Saint-Honoré Trifle

I'll bet you didn't know that Saint-Honoré is the patron saint of pastry chefs. A gateau Saint-Honoré is made with a cream puff dough and filled with Chiboust cream. This is named after a famous French pastry chef. At least, he's famous in some circles. I don't think you have to be French in order to have Saint-Honoré be your patron saint. Had I known this fact when I was making the spun sugar, I would definitely have said a little prayer to Saint-Honoré.

I said a few weeks ago that this trifle was on my list of Most Feared Cakes, so I feel pretty good about making it. I was chickening out about the whole spun sugar thing, thinking it could easily turn into quite a fiasco. You may have guessed this when I gave everyone advance permission not to bother with the spun sugar.
Then Jim bought a whisk and trimmed the ends off, so I felt obligated not to waste my surgically altered whisk.

This recipe has the most components of any that I've tried so far: the cake, the syrup, the Chiboust cream, the strawberries, the preserves, the whipped cream topping, and, of course, the spun sugar. No single component (except for the you-know-what) is difficult in itself, but it takes two days of baking--at a relaxed pace--to get everything done.
The cake is an easy sponge cake, if you already have beurre noisette stashed away in your freezer. I used up the last of mine when we made financiers, so I should really count it as a separate component.
I don't think I'll ever tire of watching a few eggs magically turn into a thick, creamy, pale yellow mixture. I love kitchen alchemy.

And, of course, there's nothing to making the syrup. But how is it that I have three opened bottles of Calvados and none of Grand Marnier? I could have sworn I had at least one bottle. At least I had Triple Sec.
The Chiboust cream (or crème Chiboust) is not difficult--just a version of creme patisserie.

Here I'm going to admit to a little skepticism. This recipe calls for one-half of a Madagascar vanilla bean and one-half of a Tahitian vanilla bean. Really? Is there honestly someone out there who can tell when a Chiboust cream is made just with the Madagascar bean?
A quick Google search tells me that the difference between Madagascar and Tahitian vanillais the subject of much writing, and perhaps I should not admit to being a vanilla ignoramus.

Mixing some orange marmalade with a little water or liqueur? Easy.

Cutting up the strawberries? Easy. I'm always disappointed when the strawberries turn out to be white on the inside, even when they're nice and rosy red on the outside.

Assembling all these components wasn't hard, either, although it did take a while.

I borrowed a trifle bowl from Woody, and I just had to cut away the outside ring of the cake.

I thought these outside pieces were a bit dry, so I brushed plenty of syrup on the cake when I was putting the trifle together.

When I dipped the outside pieces in the Chiboust cream, they no longer seemed dry, and I wouldn't have cared if they had. My compliments to M. Chiboust. He made a mean pastry cream.

I read the instructions for making the spun sugar about 100 times, and I still had a hard time picturing exactly what was going to happen. We decided to make it on the back porch instead of in the kitchen, because I had visions of caramelized sugar all over the walls, ceilings, and floor.
Jim really battened down the hatches in the back porch. He took four weeks of the New York Times, and spread it over the floor, our patio table, and my porch work station. Almost every square inch of the porch was protected by a section of the paper.

No problem making the caramel syrup. My instant-read thermometer told me just when the syrup hit 360, and I poured it into a measuring cup. Then we dashed out to the porch, only to discover we had to wait a bit until it cooled. My friend Karen had volunteered to come over and help. In this case, "help" meant doing the whole thing. She stood on a stool, and started waving the whisk. At first it looked like nothing was happening. Then we could see that strands of gossamer-thin caramel were actually forming between the oiled spoon handles. A miracle!

After I realized that it worked, I told Karen I wanted to try it. She graciously stepped down and let me have at it. We got a nice bundle of spun sugar (with some "angel tears," which I do not consider a defect, although apparently they are). After a while, the caramelized sugar mixture got too thick to spin, and we decided we had enough.

No caramel got on the walls, the floor, or the ceiling. Not much even got on the paper. I definitely wouldn't have needed four weeks worth of papers. Just Monday and Tuesday would probably have been enough to protect everything.
Only one thing left--piping the whipping cream. You may recall that I have a real problem with the whole concept of piping, not to mention its execution. But it's a lot easier with whipped cream than with buttercream, and it actually ended up looking okay.

I must have looked very pleased with myself. Karen said, "Aren't you proud?" I had to admit I was. I come from a long line of women who think it would be the height of rudeness to admit to any self-satisfaction, especially with cooking. Our Thanksgiving dinners were always filled with apologies for the dryness of the turkey, the lumpiness of the potatoes, and the toughness of the pie crust. But I can't help it. I really liked the looks of this trifle. (Sorry to brag, Grandma).

I liked the taste of this trifle, too. It is a quintessential Rose creation in that each individual element complements the others, and the flavors are beautifully harmonious. Even though each piece probably has about 2,000 calories, it's deceptively light. The Chiboust cream, whipping cream, and the cake all seem ethereal, and, if you're lucky enough to get a bit of spun sugar on your plate, that's just one more contrasting texture.

I'm not sure what kind of occasion it would take to tempt me to make this again. It was kind of a lost weekend, after all. But I hope that something does, because I'd like like believe I'm going to be able to taste it at least one more time in my life.
TASTING PANEL
(Only two members of the tasting panel this week, although I ended up giving away containers of the cake to a lot of people. This was one cake I didn't want to have sitting around tempting me to have it for breakfast.)

Karen: "This would be a fantastic dessert to make when you want to impress. It's so beautiful, and it tastes as good as it looks. I love all the flavors, and everything tastes so fresh."

Jim: "I like all the different flavors and textures. It's another cake that's not too sweet, which I really appreciate."