Financiers

Financiers are said to resemble a bar of gold, and they are so good, they're certainly worth their weight in the precious metal…


These little French cakelettes are crisp around the edges and moist and tender within. They are as rich as their name implies, full of almonds and brown butter. Though they need no embellishment, financiers take well to whatever fruit is in season, be it berry, stone fruit, apple, pear, or citrus. Sometimes they masquerade as hazelnut or pistachio flavored. And on occasion, chocolate flavored. Both the unbaked batter and the finished cakes have good keeping qualities. Best of all, financiers are effortless and take mere minutes to whip up. My favorite cake of the moment.

Yesterday, I harvested all of the Italian prune plums from the little tree in our garden and promptly baked a batch.


Plum Financiers
Printable Recipe

5 ounces (1 ¼ sticks) unsalted butter, diced, plus more for greasing the tins
5 ½ ounces sugar
2 ½ ounces all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting the tins
2 ½ ounces almond meal
5 ounces egg whites, at room temperature
3 Italian prune plums, halved, pitted, and thinly sliced

Heat a small, heavy saucepan over medium heat until very hot but not smoking. Add the butter and cook, stirring constantly, for 5 to 6 minutes, or until browned. Transfer the butter to a bowl and let cool.

Whisk together the sugar, flour, and almond meal in a large bowl. Whisk in the egg whites until thoroughly combined and then whisk in the butter until thoroughly combined. Cover with plastic wrap and let rest for 1 to 2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 375˚F. Butter and flour 12 financier tins and divide the batter among them. Fan out the plum slices atop the batter in each financier tin. Bake for 20 to 22 minutes, or until golden brown and the edges of the financiers start to shrink away from the tins. Let the financiers cool in the tins for about 10 minutes. Invert onto cooling racks and finish cooling completely.

Makes 1 dozen financiers. If you do not have traditional rectangular financier tins, use a muffin pan and adjust the baking time accordingly. The brown butter should be cooled but still melted when you mix the financier batter.

A Big Salad for Dinner

It's that time of year when what you want for dinner is a big salad. The farmers market is bursting with lovely yellow and green beans, tender lettuces, sweet tomatoes, and earthy potatoes. Put that all together and a big salad is exactly what you get.


Tuna Salad Niçoise*
Printable Recipe

12 ounces fingerling potatoes
Kosher salt
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 shallot, minced
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
½ teaspoon minced fresh thyme
½ teaspoon minced fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon minced Italian parsley
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 7.8-ounce jar canned oil-packed tuna
Freshly ground black pepper
2 hard-cooked eggs
4 ounces haricot vert, trimmed and blanched
6 ounces cherry tomatoes, quartered
4 ounces mesclun greens
¼ cup Niçoise or Kalamata olives

Place the potatoes in a medium pot and add enough water to cover by several inches. Add several large pinches of salt. Bring to a boil and simmer for 10 to 12 minutes, or until the potatoes are cooked through. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the potatoes to a plate. Let rest for about 15 minutes, or until just cool enough to handle.

Whisk together the red wine vinegar, shallot, mustard, thyme, rosemary, and parsley in a medium bowl. Continue whisking while adding the oil in a thin stream. Drain the tuna and whisk the oil from the tuna into the vinaigrette. Season the vinaigrette to taste with salt and pepper. Cut the potatoes into quarters when they are cool enough to handle and toss with enough vinaigrette to coat in a medium bowl.

Cut the eggs into sixths and flake the tuna. In separate bowls, toss the haricot vert, tomatoes, and greens with enough vinaigrette to coat.

Mound the greens on a platter. Arrange the potatoes, haricot vert, tomatoes, eggs, olives, and tuna decoratively atop the greens. Drizzle with the remaining vinaigrette and serve immediately.

Serves 2 as a main course. This composed salad hails from sunny Nice in the South of France. The flavor depends largely on the quality of the tuna, so splurge on the best you can afford. Personally, I like Ortiz Bonito del Norte. Any yellow-fleshed potatoes may be used. Haricot vert, which are French green beans, are very slender and more tender than other varieties. They are often available at gourmet grocers and farmers markets. If you cannot find them, use the smallest green beans you can find. You can also use a combination of green and yellow wax beans.

*For a related Seared Tuna Salad Niçoise recipe and everything you ever wanted to know about searing, plus dozens of fabulous searing recipes, look for my book Seared to Perfection in stores now.

