It's Macaron Monday!

Are Macaron Monday’s a thing in the baking world?

I’m not sure, because the truth is, I’ve always been too intimidated to make them! The precision required to weigh, sift, fold, pipe, bake, and assemble the little French meringue cookies scared me off…and I’ve owned a home bakery for ten years!

Because of this extended social distancing time, I decided to give macarons a shot since I’m not filling orders and have time for a little R&D. Let’s be honest, baking research and development trumps all other industries. I get to look through Pinterest, browse other blogs, take mouth-watering pictures—and it usually ends with a taste test.

For my first bake with macarons, I wanted to try a standard, vanilla recipe that would give good feedback and had clear instructions. You can find the whole thing here at one of my favorite blogs, Preppy Kitchen. I read through his tips and committed them to memory, and then just started baking.

You’ll need a few special ingredients for macarons, namely almond flour. I’ve never worked with almond flour, but it needs sifted. A lot. And then you need to throw away all of the parts that are too big for the sifter so they don’t impede your delicate meringue.

Oh, and the vodka. Like I said, this is strictly for R&D (wink), so I used the vodka to wipe down my mixing bowl and attachment to sterilize them and rid them of any excess oil that may deflate my meringue. But, if you find any secondary uses for the leftover vodka, by all means, continue that R&D! And please let me know how that goes.

I’ve also never baked with a scale before—I know, shocking. But I decided to put my new scale to use, since macarons have an incredibly low margin for error. Measuring in grams (as opposed to cups, ounces, etc.) really isn’t that difficult and there wasn’t as big of a learning curve as I expected.

Next came the actual making of the batter, or macronage, which, from what I gather, is a fancy word for stirring. It requires patience, attention, and some arm muscles (no seriously, folding 40-50 times really works your upper body!). The most important part of the mixing, once you get stiff peaks in your meringue, is folding. Fold, fold, and fold those dry ingredients some more until you get “figure 8 ribbons” in your batter.

Figure what? That’s about the most vague description I’ve ever heard. But this video from Sugar Geek helped me see that, yes, you actually do fold until your batter can make a continuous figure 8. So that’s what I did!

Then I filled my piping bag and piped 1-inch circles all over my parchment paper that I stuck down with some batter. I wasn’t sure how much the meringue would spread in the oven, so I spaced them out a good bit. After you pipe them, you let them rest until they set up and are firm to the touch.

The 40-minute resting time went pretty quick, because we had a family Zoom call to distract me!

Sorry, you probably don’t care about that. But I do! So that’s why I put in on here. Because it’s my blog and I do what I want (kidding, sort of).

Back to the Macs:

Here they’ve rested and are ready for the oven. The resting period lets them rise up in the oven instead of spreading out, or so I’ve been told.

And that’s exactly what they did! *silently fist pumps alone in my kitchen.

I put nonpareil rainbow sprinkles on half of them, just to further my R&D work. And because I love them.

Okay, the hard part is done! All that I did after celebrating their seamless baking process was whip up a batch of my favorite vanilla buttercream, threw it in a piping bag, and piped a circle onto the bottom of half of the cookies, then topped them off with the other half of the batch.

Well, then I rolled some in sprinkles, because like I said earlier, I can. And I love sprinkles.

To answer your question, yes, I did get a little heavy-handed with the buttercream. But again, buttercream is my favorite part of any dessert, and I made these macarons for myself. Therefore, I put lots of buttercream in them.

Now we’re done!

Except, don’t eat them. At least not for another day or two after they sit in the fridge. Supposedly the flavors develop to give you a cohesive Mac, but clearly I couldn’t wait, so I took a bite. But I needed a good picture (see above), so someone had to do it.

Best of luck with your own Mac bakes, and be sure to let me know how it goes! I promise, it’s not as scary as it looks.

If I can do it, you can too!

xoxo,

jorie

The Story Continues: Chef in Training

Hello Again!

If you came back to read this post, you must be okay with the fact that I’m a Cupcake Camp dropout, and for that, I thank you!

Jorie, circa 2000, proudly holding my very own gingerbread house. Disclaimer: I will continue using baby pictures because my self-esteem is not ready for pictures of 12-14 year-old Jorie to hit the internet (braces and glasses were not my look).

Anyway, let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?

I believe I just revealed that I dropped out of Cupcake Camp.

I mean really, you can’t expect me, a savvy twelve-year-old with purpose and discipline, to return to that barbarian cupcake camp ridden with who-knows-what kind of diseases. Sigh. Square one, again. 

That fall after my failed attempt at summer camp my mom came across cake decorating classes at the local craft store. She called to sign my same friend and I up for redemption. Unbeknownst to us, we had to be sixteen to take the class by ourselves. Problem solved, Mom’s coming too!

We trudge through the Ohio snow to arrive at the first class of “Buttercream Basics.” Little did we know that Betty Crocker herself would be our instructor. Okay, may not actually Betty, but Miss Sandy was pushing 85 and had never gone a day without wearing an apron; though she could make a mean buttercream rose in her sleep. After four weeks of Miss Sandy’s strict frosting bootcamp, we all knew how to make a round cake with a rainbow and clowns on it. Pure elegance. 

We received our Buttercream Basics diplomas (except for my friend, who hated the class, and everything related to cake decorating, and decided to hang up her apron. FYI—she is very talented in other areas!), and that was that. 

Except, aha! THIS could be how I make my money! 

After all, I did love the decorating and took to it easily. With a little practice, I’d be off and running in no time, right?

Have you ever taken a bite of sand?

Jorie, 2013, proudly standing behind the very first wedding cake I ever made. I was 15, and was so very close to exiting that very awkward stage of life (see note above).

That was my starting point for a from-scratch vanilla cake recipe. That little bit of practice I thought I’d need turned into many months of recipe testing with many failed attempts and many dollars spent on wasted ingredients. You’d be surprised how many “Light and Fluffy White Cake” and “Best Vanilla Cupcake” recipes result in gritty hockey pucks better used as paperweights or adhesive paste than delicate desserts. 

I paused on the cake testing at the gentle urge of my parents who were tired of trying terrible samples and pretending they “weren’t that bad.” In the meantime, a little frosting recipe testing could pass the time until we were ready to brave the cake arena yet again. 

The buttercream recipe I was taught in cupcake class was made from, how do you say it—lard. Yeah, that white slimy stuff that comes in the giant Crisco cans that we’re 98% sure comes from unpleasant animal parts. (In my opinion, that shouldn’t classify as buttercream. You know, since it’s not butter. Though I suppose if they marketed it as lardcream, no one would willingly partake.) The lard alone was a turnoff, but the fact that my mom’s entire kitchen and everything in it was coated with a hefty layer of shortening didn’t help its cause. Gross. 

Upon further research with a hint of a miracle, I learned that American-style buttercream omits the lard. Woohoo! Leave it to America to commit to 100% butter. Thank you for your service, Ms. Paula Deen. One trip to Sam’s Club and 25 pounds of butter and powdered sugar later, I found my recipe, and haven’t turned back since. 

The infamous Salted Caramel Cupcake that looked amazing, but literally tasted like a mouthful of sand, circa 2012.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the recipe testing stories, but just know that my salted caramel cupcakes have improved roughly 9000% since my first attempt (which I served on a family vacation where everyone politely found the trash can after one bite. Sorry, Guarasci’s and Bruning’s). 

Here I’ll leave you, wondering if my family ever lets me bake for them again (hint: they did, reluctantly).

Thanks for reading!

Cheers!
jorie