paris food & photography workshop with Yossy Arefi

I've got big news for you today: I'm teaming up with the super-talented Yossy Arefi of Apt. 2B Baking Co. to bring you a food & photography workshop in Paris this May!

We’ve planned 4 glorious days of cooking, shooting and styling in our light-filled Apartments Actually flat. We’ll visit local markets, boulangeries and cafes as we stroll the streets capturing the light Paris is famous for and tasting the city's best chocolate, coffee, pastries, cheeses and natural wines. And of course we'll gather around the table to share meals both in our beautiful workshop apartment and out and about in Paris.

We've designed this workshop for all skill levels. It will be a great opportunity to learn to shoot manually and master the settings on your camera if you’re new to that. More experienced photographers will benefit from our hands-on styling and editing sessions as well as our guided photo tours through the city.

All you need to do is book your ticket, pack your bags and show up. We’ve got all the details covered so you can focus on taking in the incredible beauty of Paris. You’ll leave feeling more confident in your photography skills and full of creative inspiration!

There are only 8 spots available. My last Paris retreat sold out in a week, so treat yourself to one of them before they're gone!

XO,

Olaiya

pastéis de tentúgal

Pastéis de Tentúgal are Portuguese pastries that originated in Tentúgal, a tiny town halfway between Lisbon and Porto. These pastéis, invented by Carmelite nuns in the 16th century, are packets of thin, flaky pastry filled with a rich egg custard and dusted with powdered sugar.

I have to be honest though; I’ve never set foot in Tentúgal. I tasted these pastries at a traditional desserts workshop that was part of my Portugal culinary tour. They were crispy and buttery and eggy and just the right amount sweet. They immediately became my favorite new food discovery.

I also love the history of these egg-based confections:

After colonizing Brazil and Madeira in the 16th century, Portugal began importing a steady stream of sugar (formerly a luxury destined only for the wealthy) from their plantations abroad. At this time, there happened to also be a large number of convents in Portugal using egg whites to starch their habits. All those elaborately starched wimples meant a lot of nuns with a lot of extra egg yolks on their hands. One of those nuns had the brilliant idea of combining the surplus egg yolks with the newly abundant sugar, and the classic eggy, sweet Portuguese convent pastry was born! 

I like to imagine the sisters working away in their convent kitchens, inventing new confections to use up their stockpile of yolks and dreaming up names for their heavenly creations: barrigas de freira (nun’s bellies), toucinho do céu (bacon from heaven), papos de anjo (angel cheeks or angel breasts, depending on who you ask). 

The Carmelites were especially inventive in dreaming up the Pastéis de Tentúgal. It seems that in addition to egg yolks, the sisters had a lot of time on their hands because the traditional version of the sweet involves hand-stretching a gigantic disk of dough into paper-thin sheets that are rolled around doce de ovos (a sort of egg and sugar custard) and baked.

I am certain that the traditional version with it’s miraculously thin pastry case is divine. But since the chances of me learning to make this super labor-intensive dough from those who hold the secret recipe are slim, and the chances of you deciding to make it at home are even slimmer, I’m going to share the version of the recipe I learned, which relies on phyllo dough for the pastry case. I hope that's alright with you. :)

I learned to make this version of Pastéis de Tentúgal from chef Orlanda Monteiro. Once you get the hang of working with the phyllo and learn how not to overfill your pastries (which I definitely did in my first batch), these are remarkably easy to make. 

And the results are stellar. The finished pastries stand on their contrasts; the shatteringly crisp shell houses a creamy egg filling that is both rich and airy. Which means you could eat about a dozen of them. Or I could anyway. My official testers (my mother and the baristas at my favorite coffee shop) gave these an enthusiastic thumbs up. I hope you will, too.

As always, if you have any questions about technique or ingredients (or if you just want to to let the world know what you think of this recipe!), give a shout-out in the comments below. 

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Pastéis de Tentúgal

Pastéis de Tentúgal

• 11 oz (generous 1 ½ cups) granulated sugar
• 1 cup water
• 10 large egg yolks
• 12 sheets phyllo dough (you might need one or two extra if any of your sheets tear)
• 4 oz (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, melted

*Notes: For best results, thaw your phyllo dough overnight in the fridge. To keep it from drying out, I cover the phyllo dough I’m not working with at the moment with a sheet of plastic wrap and then a barely damp dish towel.

- If you overfill your pastries, they will burst in the oven. The key is to only use one tablespoon of filling per pastry then to roll them loosely. Finally, when you turn the edges up, leave about ½ inch empty space on each side of the filling. Leaving a little extra room inside the pastry allows the egg filling to expand without leaking.

