Knock Me Down Dead: It’s the Paris-Brest

People who play around with words all day, like me, tend to think that there is something clever or worthwhile to say about nearly everything. Once in a while we need reminding that the better part of valor is to shut the hell up. And once in a while, as well, we stumble into situations where, much to our surprise, there is simply nothing to say.

Nothing to say. Nothing to say. Just let that sit a beat.

That is where I am at the moment with this rapturous creation, the Paris-Brest, which Chef Claude finished for us tonight in class. Just take a moment to look at it and absorb its regal beauty:

Bow down before the Paris-Brest.

True, it’s sliced into servings here. But still. Awe-inspiring. A circle of that pâte à choux pastry you’ve heard so much about. A rum-syrup-soaked layer of sponge cake inside, topped with praline pastry cream. Served next to a pool of gleaming chocolate sauce.

Delicious beyond words. What a cliche. But it’s the best I’ve got, honey-pies.

More tomorrow.