I hate house sharing.
I’m just going to put it out there and say what every other twenty-something is thinking.
At least, I hope it’s not just me.
I’ve come to the conclusion that there are two types of housemates. The first type is me. I’m the kind of housemate that posts passive-aggressive notes under your door to tell you to clean your bloody dishes that have been festering in the kitchen sink for 3 days. Then when it comes to day 7; I’ll come and wake you up at 2am, stare at you with the most unimpressed expression I can muster and ask you why the hell your dishes are still sitting in the sink?! Come on guys.
Then there’s the second type. The one who gets toast breadcrumbs all over the kitchen counter and whose eyes just seem to glide over them every time they walk past them as if they don’t exist. The one who drops onion peelings all over the floor, who plays really loud music for four hours and who puts their clothes on to wash at 4am.
Right. Outside. My. Bedroom.
The ones who never take the rubbish out and who just leave mouldy bananas in the fridge for days. Its one thing to do that, but let me just ask… why the hell are the bananas in the fridge anyway?! Who puts bananas in the fridge?
You’ll notice that a lot of my pet peeves occur in the kitchen.
The reason for this is, a kitchen to me is a sacred place in which you cook lovingly prepared food for loved family and friends. But who can produce beautiful food when every time you pick up a utensil its covered in old butter?!
I strongly believe that if I’m in a bad frame of mind, I will produce bad food.
All of this is kind of off topic to todays post. My dirty house is a stark contrast to these glistening Savarin’s. But I want to know; is it just me that feels let down by house shares? Have any of you gone through the same thing at some point?
One of the main things that suffers from my house of hell is my blog. I feel no urge or excitement to want to bake in my London home. My kitchens dirty, lets not even talk about the gas oven and I’m pretty sure there’s a wasp’s nest outside my window. So every time I want to bake, I come back home to Surrey and back to the comfort of my mum’s clean, well-equipped kitchen.
Rum baba was one of the first real pieces of patisserie that I ever ate. I remember I bought it on a whim, not something I’d usually buy. That first hit of sweet rum syrup and the first bite of airy, moist sponge all bought together with Chantilly, just made me swoon. I made Savarin’s in school but they weren’t the kind of Savarin I wanted to create.
I’m happy to say that these are the Savarin’s I’ve always wanted. Fresh fruit with the crunch of Pistachios all sitting atop lightly fragranced Chantilly, the whole pastry oozing Cointreau and citrus aromatics.
Note: This amount of dough will look very small, but don’t worry! It’ll double in size, and is just the right amount for four Savarins.
- 38ml milk
- 1 tsp. dried yeast
- 4 tsp. caster sugar
- 150g strong white flour
- pinch of salt
- 1 egg
- 38g unsalted butter, melted
Savarin Soaking syrup
- 100g sugar
- 200g water
- dash of Cointreau
- 1/2 large orange, peel
- apricot jam/orange marmelade to glaze
- 300g double cream
- 30g sugar
- 1 lemon, zest
Prepare your Savarin moulds by buttering and coating lightly with sugar, tapping out the excess. Set on a baking tray.
Warm the milk until quite warm. Pour this over your yeast. Stir in the yeast. (Make sure the milk isn’t too hot here as this will kill the yeast.)
In a small bowl, combine the flour, sugar and salt. Add in the milk/yeast mixture and stir into the flour. Once the dough looks shaggy, add in the egg and beat the mixture again until it becomes smooth and elastic. Beat in the melted butter in three additions.
Place the dough into a piping bag. Pipe the dough into each Savarin mould equally. The dough should come about halfway up the mould so that it has space to prove. Let the dough prove for approx. 15 – 20 minutes in a warm place. The dough should have doubled in size and should measure just below the top edge of the mould (any higher and you will get a mushroom shape to the Savarin as it spills over the top while baking.) Meanwhile, pre-heat your oven to 200C.
Bake for 20 minutes until golden brown.
While your Savarins are baking, you can make the soaking syrup. Place the sugar, water and Cointreau into a small pan. Peel in the zest of half a large orange, keeping it in long strips. Bring the syrup to the boil and turn off. Pour this into a container or bowl that is easy for dipping the Savarin. Once the Savarin have cooled slightly but are still a little warm, you can start soaking them. Place them into the syrup for a few seconds on each side until they are very moist. You want them to have grown after soaking up so much syrup and to be springy to the touch. Place on a cooling rack to continue to cool.
For an extra touch, heat up some apricot jam or marmalade until hot. Press through a sieve so that you are left with glaze. Carefully brush this over the tops of your Savarins to give them shine and extra flavour.
To make the lemon cream, place the cream, sugar and lemon zest together. Using a hand whisk, whip them up together until the cream can hold its shape.
Pipe into the middle of the Savarins with a medium-sized star nozzle and garnish with toasted nuts and fresh fruit.