Of Hearts and Strawberries

Strawberry season came later than usual this year, but the timing was perfect. My parents were here visiting, so we had free labor for strawberry picking! We filled up a flat in record time…


And then we emptied it in record time.

But before I proceed with the berrylicious treat made with our haul…

A big thank you goes out to Yummly for featuring my Steak au Poivre with Red Wine Sauce.

And hugs and kisses to my little brother for once again singing the praises of Seared to Perfection. Thanks, Andrew, for being my biggest fan! Word cannot express how much I love you and how proud I am of you for becoming such an amazing cook in your own right!


Coeur à la Crème with Strawberries
Printable Recipe

8 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
4 ounces powdered sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
12 ounces heavy cream
1 ¾ pounds strawberries, sliced
1 ounce sugar

In a mixer fitted with a whip attachment, whip together the cream cheese, powdered sugar, and vanilla on high for 2 to 3 minutes, or until light and fluffy. With the motor running on high, gradually add the cream, stopping the mixer once or twice to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Continue to whip on high to stiff peaks. Divide among 6 cheesecloth-lined coeur à la crème molds set on a baking tray. Smooth the mixture into the molds using a spatula and fold the excess cheesecloth over the tops. Let drain in the refrigerator overnight.

To serve, unfold the cheesecloth from the coeurs and invert each one onto a dessert plate. Remove the molds, gently peel off the cheesecloth, and set aside at room temperature for about half an hour. Meanwhile, toss together the strawberries and sugar in a medium bowl and let macerate, stirring occasionally, for 15 to 20 minutes, or until soft and juicy. Divide the strawberries among the coeurs and serve immediately.

Serves 6. Use a high quality cream cheese such as Nancy's. If you can get your hands on it, use Tahitian vanilla, which has a uniquely floral character. You'll need about 2 pints of strawberries for this recipe. If heart-shaped coeur à la crème molds are unavailable, use little berry colanders instead. Finely woven cheesecloth is preferable—if you have the loosely woven kind, use several layers of it. If you like, flavor the coeurs with some finely grated lemon zest. Alternatively, substitute chèvre for a portion of the cream cheese.

Long-Distance Relationship

Have you ever traveled to a distant land and fallen in love? It happened to me once. At first it was just a fling, a frivolous affair, but when I went back again, it became serious. I fell in love in Paris, with Paris. Madly, deeply, head over heals in love.

Now, long after the first passionate throes have faded into sweet memories, I still long for Paris. There is a yearning, an aching in my heart because I cannot visit my love.

Alas, I must settle on a long-distance relationship. So here's how I keep the romance alive…


French Onion Soup
Printable Recipe

4 1 ½-inch thick slices baguette
6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter
4 large yellow onions, julienned
¼ cup red wine
2 tablespoons ruby port
1 ½ quarts beef broth
1 bay leaf
1 sprig thyme
1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
½ pound shredded Gruyère

Preheat the oven to 375˚F. Arrange the baguette slices in a single layer on a baking tray and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until dry. Let cool.

Heat a large, heavy pot over medium-low heat. Add the butter and onions and cook, stirring frequently, for 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until caramelized.* Add the wine and port and simmer for a minute or so, scraping up the brown bits from the bottom of the pot with a heat-proof spatula. Add the broth, bay leaf, and thyme. Bring to a boil and simmer for 40 to 45 minutes, or until the flavors come together. Discard the bay leaf and thyme sprig. Stir in the balsamic vinegar and season to taste with salt and pepper. Preheat the broiler. Divide the soup among 4 oven-proof soup bowls and arrange the soup bowls on a baking tray. Press 1 baguette slice cut side up into the top of each one and divide the Gruyère among them. Broil for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the Gruyère is melted and golden brown. Serve immediately.

Makes 4 very generous servings.

*For information on making and using caramelized onions and everything you ever wanted to know about searing, plus dozens of fabulous searing recipes, look for my book Seared to Perfection in stores now.

All Baked Custards Are Not Created Equal

Flan, crème brûlée, pot de crème, crème caramel…Why all the different names for what seems to be the same dessert?