- Egg whites (unlike yolks) freeze beautifully. If you want to use them later to make meringue, be sure to separate your eggs carefully and avoid getting any yolk in the whites. To thaw, place the frozen egg whites in the fridge overnight.

- Like many Portuguese pastries, these are especially good straight out of the oven, served with an espresso.

Combine the sugar and water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Once the sugar is dissolved, do not stir the syrup. Cook until the syrup has thickened enough to come off a spoon in a thick stream. This should take about 8-10 minutes. If you want to be more precise, the syrup should read about 200°F on an instant-read thermometer. Set aside to cool for a minute or two.

While the syrup is cooling, place your yolks in a large bowl. Whisk to combine then slowly drizzle in a very thin stream of the hot syrup, whisking constantly. The idea is to temper your eggs, or gradually heat them enough to add them to the hot liquid without scrambling them. Continue to gradually add the syrup while whisking vigorously. The more your eggs warm up, the faster you can add the syrup. When you’ve added all the syrup, transfer the egg mixture back to the saucepan and place over medium-low heat. Cook, stirring or whisking constantly until the mixture is thick and creamy and resembles sabayon or lemon curd. Whisking is faster and yields a fluffier result, so that’s the method I prefer. Either way, be sure to occasionally scrape the bottom and corners of the pan with a flexible, heat-proof spatula to make sure there’s no egg scorching going on down there.

Remove from the heat and strain the egg mixture through a medium-mesh sieve into a medium bowl (the sieve will remove any little bits of hard-cooked egg and make sure your filling is smooth). Place a sheet of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the egg custard (to prevent a skin from forming) and refrigerate until set, at least 2 hours and up to 2 days.

When you’re ready to assemble and bake the pastéis, preheat your oven to 400°F.  

Stack two sheets of phyllo on a large, clean work surface. Fold the stacked sheets in half widthwise (short end to short end) and cut along the fold with sharp knife. Stack the four sheets of phyllo on top of each other, fold widthwise and cut along the fold again. You will now have eight rectangles of phyllo dough measuring roughly 7x9 inches. Place six of the sheets under your towel with the rest of the phyllo and leave two on your work surface.

Using a pastry brush, lightly butter the first rectangle of phyllo. Place the second sheet directly on top and lightly butter as well. Position the phyllo sheets so one of the long edges is closest to you, then place one tablespoon of the chilled egg filling in the middle of this long edge, about ¾ inch in from the edge. Loosely fold the phyllo over the filling to create a sort of flat tube (it will puff as it cooks). Use your fingers to make an indentation on both sides of the filling, leaving about ½ inch room for the filling to expand within the tube. Brush the top of the pastry with butter, fold the ends up, pinching the seam gently so they won’t open in the oven and butter the ends you’ve just folded up. Place on a parchment-lined sheet pan and repeat with the rest of the phyllo and filling.

Bake the pastéis for 12-14 minutes, until they have puffed and the tops are golden brown. Cool slightly before sprinkling with powdered sugar. The pastéis can be served warm or at room temperature.

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banana tarte tatin

We go through a lot of bananas around here. Especially in the winter months when more tender fruit and vegetables aren’t available. Along with kale, cabbage and root vegetables, it’s one of the hard-working staples we rely on year-round. However, unlike kale and its stalwart kitchen companions that we transform each week into soups, salads, braises and roasts, we never do anything exciting with bananas. And considering the enormous mountain of them that appears on our kitchen counter each week, the peel-and-eat situation was getting a bit monotonous.

Everything about this winter was starting to feel monotonous, in fact. Seattle, lush and verdant in the summer months, is all grey and drizzle in the fall and winter. Some people are immune to this seemingly endless series of overcast days. I am not one of them. And winter was starting to wear on me. 

Thumbing my way through Instagram with its scenes of New York and Detroit and even Raleigh and Chatanooga under a winter blanket of white, filled me with nostalgia for snow days and hot cocoa and snowball fights. (I suspect those of you digging out from under huge drifts and mending frozen pipes might have less romantic notions of this year’s winter storms.)

Thus afflicted by the winter doldrums and feeling more than a little bit sorry for myself, I was casting around the kitchen for inspiration when my eyes fell on that pile of steadily ripening bananas. A recipe for a banana tarte tatin I’d seen ages ago flickered in the distant recesses of my mind. And just like that, that heap of boring bananas was full of delicious, caramelized potential.

