Patisserie has never been my strong point. There's too much to baking that sort of requires an extra level of faith, which I don't think I quite have. You can weigh out your ingredients, mix the right things, monitor the times and the degree to which things are combined, but when you put it all into a pan or tray in the oven and close the door, all you have left is hope. Hope that you read the recipe right. Hope that
the recipe is a correct and reliable source in the first place, even if you did follow it to the digit. You just can't be the slightest bit of a cowboy in the pastry section - some things work well, some things don't work out like you expect, and you've just got to take it in stride. There's little room for improvisation, which I think is the
main reason why I struggle.
It's like baking is this fine art that I just don't think exists in my genes. When I was growing up, I didn't even realise until I went to other friend's houses for parties that had baked goods, that there was a whole section of the stove/oven that my parents just never used. My next door neighbour was a frequent baker, having got the official Aussie Nanna certificate in producing banana bread, cupcakes, biscuits,
cocktail sausage rolls, fairy cakes, tarts, you name it, if it was baked and she dropped it round, it would be devoured within a day. The sheer mystery of putting raw ingredients in and pulling tasty treats out of that hot box in the kitchen was a source of awe for me as a child, and some of that wonder still does exist for me now.
After a week in the Airmen's doing patisserie, I think I've made at least a thousand desserts. Probably more, considering making a cake or something similar that gets sliced up turns into about fifteen serves. There are usually two options for cold dessert, and a hot one as well. That's for lunch, and then for dinner there are meant to be two different cold desserts on offer. Because I was doing my crash course
in sweets, I wasn't allowed to rely on slicing up the frozen desserts for backup except for when I was making platters for the weekend. Yup, things had to be done the slow and painful way! No quick mixes, microwave fixes, everything made from scratch so I could learn, and I guess appreciate or make the most of shortcuts later on in my career or something like that.
Choux pastry, 3/4 flaky pastry, swiss roll, chocolate swiss roll, trifle, coffee gateau, mixed berry cheesecake, lemon and lime cheesecake, strawberry bavarois, passionfruit pannacotta, pavlova baskets, fruit danishes, bread pullaparts, apple strudel, apple pie, apple crumble, fruit flans, chocolate cake, vanilla slice, cream
puffs... That's what I can remember. Things were a bit of a blur towards the end of the week - whenever I thought I was on top of things, I was pushed to do something different; something more. It's hard to focus on getting a heap of sweets cooked and/or assembled and plated up, garnished and out in the fridge in the middle of the mess en masse. I'm looking forward to making desserts for less than fifty when it comes round to my turn in the Sergeant's Mess.
Just like any other stint in patisserie, I have renewed my respect for anyone that voluntarily works and excels in that section of the kitchen. I think it's one of those subsets of hospitality where you do truly have to be mad to work there. It just asks for a level of meticulousness and care which I find incredibly draining by the end of the day. The one great thing about pumping out large numbers of dessert day in, day out, is that all I do is crave savoury food by the time lunchtime rolls around. It's also good to be able to plate and garnish items individually - at least there's some room for creativity and visual presentation to feed the closet artist within.
I think if I ever get into a kitchen of my own, I'm going to have to put myself through a proper baking course. Just go through recipes systematically, from bread to pastry and beyond, so I can feel more comfortable with the idea of being thrown back into patisserie. It's like how sometimes if you're sitting on an aeroplane in a window seat near the wing, and if you think about it too long, it suddenly seems incredibly unnatural to be able to fly. After a good couple of decades without knowing the truth behind the mystery of the oven, I am gradually figuring out its power.
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