They're all baked custards. They all require the use of a water bath. And they're all silky smooth, creamy, and delicious. But there's more to it than that…

Flan, a popular Spanish dessert, is typically made with milk and whole eggs. It's baked in large or individual molds that have been lined with caramel. The whole eggs allow flan to be unmolded and still hold its shape. When flan is inverted onto a plate, the caramel sauces the custard.


Crème caramel is the French name for flan.

The favorite French dessert crème brûlée is substantially richer than flan. It's usually made with heavy cream and egg yolks, and it isn't firm enough to unmold. Once the custard is set, sugar is sprinkled over the top and caramelized using a culinary torch or broiler, yielding a shatteringly crisp caramel topping that's a delicious contrast to the velvety custard beneath. Crème brûlée is often baked in broad, shallow individual molds because more surface area means more caramel topping. (If you ask me, part of the pleasure of crème brûlée is tapping the crust with a spoon—I love to hear the crack of the caramel before I take the first bite.)

Pot de crème is made with heavy cream and egg yolks but may include milk or whole eggs. It's luxuriously rich and cannot be unmolded successfully, so it's served in the vessel in which it's baked, be it traditional lidded pot de crème mold, ramekin, or other oven-proof cup. I think of pot de crème as crème brûlée without the brûlée topping.

Orange Flans
Printable Recipe

1 ½ cups sugar
¼ cup water
3 cups milk
Grated zest of 2 oranges
5 large eggs
Pinch kosher salt
½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine ¾ cup of the sugar and the water in a small, heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil, brush down the sides of the pan with water, and boil for 6 to 7 minutes, or until caramelized. The sugar will be fragrant and a deep amber color when it is caramelized. Working quickly, divide the hot caramel among 10 ramekins, swirling each ramekin so that the caramel coats the bottom and half way up the sides.

Preheat the oven to 325˚F Combine the milk and orange zest in a small saucepan and heat to a simmer. Whisk together the eggs, salt, and remaining ¾ cup of sugar in a medium bowl. Continue whisking while adding the hot milk in a thin stream. Strain through a fine mesh sieve. Stir in the vanilla and skim off any foam from the surface. Divide the mixture among the ramekins and place them into a roasting pan. Add enough hot water to the roasting pan to come half way up the sides of the ramekins and bake for 38 to 42 minutes, or until just set. Remove from the water bath and let cool to room temperature. Refrigerate for 3 to 4 hours, or until firm.

To unmold, run the tip of a paring knife around the inside of each ramekin and invert onto a dessert plate.

Serves 10. Good any time of year, but especially in the winter when citrus is in season. You can tell that the flans are done when they jiggle like gelatin. Flans may be baked a day or two in advance and kept covered with plastic wrap in the refrigerator. Unmold just before serving.

Peppercorns on the Vine and Steak au Poivre

And cue the impulse buy.


A rare and intriguing ingredient that I've never experimented with before can always get me to part with a few dollars without a second thought. This time it was a jar of intensely fragrant peppercorns on the vine.


Inspiration came even before I could put the peppercorns into the shopping basket, and I knew the perfect thing to make with them: the Steak au Poivre with Red Wine Sauce recipe from Seared to Perfection.

Just a couple of things before I get to the recipe…

Here's my interview on Savor Portland, in case you missed it. We chatted about everything from the release of my book to government cheese—good fun. The day after that appearance, Seared to Perfection was written up in the Winston-Salem Journal.

Also, registration for winter Clark College cooking classes is now open. I'm very excited to offer Spanish Paella Supper, Hands-On Fresh Pasta, Hands-On Asian Appetizers, Valentine's Seared to Perfection II, and Real Texas Chili classes and hope you can join me in the kitchen! Current class listings can always be found in the Cooking Classes, Book Signings & Appearances sidebar on the right.

And without further ado, may I present a glimpse of what's inside the pages of my book…


Steak au Poivre with Red Wine Sauce
Printable Recipe

4 1 to 1 ¼-inch thick rib-eye or strip steaks, weighing about 12 ounces each
Kosher salt
2 tablespoons freshly cracked black peppercorns
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 shallot, minced
½ cup red wine
½ cup beef broth
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 to 3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, diced

Season the steaks generously with salt and set aside at room temperature for about half an hour.

