Tselani
Opera – the very word haunts my dreams and I wake up in a sweat. I’m not actually referring to the fantastically beautiful music, but rather the cake. In France, everyone loves the Opera cake. Every pastry store worth its salt has at least one in the window, and once you see one, you’ll know why. It’s a simple cake really: a coffee soaked cake is layered between coffee butter cream and a dark chocolate ganache. The top is glazed with a perfectly flat layer of chocolate and inscribed with the word Opera. It’s quite stunning actually.
And now to my obsession. As the technical portion of our pastry final in August, we have to write Opera in chocolate and pipe a decorative border. The chefs have advised us to start practicing now so we have the technique perfected by the exam. In fact they advise us to buy a large jar of Nutella (twist my arm), add a little oil, and practice, practice, practice.
There are about as many different ways to write the word Opera as there are people in Paris. Each chef has a unique and distinctive technique. But one thing is certain. Opera must be written in very elegant script and accompanied by a fairly fancy border. I silently thank the gods above that I took many years of cake decorating lessons when I was young. It certainly helps, but I still have a long way to go in my perfecting my technique.
In my notebook, I have written pages and pages of Opera doodles – O’s in many different shapes, r’s with big loops, and a’s with curlicues at the ends. When I get distracted during practical class, I find myself experimenting with several types of borders. My recipes are covered with a variety of designs – maybe the arch should go there, or would it look better ending with a dot? There’s a lot to consider. I love homework like this!
We finally got a chance to make the real Opera cake this week. Before class we are all a little nervous because several students in the last Intermediate pastry class got this cake on their exam and failed. But we enter the room with our heads held high, ready to tackle the project before us.
We start by mixing powdered sugar, powdered almonds, a little flour and some eggs. Melt the butter over low heat and incorporate it well into the batter. Whip the egg whites until soft peaks and stiffen with sugar. Fold the mixtures together and pour out onto a large baking sheet. Using an offset spatula, spread the mixture in a thin even layer and put in the oven for about seven minutes.
Meanwhile, make the coffee butter cream by heating water and sugar to the softball stage. Gradually mix it hot sugar into some egg yolks and whip until the mixture has cooled. Add a lot of butter in small chunks and cream into the yolks and sugar. Flavor with coffee extract.
For the ganache, heat the cream until boiling. Pour over the chocolate and let sit for a minute. Very carefully stir the melted chocolate until smooth. This can be tricky as ganache has a nasty habit of breaking or becoming lumpy. Let the ganache cool on the counter with the butter cream.
Once the cake is cool, cut into three layers. On the bottom layer, soak well with coffee syrup. Spread on a thick layer of coffee butter cream and top with the second layer. Soak the second layer well with coffee syrup and then spread on the ganache. Top with the remaining layer and a very thin layer of butter cream. Pour on the glazing chocolate and spread into a very thin layer. It should look like a mirror with absolutely no imperfections.
While the cake sets in the refrigerator, melt chocolate and butter in a double boiler. This will be the writing chocolate. Remove the cake and very carefully cut the sides to reveal the individual layers. And now comes the fun part. Without making any mistakes, pipe a perfect Opera and border around the cake.
Once finished, I’m fairly happy with the results. I didn’t soak my cake layers enough with coffee syrup, but other than that, the chef said if I had this on the test, I’d do just fine. Not bad for my first time. But I know my obsession will not quickly fade. I plan to go home tonight and practice yet again.
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And: "Goldfarb became a culinary evangelist. He formed a society of like minded chefs ('nothing less than the most forward-thinking individuals in modern civilization'). He wrote manifestos. He held meetings -- the Internet, in mountain retreats, in foreign kitchens. He was opinionated and short-tempered and impatient. He was seen to be arrogant, a freak, a genius. He interviewed for jobs, put on pastry displays, dazzled with his technical gifts, was hired, and then let loose. At Cap Juluca, on the Caribbean island of Anguilla, he pickled apricots, made reductions from Cocao-Cola, and conceived of a tobacco sabayon. (He was fired after three months, and lived in an island shack, committed to a long period of self-reflection.) At Aquavit, in New York, he made desserts with Chinese spices, curries, and black olives. (He was fired after one month.) In the aftermath of the September 11th attacks, he opened Papillon, with Chef Paul Liebrandt, blocks from where the World Trade Centger had stood, and, with what seems like an anarchic disregard for the historical moment, produced an interactive Futurist menu that included a starter served on silk and sandpaper, a dish that required the customer to be blindfolded and bound, and a dessert that a waiter injected with a syringe of hot oil at the table.
"'Why?' I asked Goldfarb.
"'To change the concept of the eating experience of dessert."
There's lots more -- am sure you could find it on the web, but if you can't, let me know and I'll send it on to you! Cheers, Carolina