Pascal Caffet :: Tarte Ananas-Fraise
By Paris Patisseries in Pascal Caffet
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How can a pineapple tarte make me misty-eyed? Well . . . when it reminds me that Pascal Caffet no longer exists in Paris. Perhaps being three doors down from the juggernaut that is Ladurée had sealed Caffet’s fate from the get-go, but it was no less a surprise to me when I found out he’d be closing this past June 30th. Upon receiving the news, I made my way to Caffet and asked the saleswoman to confirm the rumor. When she did, I got an inch from her face and screamed, “LIAR!” Was that an infantile way to cope with the harsh reality? Yes. Actually my reation was a pout and a, “C’est triste. (That’s sad.)” How was I going to cope with no Caffet? The first step was obviously to buy everything in the shop I’d never had before. After all, they were the last of Caffet’s “Paris Patisseries” and needed to be immortalized under the loving eye of my 105mm macro lens. The Ananas-Fraise here was actually a repeat purchase, only because the first photo shoot was done early-on in the blog’s history and lacked the range of shots that have become the standard. A reshoot brought this little guy up to snuff so that I could share him with you today. I only wish I could understand why we had to lose such treasures when far less adept chefs (that means you, Arnaud Larher) continue to thrive. The injustice! Until Pascal makes his triumphant return, let’s take a moment to delight in his Tarte Ananas-Fraise…
To clarify one thing immediately, there are no bananas here. Ananas is the French word for pineapple. Ludicrous, I know. Anyway, this is just your everyday blend of pâte sucrée, coconut frangipan, strawberry coulis, vanilla crème, and pineapple. The pâte is fairly mild in flavor, with a pleasant crumbly goodness. And the coconut frangipan is amazingly subtle. My notes from the first experience with the tarte say, “Is there coconut in this?” (note: I review everything before I look up the ingredients – it keeps my palate like a blank slate). There’s a bright little note added by the coulis, and the vanilla crème smooths out both that flavor and the pâte/frangipan texture – all this right as the pineapple hits you. Sweet and lightly acidic, it’s fairly tame on the tongue but the flavor bursts once the molecules crawl to your olfactory center. It’s at that point that you want to jam the entire thing into your mouth at once. I did.
Oddly, I can’t say that I’ve seen any other pineapple tartes here in Paris. It might be like the situation with peanuts here. “What situation is that?” you might be thinking. Well, the French don’t believe in peanuts . . . or, more specifically, they neither respect nor understand them. If you walked into a pastry shop in the States, you’d find at least a couple peanut pieces. In Paris? Zero. They tend to focus on hazelnuts, pistachios, and almonds to the almost-complete exclusion of everything else. Pineapple could well be in the same boat.
So I most certainly recommend you get a Tarte Ananas-Fraise, but unless you feel like hopping a train to Troyes, France or happen to be admiring the shroud in Turin, Italy, you’re not going to snag one. And, sadly, Caffet had a very different pastry philosophy than any of the other shops, so much of his work can’t be filled-in-for by an alternate selection. It’s too sad that he’s gone. Please indulge me in a plaintive wail . . . “WHY?!!!!”
Oh, and do you ever wish you could have pastry like this hand-delivered to you every morning? Well, you can. Just add Paris Patisseries as a friend on Facebook. You deserve a daily dose of Paris’ finest.