Coat the steaks with the pepper, pressing it gently into the meat. Heat a large, heavy sauté pan over high heat until very hot but not smoking. Add the oil and swirl to coat the bottom of the pan. Add the steaks and cook without disturbing for 4 to 5 minutes, or until they release from the pan and are crusty and brown. Using tongs, turn the steaks and continue to cook over high heat another 2 to 3 minutes, or until the desired doneness. Moisture will just begin to accumulate on the surface of the steaks when they are medium-rare. Remove the steaks to a plate and tent with foil to keep warm.

Reduce the heat to medium, add the shallot to the pan, and sauté for 30 seconds, or until translucent and fragrant. Add the wine and simmer for a minute or so, scraping up the brown bits from the bottom of the pan with a heat-proof spatula. Add the broth and thyme and simmer another 5 to 6 minutes, or until thickened and saucy. Remove the pan from the heat, discard the thyme, and let cool for a minute or two. Whisk in the butter quickly, stir in any accumulated juices from the steaks, and season to taste with salt.

Arrange the steaks on individual plates, divide the sauce among them, and serve immediately.

Serves 4. No bistro menu would be complete without steak au poivre, the classic French dish of tender steak encrusted with crushed black peppercorns. Although the recipe calls for what seems like an enormous amount of pepper, high heat works an amazing transformation on the pungent spice—the peppercorns become toasted and mellow. For this dish, the peppercorns should be coarsely crushed, not ground to a powder. Crack whole black peppercorns with a spice mill or in a mortar and pestle. Alternatively, place them in a zip-top bag and tap them with a rolling pin or the bottom of a small frying pan.

A Croquembouche for Nine Years

Today the husband and I celebrate another year of wedded bliss. I made a little surprise for him for our special day.


Happy anniversary, Hubby! Love you!

A Deep Breath and a Potato Gratin Variation

Aahhhhhhhhhh.

A deep, cleansing sigh of relief. Now that Seared to Perfection has been out for a couple of weeks, I can tell you—I haven't exhaled since 2006, when I first came up with the idea. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I ever believed it would really happen until I finally held the finished book in my hands.

Dreaming up one hundred recipe ideas and then developing and testing them, writing the manuscript—that was the easy part. Finding an agent to represent me and then selling the book was tough. But the really hard part was turning everything over to the publisher and waiting. And waiting and waiting. And feeling like I had given up control. Of course I knew in my head that I was handing my work over to talented professionals who had my best interests at heart and who were obviously working very hard to make the book the best it could be, but still…

I was a nervous wreck when I received the initial revisions—I had to give myself at least twenty-four hours before opening email attachments, lest I take the changes personally. It didn't help that I never got to meet the editors in person and put faces with their names, or shake their hands. They're only three time zones away, but they seemed so distant they might as well have been on the moon. Email correspondence with only an occasional phone call can do that. I must admit that to this day, I'm still confused by all the different people with "Editor" after their name.

It was a rollercoaster ride. The deadline was reeled in, meaning I had to deliver the manuscript a few months early. A decision was made to include photographs. The book was to be released in the fall of 2009. The release was pushed back a year, the idea of photographs was scrapped. I told myself that an affordable book released after the economy recovered would be a good thing.

Then after a long hiatus another editor made contact, and the rounds of proofs began. I would lock myself in my office, red pen in hand, with only my computer to keep me company. Frenzied proofreading followed by periods of more waiting. I would get word of editors flip-flopping, changing "Give it a rest" to "Why does food need to rest?" and then back again (for the record, I still relish the win on that one). I would be consulted on recipe order or cover photos or book design and wonder if I was driving everyone crazy with my suggestions, requests, and nitpicking. "The bottom of the title page looked like a cayenne red in the PDF and it looks more like a maroon on the hard copy," I would complain.

By this time I was generally convinced that I was working with good people who could be reasoned with. They always respected my opinion, and the design surpassed my expectations. But a new fear gripped me—soon this thing I had labored over for the last four years of my life would be out there, for all the world to see and to criticize. My first look at the finished book was accompanied by excitement and also a bout of nausea.

Why did I get myself into this?

