3 hours ago
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With great age comes the confidence to keep things simple, and to see the merits of, say, a margherita pizza over a five cheese and ’nduja, the quiet pleasure of dal and rice, or the discreet charms of an old-school jam doughnut or a digestive biscuit. The canelé de Bordeaux is a prime example of such understated genius. An inexperienced eye might well miss these squat little Doric columns amid the glitz and glaze of a French patisserie, but as my friend Nicola Lamb puts it, discovering them “is like being in a secret club, a club that all shares a valuable piece of knowledge: the canelé is the pastry GOAT”. That unassuming mahogany shell should shatter into caramelised shards to reveal a rich, almost custardy vanilla- and rum-scented interior.
Not that many people who’ve tried making cannelés at home would call them simple; rarely have I sifted through so much agonised discussion and mournful photos of failed attempts that have mushroomed out of their moulds or failed to brown on top. Many thousands of words have been devoted to the correct way to season bespoke hand-tooled copper cannelé moulds with beeswax, the precise temperature of the milk, the optimum time to age the mixture, all creating almost as much mystique around what is basically a batter pudding as there is around its origins. For all the talk of 17th-century nuns with a glut of egg yolks from the local winemaking industry, the first mention of cannelés dates from 1937. In fact, they did not become widely available even in Bordeaux, where they are now omnipresent, until the establishment in 1985 of the Confrérie de Canelé, the organisation that dictated that authentic Bordeaux cannelés should be distinguished by being spelled with just the one n. Henceforth, therefore, I will revert to the original spelling of cannelé out of respect for the Brotherhood, and because such a simple recipe cannot possibly be in the least authentic, however delicious the results.
The batter
Cannelé batter – a mixture of milk, eggs, butter, sugar and flour – is not dissimilar to that used for clafoutis (or indeed sweet Yorkshire pudding), save for the fact that it features fewer eggs and more milk. I am neither a professional chef nor a chemist, so here I will quote directly from Lamb, a pastry chef and author of the award-winning Sift, who credits this low flour, high liquid content for the cannelé’s distinctively moist yet springy interior. The “high proportion of liquid set [is] thanks to a mixture of starch gelatinisation and egg coagulation,” she writes on her Kitchen Projects baking newsletter. “The thick, browned crust is thanks to a strong browning reaction from the milk solids. Here’s my theory: as the canelés [sic] go into the oven, the batter heats up. As it passes 70C, the starches and egg begin to set, but it remains a flexible network due to the high proportion of liquid. As the batter continues to heat, water in the milk and eggs evaporates via steam, resulting in the custardy, holey network we know and love.”
The precise ratio is a matter of hot debate, though most of the recipes I try operate in a fairly narrow window, with ratios of flour to milk ranging from 1:3.6-1:5, flour to sugar 1:1.6 to 2 and flour to butter from 1:0.2 to 0.5 (though that 0.2 is a recipe from American baker Erin Jeanne McDowell, who uses heavy [whipping] cream as well as milk, which will make up the fat content). I find that those with the most milk (French pastry supremo Pierre Hermé and the legendary American food writer Paula Wolfert) also have the dampest interiors, those with the least butter (Wolfert and McDowell) have the most delicate flavour, and the recipe with the highest total number of egg yolks (Hermé again) is the richest.
Even within eggs, though, there’s little consensus: Hermé, McDowell and the Bordelais bakeries la Toque Cuivrée and Baillardran use a mixture of whole eggs and egg yolks; while Lamb, Wolfert and Dominique Ansel (in whose bakery Lamb once toiled filling a hundred cannelés every morning) work with just yolks. The higher water content of the egg whites is (I assume) what gives the former group’s bakes a slightly taller, springier texture, so I’ve hedged my bets and gone for a yolk-heavy mixture plus a single egg white. You, however, may prefer to stick with four yolks for a denser cannelé, or two yolks and two whole eggs for a lighter one. My recipe below is based on my testers’ most popular cannelés, which come from Lamb, but with a couple of Hermé-inspired tweaks, vis the extra egg white and the use of icing sugar.
Indeed, Hermé is the only recipe to call for icing rather than caster sugar: Ansel even goes so far as to caution against the use of icing sugar, saying that the cornflour that stops it caking together causes the mixture to “puff up excessively”. I don’t find that to be the case, and Hermé’s cannelés also boast a distinctively crackly crust, which, in the absence of other clues, I put down to the powdered sugar’s ability to melt more quickly before caramelising on the hot metal of the moulds. If anyone can supply any other, better founded suggestions, I’d be delighted to hear them.
Vanilla and dark rum are the traditional flavourings, and I see no reason to deviate; you could, if you like, save yourself some money and a little work by swapping the vanilla pod for a teaspoon of vanilla extract, and stir it in along with the rum, in which case there’s no need to infuse the milk. Though not “correct”, as the French would say, whisky or brandy would do instead of rum, if that’s all you have; alternatively, leave out the booze altogether and replace it with the same amount of milk.
The method
A lot, apparently, rests on the method when it comes to cannelés. Bakery blogger Elan Kogan describes them on the Iron Whisk as potentially “France’s, and perhaps even the world’s, most complicated pastry”, though Rory McDonald of the Institute of Culinary Education says the cannelé recipe itself is “relatively simple”, with the technique and execution being key. “Egg yolks, flour, butter, salt and milk are mixed together in a very specific order and left overnight so the flour can absorb the milk and hydrate before baking.”
