Crème pâtissière is the quiet workhorse of the French pastry kitchen. It sits inside a glossy éclair, beneath the strawberries on a tart, between the layers of a mille-feuille, and it forms the base of crème diplomat, crème mousseline and any number of ice creams. Yet for all its simplicity — milk, eggs, sugar, starch — it is also one of the first things a home baker gets wrong. The cream splits, or it lumps, or it tastes faintly of raw flour and wallpaper paste. None of these problems is mysterious, and all of them can be avoided with a bit of patience and a thermometer.
A properly made pastry cream is thick enough to hold a piped shape but soft enough to spoon. It should be silky rather than gluey, glossy rather than matte, and faintly custardy, with vanilla running through it rather than a wall of sugar. When cold it sets firm enough to slice cleanly, but it should never bounce. If you can turn the bowl upside down and nothing moves, you have overcooked it. If it dribbles off a spoon, you have undercooked it. The sweet spot is a cream that falls from the whisk in a slow, heavy ribbon.
For a batch that fills roughly eight éclairs or one 23cm tart case, you want 500ml of whole milk, six large egg yolks, 120g of caster sugar, 40g of cornflour, a good pinch of fine salt, and one vanilla pod split and scraped. Finish with 30–40g of cold unsalted butter, cubed.
Whisk the yolks, sugar and salt together for thirty to sixty seconds — just until pale and slightly thickened. There is no need to whisk for five minutes. Then whisk in the cornflour until completely smooth, scraping the sides of the bowl.
Now heat the milk with the vanilla pod and seeds until it is steaming and just trembling at the edges. That is roughly 80–85°C; it should never come to a rolling boil. Take it off the heat and let it settle for thirty seconds. Pour it into the yolk mixture in a thin, steady stream, whisking constantly with your other hand. Work in three additions if you are nervous. The point is never to pour hot milk onto yolks that are sitting still — that is exactly how scrambled egg happens. Once a third of the milk is in, the yolks are warm enough to take the rest.
Return the whole mixture to the pan. If you have any doubt about stray bits of cooked egg, pass it through a fine sieve on the way back.
Set the pan over a medium heat and whisk constantly, scraping the base and the corners where starch likes to catch. For the first few minutes it will look alarmingly thin, then somewhere around 78–80°C it will thicken quite suddenly. Keep going. Once it has thickened, let it bubble gently for a full sixty to ninety seconds while you keep whisking. This is the step home bakers skip, and it is the difference between a cream that tastes of vanilla and one that tastes of raw flour. Use a whisk rather than a spoon, and switch to a heatproof spatula if you feel lumps forming. It is ready when a dollop dropped back onto the surface sits there for a moment before sinking.
Lumps form as cream cools just as readily as when it cooks, because the starch keeps setting as the temperature drops. So move fast. Off the heat, whisk in the cold butter until it melts and the cream turns glossy. Then spread it into a shallow dish, or sit the bowl in an ice bath and stir now and then. Press cling film directly onto the surface to stop a skin forming, and refrigerate for at least two hours.
It keeps for three days in the fridge and freezes well for up to a month. Thaw overnight, then whisk briskly to loosen — a spoonful of milk or double cream helps if it has set very stiff.
Master this one cream and a whole shelf of French classics opens up to you. Make it once, note the temperatures, and it becomes the sort of recipe you no longer need to read.
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