This woman needs no introduction but I'll go ahead and sing the praises of my mentor anyway. A few weeks ago, the lovely Tartelette and I were paired up in Kristen's Adopt-a-Blogger event, a fun communal project created to help novices find their footing in the blogosphere and for veterans to give back. It's Kristen's third round of hosting, with the biggest turnout yet, and I am so excited to be a part of it. Obviously, I need to be thanking my lucky stars and sending Kristen a singing telegram every day for a year because I was assigned the mother-of-all foodies. French pastry chef and pro photographer with a penchant for sweets and British men? Say no more. We are so MFEO.
So for the next three months, I get to wrack her brain and bug her with questions in hopes of rubbing off even the slightest amount of knowledge on me. Any command she gives will be answered with "Yes ma'am, may I have another!" (Or better, "Yeah Chef!") Most importantly, being her adoptee means that I have now been endowed with the power of back-up. That's right. Any future event in the kitchen—good or disastrous—can be qualified with "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing! This French chick taught me this!" Debates on culinary skills will be cut short with "Well you didn't have Tartelette as your mentor, DID YOU? That's what I thought." I just hope she likes incessant tweeting, emailing, and all other forms of cyber-stalking. I also hope she has a cabinet full of hard alcohol because she's going to need a stiff drink.
To honor Helen, I wanted to try a recipe from her extensive, awe-inspiring catalogue. And when I say awe-inspiring, I should really say drool-inspiring. Have you seen her photos? You can practically taste them. Keeping up with her blog is a certifiable act of torture.
Finding a recipe from her archives that would suit an average gal like me was no simple feat. She said it would be ("I promise you, they're much easier than they look!") but she lied. When I found the blackberry-apple galettes that seemed a little more my speed, I did a double-take at its companion. Burnt sugar ice cream?! What the heck is burnt sugar?! The word "galette" isn't even normally part of my vocabulary, I ain't tryin' no burnt sugar ice cream! Hows about a glass of milk and call it a day. Sheesh, these pros can't rest until they set that bar completely out of reach.