Jumping right in this week on this final installment of "Here We Go Again, Betty" with the Bridgerton baking mix for Crème Puffs. If you’re behind on this weird little whim, start here:
Part 1: Era Errors
Part 2: To Parchment or Not To Parchment
Part 3: Sweater Sleeves and Old Oil
We’ll start with the front of the box, where Betty (or some competent test-kitchen chef at the Crocker Foundation) declares: Simply.
No. No. Nooo.
This means, in my head, dump whatever’s in the box into a bowl with whatever’s after the Bridgerton-ish line “Dearest Baker, first procure the necessary items” list on the back of the box, mix, and put in the oven.
But this box contains a piping bag.
A piping bag.
And there’s nothing simple about that.
That’s like saying to an aspiring writer as they sit down to their laptop, simply add words, periods, and commas and wallah! You’ll have a decadent novel in 30 to 32 minutes.
I think my subconscious picked up on the word “piping bag,” so I saved this attempt for last. Perhaps I hoped to have honed my skills with scones and sponge cake attempts.
What I honed was my skill for putting off the most difficult task for last.
In addition to water, butter, eggs, and milk, I should’ve also procured patience, common sense, and the keys to the car to find a bakery where I could sample pre-assembled crème puffs.
Step 1: Heat oven to 400 (375 for nonstick pan). Melt butter in 2-quart sauce pan over medium heat. Add water and bring just to a boil. Quickly stir in Cream Puff Mix until soft dough forms. Cook 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Dear Betty, Step 1 has five steps. Five!
And since you gave me parchment paper, does that make my pan nonstick? I have no idea, and now the easiest part of this process (which I nailed last week) is overcomplicated. To stick or not to stick? Does 25 degrees make a difference? I err on the side of caution and preheat to 375.
Oooh. And this is a baking mix, Betty. Baking. Like with the oven. Now you’ve forced me to add an additional heating element, thereby doubling the risk of a kitchen fire and quadrupling my chance of recipe failure. I also must adjust my bifocals to read the fine print on all my pans to see if I have one that’s two quarts.
And what does “just to a boil” mean? One bubble? Two? Catch it right before it bubbles? This is vague. Boiling isn’t baking, Betty.
Then there’s the “quickly” part. I got flustered and dropped the plastic bag full of dry mix into the “just boiling” water and made a mess. Pulled out the bag with some battery-looking stuff on it and tossed it away. How much dough I lost is uncertain, and it’ll likely affect the baking time.
Step 2: Remove from heat and cool for 5 minutes. Add 1 egg and stir until dough becomes smooth. Add second egg and stir until dough becomes smooth.
Step 2 is three steps. This is annoying, Betty.
And this seems to be a prissy way to add eggs. Why one at a time? I obeyed, but I’m not sure why.
Step 3: Place dough in piping bag. Cut 1 ½ inch from top of bag. Pipe 1 ½ inch rounds on parchment paper about 1 inch apart. If puffs have a peak, dip finger in water and gently pat down peak.
By my count, we’re up to twelve steps, and we’re only in Step 3. The stress sweats begin. I must leave the kitchen to get a ruler. Not having a ruler for the other two boxes caused problems…
After dropping plastic into boiling water, I know good and well I do not possess the fine motor skills to hold a piping bag with one hand while stuffing it full of fresh-cooked and egged-up dough with the other.
The cats are of no use here, neither is Little Miss Muse, so I retrieve my Ewok mug and put the piping bag inside, curling down the edges. I stuff the dough inside the bag and pull the thing free.
I measure precisely 1 ½ inches from the tip and snip, snip.
I lay the ruler down on the parchment paper and carefully squeeze out 1.5-inch diameter “rounds,” which look for all the world like albino poop emojis. And yes, they all had peaks. Several peaks. I wet my finger and pat them down.
Are you happy now, Betty?
Lady Crocker’s Tip: Before baking, beat 1 egg and brush top of each crème puff with egg wash.
No, Lady Crocker, I will not. The last time you told me to do this, I ended up with scrambled eggs on my scones. And with the price of eggs? I mean, really. This would increase the cost of this dessert fivefold.
Step 4: Bake 30 to 32 minutes or until puffed and golden brown. (Parchment paper will turn dark after baking.) Cool completely.
Hey, Betty? My parchment didn’t turn dark. And I heated the oven as if parchment made things nonstick. And I left them in for 31 minutes because they seemed golden and puffed, but now I’m questioning all this. (And this is two steps, by the way). Oooh. And some of the batter never made it to the egging stage because I can’t do things quickly in the kitchen and it’s now in the garbage.
Step 5: Beat Whipped Filling and milk in medium bowl on low speed 30 seconds and then on medium speed 1 to 2 minutes, scraping bowl occasionally.
Good news: I did not have popcorn last night, so my medium bowl is clean.
Bad news: This step turned into six steps because the lever for the speed on my ancient hand mixer is dangerously—and I do mean dangerously—close to the beater eject button and, well, stuff happened. Again.
Lots of noise. Lots of untethered beaters. I lost all track of how long low and medium lasted, but the stuff swelled up all puffy.
Step 6: Cut puffs in half. Fill puffs with whipped filling (about 1 ½ tablespoons); replace top. Place ½ teaspoon whipped filling on top. Refrigerate leftovers.
Another multi-step step, Betty. Break ‘em up, please.
I cut open the puff and… it’s hollow. Or raw. Or both. Is this hollow on purpose? Is this hollow because some of the batter is in the trash? I check with Friend in France who says hollow is okay for crème puffs.
I guess we’ll find out if they’re also undercooked when they hit our stomachs.
I fill the puffs. They sort of look like the front of the box, but they’re a mile high. I knew I whipped the whippy stuff too much, untethered beaters or no.
We did not get sick on the crème puffs, but after 25 steps, I believe these should have waaaaay more flavor.
Or at least leave you happy.
Or a mile high.
These… did not.
I’ll make the scones again. For the Hubs. To make up for unknowingly feeding him expired ingredients for years. But I’ll not be returning to the other Bridgerton baking mixes.
Perhaps Duncan Hines should contact the Downton Abbey Franchise and do that era. Maybe the Hines folks can write better directions than Betty.
Little Miss Muse and the kitties (who are tired of Mother’s out-of-office antics) think I should stick with what I know:
Simply open the laptop.
Procure the Necessary: Words, commas, periods, and plots.
No need to boil, bake, beat, or bathe anything in egg.