If you haven’t had a tarte tatin, it’s a beauty of a dessert: tender caramelized apples above layers of flaky, buttery puff pastry. Elegantly French, yet homey and familiar. No one in their right mind can object to a good tarte tatin. Substituting bananas for the apples would lend some of the irresistible charm of Bananas Foster and provide the humble banana an edge of sophistication. 

After tinkering with the recipe, I invited some friends over for dinner to act as my unwitting guinea pigs. Halfway through dessert, it struck me what folly it was to invite an incredibly talented pastry chef over to sample an untested dessert. Too late to course-correct; I fretted internally and carried on. 

We tasted the tart with all sorts of toppings and decided in the end that less is more. It certainly wouldn’t be bad with, say, coffee-infused whip cream or cacao nibs or candied hazelnuts. But in order to let the nuances of the caramel and the floral notes of the bananas shine through, it was best with just a straightforward scoop of ice cream (I like vanilla or coffee), or simpler still, a dollop of tart crème fraîche. Whether you choose a minimalist approach or something more baroque, this banana tart is a winner.

While eating a leftover slice for breakfast (don’t judge), I started thinking about the transformation of a lackluster winter staple into a delicious dessert. How if you can coax yourself into seeing things from a slightly different point of view, fresh possibilities open up. On a walk later that day, it occurred to me that, of course, this lesson applies outside the kitchen as well. That caramelly tart reminded that there is inspiration in the everyday if you take the time to look for it. 

As I walked, I decided to stop mentally complaining about the monotonous Seattle winter and focus instead on the little signs of spring that are starting to emerge. Tiny, tender buds on branch tips. Crocus and daffodils gently unfurling. The first flushed breast of a robin. The air smells a bit different: loamy and rich with the perfume of cherry blossoms here and there. The afternoon sunlight, growing by a few minutes each day, seems more golden and bright. 

Grey days can still cast a pall over my mood if I’m not mindful. I wish I could say I now bound out of bed each morning singing show tunes! Alas, I do not. But I have decided to focus on the many good things each day holds, especially until spring is fully settled in and the sun returns. More walks. More laughs. More time in the garden. More cooking for no other reason than because it makes me happy. 

It turns out bananas and winter days, when seen with a fresh eye, are full of delicious potential.

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Banana Tarte Tatin

• 3 tablespoons butter
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon kosher salt
• 2 tablespoons cream
• 1 teaspoon lemon juice
• 2 tablespoons dark rum
• 5 bananas, halved lengthwise (ripe, but still firm)
• 1 sheet puff pastry, preferably all-butter, thawed if frozen
• Ice cream or crème fraîche, to serve
• Flaky sea salt, to serve (I like Maldon)

Preheat the oven to 400° F. 

In a medium saucepan melt the butter over medium heat. Add the sugar and salt. Cook, whisking occasionally until the sugar has melted and turned medium-amber, about 6-7 minutes. Cook the caramel a shade or two less that your desired final result as it will continue to caramelize in the oven. Remove the saucepan from the heat and whisk in the cream, then the lemon juice and rum. Use caution as the caramel is extremely hot and will bubble up when you add the liquid ingredients. Don’t worry if it seizes a bit, just keep whisking until it’s smooth again. Very carefully transfer the hot caramel to your baking dish. Working quickly, spread the caramel with a spoon or flexible spatula to the corners of the dish before it hardens.

Roll out the puff pastry on a lightly floured surface to a thickness of 3/16-inch. Using a sharp knife, trace a rectangle ½-inch larger than the bottom of your baking dish. Arrange the bananas, cut-side-down over the caramel, trimming them as necessary to make them fit. Carefully lay the the trimmed puff pastry over the bananas, tucking the excess dough between the bananas and the side of the dish. Bake until the puff pastry has risen and is golden brown, about 30 minutes. 

Remove the tarte tatin from the oven and let it rest for a couple of minutes. Run a butter knife around the sides of the baking dish to loosen any puff pastry or caramel that may have stuck. If there is caramel pooling in the bottom of the dish, carefully pour it off. But do not throw it away--it is DELICIOUS. Place a large platter or rimmed sheet pan over the baking dish. Grasp the baking dish and platter or sheet pan firmly with oven mitts or kitchen towels and invert them quickly. (They key is to flip quickly without hesitating.) Remove the baking dish. 

Serve the tarte tatin warm or at room temperature, with a scoop of ice cream or a dollop of crème fraîche and lightly sprinkled with sea salt. If you poured off any caramel from the bottom of the dish, it’s delicious spooned over the top or reserved for a killer ice cream sundae.

Makes 6 servings