As it turns out, there was no need to panic. The first reader reviews on Amazon are exceedingly positive, and my searing cooking class at Clark College sold out. Helpful friends have taken it upon themselves to rearrange bookstore shelves to bring Seared to Perfection to eye level. And the book is even getting a bit of attention in the media! StarTribune.com featured the recipe for Chicken Breasts with Mushroom, Paprika, and Sour Cream Gravy, and here's the interview with yours truly in The Oregonian's FoodDay. My appearance on The Faith Middleton Show was a total love-fest and catapulted the book up to number six on Amazon's list of Bestsellers in Culinary Arts & Techniques. (For a while it even reached number ninety-four on Bestsellers in Cooking, Food & Wine and 1,324 in all books—I'm such a proud momma!) I'll be on KOIN Studio 6 between 4PM and 5PM on Friday, December 17th demonstrating a recipe from the book.

Would I do it all over again? Hell yes. Without a doubt. I'd jump at the chance. In fact, I have an idea for the perfect follow-up to Seared to Perfection. Let's hope my publisher goes for it.

Now that I've gotten all that off my chest, I really need some comfort food. So here's a seasonal variation of the Potato Gratin recipe in the book.


Butternut Squash & Potato Gratin
Printable Recipe

Unsalted butter, for greasing the baking dish
4 large (about 2 pounds) Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced 1/8-inch thick
1 1 ½-pound butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and sliced 1/8-inch thick
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Generous pinch nutmeg
1 clove garlic, grated
1 ¾ cups heavy cream
1 cup shredded Gruyère

Preheat the oven to 325ºF. Generously butter a 12-inch oval baking dish. Season the potato and butternut squash slices to taste with salt and pepper. Layer them into the dish, arranging them in neat, overlapping circles and alternating layers of potato and squash. Stir the nutmeg and garlic into the cream and slowly pour over the potatoes and squash. Sprinkle evenly with the Gruyère. Bake for 1 ¼ to 1 ½ hours, or until the top is golden brown and the potatoes and squash are tender. Cover with foil to keep warm and allow to rest 20 to 25 minutes before serving.


Serves 6. Make this gratin in the fall, when butternut squash is abundant and rich food is welcome. Yukon gold potatoes will become creamy but retain their texture after cooking. A mandoline makes easy work of slicing potatoes, but I prefer to slice the squash with a chef’s knife. Season the gratin carefully before it goes into the oven because it’s hard to add salt and pepper once it is cooked. I toss the potato and squash slices with salt and pepper in a large bowls and taste a bit of each raw to check the amount of salt—they should taste slightly salty at this point for a perfect finished gratin—and spit it out. Minced fresh thyme or sage can be added along with the salt and pepper. Letting the gratin rest before serving makes it possible to cut neat portions.

Paris Sweets, or The Sugar High that Lasted Six Days

No account of a Parisian vacation would be complete without mention of the sweets. Before our trip, I carefully pinpointed all of Paris's famous patisseries, chocolatiers, and such on a laminated city map and then determined the shortest route between each one. We ate dessert with every meal. The truth is, we ate dessert FOR every meal.

Although I'd marked a different one of their locations on our map, we immediately discovered that our apartment was in the vicinity of an Eric Kayser.


I actually spotted it before we found our apartment—believe me, my ability to hone in on pastry is like a sixth sense. And so our first meal in Paris was a poulet roti carved with a pocket knife and eaten with our fingers followed by a still-warm baguette and a delightful frasier.


A stroll to this particular bakery became our breakfast routine. We would pick up a fresh baguette to be eaten with a slab of salted butter from the neighboring cheese shop. And possibly a croissant or raspberry financier or madeleine or lemon turnover or tomato quiche.


Or a raspberry tart.


Yes, I shamelessly ate tart for breakfast. And sometimes, to augment our breakfast, we would pick up a little something at another bakery along the way, like a sackful of chouquettes.


Or a flaky palmier.


I'm really not much of a breakfast person except for when I'm in Paris.

Strangely, a good cup of coffee is not so easy to find in Paris. Each morning, clutching our bags of delectables from Eric Kayser, we would, I'm embarrassed to admit, cross the street into the Starbucks and order our daily dose of caffeine to go.

We stopped into Stohrer, famous for being the oldest pastry shop in Paris and for inventing the baba au rhum, to drool on the case.


The canelés were beautiful.


Speaking of canelés, we stumbled upon a shop devoted exclusively to the custardy cakelettes. And another with nothing but chocolate fondue. Only in Paris.

We waited impatiently in a line that wound around the corner to taste the famed ice cream at Berthillon.