Good pastry chefs are always concerned with the minutiae, but having made five versions with as many different formulae for success, I can tell you that, as cannelé amateurs, we felt that almost all of them worked a treat. Wolfert whizzes the chilled butter, sugar and eggs into the flour like a cake mixture before beating in hot milk, while Lamb whisks melted butter into flour. McDowell melts the butter in the milk until hot, then beats the two into the eggs, flour and sugar. The easiest, however – which is, of course, the one I have borrowed – comes from Hermé, who combines everything cold, whisking the sugar into the eggs, then stirring in the remaining ingredients.
The only failure I have is with Anne Willan’s recipe, which uses a method from her friend “Chef Chambrette, now in his 80s”, who believed the secret was to “cook the egg-and-milk mixture until it curdles like overcooked crème anglaise”. Not only is this a bit of faff, but, perhaps because the batter isn’t allowed to rest, the cannelés balloon up and then sink, giving them huge pockets of air in the middle. I have no doubt that the venerable chef and Willan herself can turn out perfect cannelés using this method, but I find it difficult to master.
The salutary lesson I take from this disaster is that the single most important thing with cannelés is to minimise the amount of air in the batter. To this end, it’s vital to rest the batter to allow the flour to hydrate, which will yield a denser, but more evenly risen result. However, it’s fine to hand-whisk the batter to combine it (and much easier than barely stirring it and pushing the resulting lumps of flour through a sieve, as some recipes recommend). . I also suggest tapping the tin on a work surface a couple of times before baking, to eliminate any lurking air bubbles, and keeping an eye on the oven, so you can puncture any mushrooming tops before they get out of hand.
The tin(s) and the temperature
First things first: if you want to invest £100 on copper moulds, be my guest – they certainly look very pretty, and traditionalists insist they are the only way to bake cannelés – but please know that you can get very decent results with thick, nonstick metal moulds. Silicone, in my opinion, is never much good for anything crunchy and, honestly, you shouldn’t have a problem with the cannelés sticking so long as you brush the moulds with melted butter or, my own preference, baking spray (easily found online). If you do use copper, you can also have a go at seasoning them with melted beeswax, which imparts a lovely, shiny finish and, it’s claimed, has a subtle flavour of its own. But frankly, life is too short and it’s difficult for me to take a tradition seriously when it’s probably younger than I am.
Opinions also differ as to the best temperature for perfection: Wolfert freezes the tin before use, Lamb heats it so the batter sizzles as it hits the metal, and Hermé fills it cold. Unexpectedly, having tried both temperatures with the same batter, I find I get a better crust from a cold tin and a steady temperature of 200C (180C fan) gas 6, rather than starting the cannelés off very hot, then turning down the heat. How long you leave them in there for, though, is up to you. Hermé believes that “When it’s black, it’s cooked. I sometimes see bakers cook them only to golden, and that’s no good. A cannelé has to be black.” Rory McDonald (a south-London boy originally) notes that “having lived in the US for a long time, I don’t think this would work here. Customers will either think the pastry is burnt or a chocolate flavour. Either way, it has to be baked lighter for this market.”
I, however, think the bittersweetness of burnt sugar is one of the cannelé’s principal charms. However far you char, take them out of the tin immediately and leave to cool to warm before serving. They’re at their best by far eaten on the day of baking, but they can be perked up by being put in a warm oven the day after.
Perfect cannelés
Prep 10 min
Infuse 30 min
Chill 4 hr+
Cook 90 min
Makes 12
1 vanilla pod
400ml whole milk
50g butter, plus extra, melted, to grease (or use baking spray)
1 egg
3 egg yolks
200g icing sugar
⅛ tsp fine salt
50ml dark rum
100g plain flour, sifted
Slit the vanilla pod down its length and scrape out the seeds.
Put both in a small saucepan, add the milk and bring slowly to a simmer.
Turn off the heat and leave to infuse until cool. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a small pan, then leave to cool, stirring occasionally to ensure it doesn’t solidify.
Put the egg and yolks in a large bowl and beat with a fork just until combined. Sift in the sugar, add the salt and beat to combine.
Beat in the rum, melted butter, flour and the cooled milk, removing and discarding the vanilla pod first.
Once the batter is smooth, cover the surface with clingfilm and refrigerate for at least four hours and up to 48. (If you are using copper moulds, season them according to the instructions.)
Take the batter out of the fridge half an hour before you’re planning to bake. Put a baking tray on a lower shelf of the oven and heat to 200C (180C fan)/390F/gas 6. Stir the batter again until smooth.
Grease your moulds well with melted butter or baking spray, then pour in the batter to fill them ½cm from the top. Tap the moulds on a work surface to get rid of any bubbles, then put them on the hot tray and bake for 70-90 minutes, depending on how dark you like them. Keep an eye on them, though: if the cannelés puff up, swiftly prick with the tip of a knife, but be careful not to let too much heat out of the oven as you do so.
Take out of the oven and quickly unmould from the tins (a butter knife helps here), then leave to cool on a rack – the cannelés will crisp up as they cool. Best enjoyed on the day of baking.
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Canelés, cannelés: however you spell them, why do they have such a fearsome reputation, and what are your secrets for success? Are you a copper mould devotee, or do you swear by silicone? Do you dare to deviate from the traditional flavourings? Or do you prefer to leave them to the professionals? And, if so, where do you go to get the best?
