie crust to allow steam to escape.
Using a pastry brush, dab the top crust with a little milk.
Dust with cinnamon sugar.
Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes.
Turn the oven down to 350 and bake for 30 minutes more. Keep an eye on the crust to be sure it’s staying in golden territory, rather than going full charcoal. If you see danger looming, cover the offending pie parts with aluminum foil.
Let cool before slicing. A little warm is okay - you should be able to rest the pie plate comfortably on your palm.
Serve with the ice cream of your choice, and with pride.
Awaiting the top crust.
Next, brush the top with a bit of milk, and sprinkle with cinnamon sugar.
Begging for some ice cream. Vanilla, caramel, and cinnamon are all good bets.
Gianduja
You can buy gianduja from specialty stores online. But you’ll typically only find large quantities, and maybe you don’t want 5 pounds of the stuff. Maybe you just need a little to make some slammin’ ice cream. Can you make a batch at home? You sure can.
You got hazelnuts in my chocolate! You got chocolate in my hazelnuts! Hmmm… Two great tastes that taste great together.
If you know nothing about this historical confection, then you clearly haven’t read my post on gianduja ice cream. Go check it out. I’ll wait.
Back already? Great.
You can buy gianduja from specialty stores online. But you’ll typically only find large quantities, and maybe you don’t want 5 pounds of it. Maybe you just need a little to make some slammin’ ice cream. It’s only chocolate and sugar and hazelnuts, after all. Can’t you just make it yourself right in the comfort of your own chef’s kitchen? You sure can.
And in the interest of scientific exploration and completeness, I shall.
There are two methods described by Greweling in Chocolates and Confections. One involving commercially available praline paste and the other involving simple hazelnuts and sugar.
Method one: Praline paste plus chocolate
Commercial praline paste.
Praline paste is typically 50% roasted hazelnuts and 50% sugar. It’s roasty and toasty and caramel-ly. Add two parts praline paste to one part melted chocolate, and you have 1:1:1 gianduja.
I found a place that sold Callebaut praline paste in 8 ounce portions. So all I needed to do was melt 4 ounces of the chocolate of my choice (I used bittersweet) and combine them. Very, very easy.
Except then I attempted to temper that mixture. Not so easy. How about I talk about that later? For now let’s pretend that I didn’t have to do that and move on.
I piped it into little bars using a silicone mold and let it set at room temperature.
Yay! Little bars of gianduja!
Piping into silicone molds. Handy hint: place the mold on a cookie sheet, and then tap it on the counter to level the candy and work out the air.
Method two: Hazelnuts plus sugar plus chocolate
Start with oven toasted hazelnuts - rub off the skins (or buy them already skinned!) and throw in a food processor with 25% the final weight of confectioner’s sugar until the nuts release their oil and become a smooth liquid the consistency of heavy cream. Add melted chocolate and confectioner’s sugar so that the final mix is 1:1:1 hazelnuts:sugar:chocolate by weight.
I used 4 ounces toasted hazelnuts, 4 ounces confectioner’s sugar, and 4 ounces bittersweet chocolate. I ground the hazelnuts with one ounce of sugar. The remaining 3 ounces were added at the end along with the melted chocolate.
As you grind the nuts, they will go through various stages. You will need to stop several times along the way to scrape the bottom of the mixing bowl. That way, you ensure that everything is going along for the ride.
Once you release all the oils in the hazelnuts and achieve the final liquidy texture, add the melted chocolate and the rest of the sugar and pulse to combine.
Then you can pipe it into those little silicone molds, or into one big block, or directly into your mouth. Don’t pretend like you’ve never done that. We all know better.
What was that bullshit about tempering? And WTF is tempering anyway?
If you don’t what to get deep in the weeds, you can skip this part. If you’re into a little off-road adventure, follow me.
When chocolate solidifies, its fats crystallize. Those crystals can take several forms - six to be exact - and only two of them are stable. If you have unstable crystals in your solid chocolate, the chocolate looks dull, doesn’t have the same “snap”, and is subject to bloom, which is sort of like psoriasis for chocolate.
Tempering is the process that encourages the right crystals to seed themselves. It usually involves cooling the chocolate while agitating it so that the larger crystals don’t have a chance to form.
Gianduja for confections typically goes through a tempering process. Not necessary if you are only going to use it for ice cream or, say, shoveling directly into your face. Which is what I hope you are going to do with it, because tempering it is a lot more difficult than tempering plain chocolate.
Why? Because gianduja is a mix of both cocoa butter and hazelnut fats. Which is a eutectic mixture. Meaning that it crystalizes and melts at a lower temperature. Meaning close to room temperature. Meaning pain in the ass.
I did my best to temper both my batches. I did all the sliding and scooping over a marble slab - which isn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds. And I probably helped it set, but in the end it wasn’t about to win any beauty contests.
What does this all mean for you? Hopefully nothing. Like I said, for ice cream (or face shoveling) slap that shit together and Bob’s your uncle!
But if you want to make gorgeous artisan confections: 1. Start with tempered chocolate and don’t overheat it during the melting process 2. Crack an actual book on the subject, because I am not the expert you need. Bitch, please.
The Comparison:
Once my mixtures were finished and pseudo tempered and hardened into little bricks, I compared them side by side.
On the left, gianduja made with commercial praline paste. On the right, the homemade version.
The gianduja made from commercial praline paste was very smooth, sweet, and caramelly. The one I made with home-roasted hazelnuts was a little less sweet and had a very fresh roasted-nut aroma and taste. It had just the teensiest grittiness in the texture, which wasn’t at all unpleasant. Both were great, but I actually preferred the taste of the homemade version, as did my taster-dude.
The Bottom Line:
You don’t need to buy praline paste. If you have it anyway, great. Use it. But otherwise, get some high-quality blanched hazelnuts and roast them at home and use the food processor method. You can control everything - make it a little less sweet, change up the chocolate - milk, dark, bittersweet, and even change the type of nuts you use. Almonds, pistachios, just about all the nuts you can name.
It will be delicious.
And please, please, please…let me know how it turns out. I get lonely all by myself here in Blog Land.