I chose apricot and wild strawberry; Hubby decided on rose-scented raspberry and wild strawberry. Then we sat at the edge of the Seine, watching the world float by, licking our ice cream.

Fauchon was a favorite destination for their perfectly caramelized palmiers of gargantuan proportions.


The husband declared these the best in all of Paris.


He gave me his keep-your-hands-off-my-palmier face when I attempted to confirm the bold statement.


Chocolatiers were well represented on my map, with the first being Patrick Roger. As we marveled at the stunning chocolate creations, a woman was saying something about the "new little blue box".


I'd have to agree, the chocolates did seem as precious as jewelry. I especially loved their enormous take on the chocolate egg.


This work of art was the size of one of those funny little European cars. The displays at Christian Constant were full of chocolate handbags and shoes.


Fashion even I can get into. The most memorable chocolatier for me was Jean-Paul Hévin. Though I'm known for being indecisive when it comes to ordering, I can usually narrow it down to a couple of things that look best. I found it nearly impossible to pick standing in front of this amazing case.


I eventually settled on the Longchamp Chocolat.


Luxuriously creamy and not too sweet, it was my favorite chocolate dessert of the trip—no wonder they call it a champ. Jean-Paul Hévin also happened to have the sexiest footwear in all of Paris.


Too bad they didn't have my size.

Perhaps the place I was most excited to visit was Sadaharu Aoki, a patisserie known for combining French pastry techniques with Japanese flavors. Creative and imaginative are understatements. The cakes were visually stunning, the flavor combinations intriguing.


I'm a sucker for anything with green tea, so we tried the Bamboo.


It was surprisingly subtle and light.

Gérard Mulot won honors for having the most colorful display.


I loved the way the meringue was piped on the lemon tart.


And I loved the rustic look of these fruit tarts.


But as it was just a few short blocks away from Pierre Hermé, I ate only with my eyes.

Pastry Mecca Pierre Hermé warranted no less than three visits. We tried the vanilla tartelette.


And the world's single most perfect pastry, the Kouign-Amann.


Although the hubby and I both agreed that it was even more perfect plain, without the berry jam center. I had an exquisite milk chocolate and passion fruit macaron.


And a luscious, tarty lemon tartelette.


And he had a canelé.


All others pale in comparison.


Then there was the black currant and mascarpone cream verrine.


Which was almost overwhelming in intesity of flavor, and while I am a mere mortal and do not presume to quibble with a pastry god, the texture of the bits of skin in the black currant layer did not appeal to me. The last treat we got at PH was some sort of praline mille-feuille, but by this time I was flying so high on sugar I don't remember much about it except that it was divine. PH is, without a doubt, amazing. But perhaps because I'd been there before—twice during our first trip to Paris a couple of years ago—I wasn't as amazed as I expected to be. Funny how once you've experienced something, you can never recapture the feeling of that first time.

The one place that surprised and delighted me most was the one that didn't even make it onto my map. I have absolutely no idea how I could have missed it in my research, but luckily on the way to the Bastille Market my sixth sense kicked in again, and I spotted Dalloyau.


It was impossible to walk by this window display without going in.


Upon seeing the fruity flavors and the explosion of pink (ooh, pink!), I was hopelessly hooked.


This was definitely another case of wanting to try everything in the case. I was as excited as a little girl when I pointed at what I thought was a layered strawberry mousse cup. But it turned out to be liquid. It was topped with a wafer-thin cookie with a little hole in the center for inserting a straw. The most sophisticated (and expensive) smoothie of my life. On a return visit, I ordered a variety of pink cakes to share with my family.


The six of us polished off the three cakelettes within minutes. The Bubble Pêche was a winner just for having such a fun name—I mean, how can you resist something called Bubble Pêche? The hot pink cube cake concealed a chocolate cup holding another fruity smoothie-like concoction. The berry cake was my favorite. If only I had gotten the full-size version, each of us could've gotten more than two bites.


It's hard to believe, but these whimsical cakes were moist and delicious and tasted even better than they looked! The only thing about Dalloyau is I still don't know how to pronounce the name.

As much as I would've liked to hit Lenôtre, Ladurée, and Poilâne again, we abstained because we'd visited them our first time in Paris. With only six days for eating, we had to set some priorities.

It was a sweet vacation. But as you might imagine, we crashed hard after eating so much sugar.

Previously: Marvelous Markets of Paris.