Making heretical yet tasty Tarte Tatins

We're back in the full swing of classes. Now that we have begun the intermediate-level Ritz Escoffier course, the recipes are getting longer and more complex. Every day we prepare an appetizer, entree and dessert in three hours. I'm finally feeling better after three weeks of flu, but now of course a few of my classmates are ill. I think this plague must be circulating through the entire population of the city, one arrondissement at a time.

Yesterday we had a late-night pastry class. On the agenda was a mango Tarte Tatin and a Napoleon cake. I see apple Tarte Tatins on menus all the time here, but I'd never really thought about what exactly defines such a creation. Who or what the heck is a Tatin, anyway?

Answer: it's a hotel AND the last name of a flaky nineteenth-century female cook (flaky! Get it??). According to the official Tarte Tatin website, the dessert was invented by Stephanie Tatin at her family's hotel after she accidentally inverted her renowned apple tart before baking one day. Frankly, I don't see how such a mistake could be possible when it was poor Stephanie's signature dish, but the website does note helpfully that she was "not the brightest of people." So revered is the Tarte Tatin that a confederation of foolishly-dressed men meets annually to "taste, evaluate and defend the Tarte Tatin." The brotherhood also travels around France to "to congratulate and encourage those who maintain this original recipe and to criticize the heretics."

You can see their approved recipe here. Imagine a flaky pie crust without sides that's topped with caramelized apples, and you're in the vicinity of a proper Tarte Tatin. It's actually baked upside down, with the dough placed on top of the apples, and then flipped just before serving.

Given these requirements, the Ritz school should expect an angry knock on its front door any day now from the clog-wearing Confrerie, because our mango Tarte Tatin was pretty darn heretical. I hope my involvement doesn't get me deported. Where did we veer away from tradition? Not only did we use mangoes in place of apples, we used frozen mangoes, probably flown in from some far-flung banana republic (or, ahem, mango republic) because according to both our translator and our pastry teacher, fresh mangoes available in France are, and I quote, "disgusting".

Well, thank goodness. If the French had somehow managed to locate a consistent source for amazing mangoes year-round, I might have to kneel down right now, kiss this hallowed ground and sell my plane ticket home, because there would no longer be any reason to leave. (See the graphic at the top of this page to understand the importance of mangoes in my life.)

Sauteing the mangoes in caramel sauce.
Although the Confrerie is "particularly tired of seeing very ordinary apple tarts or tarts made with other fruit served under the attractive name of Tarte Tatin," I am not. I only met my first tarte Tatin last month. It doesn't bother me one bit to see its good name sullied with the addition of impostor, imported tropical fruit. Especially when I think about the pounds and pounds of apples that certainly loom in my future this fall and winter.

After cooking the mangoes in caramel sauce and baking the rounds of crust separately, we used an enormously heretical yet extremely fun instrument to caramelize the tops of the slices (as you would for a creme brulee) before assembling them on the crust. Put a giant cattle prod in my hand that hisses angrily upon contact with fruit and sugar, and watch me grin gleefully. Then watch the grin fade to panic as nearby parchment paper ignites into a column of flame.

Molded mango ready for culinary cattle prod.

Applying bursts of heat to caramelize mango tops.
We served our Tatins with cardamom ice cream and green apple puree and a stripe of chocolate sauce that looks easy and minimalist but actually proved quite difficult for us to execute. It seemed like we could fling chocolate everywhere but on the plates, causing us to laugh hysterically. Our teacher just looked on, bemused and exhausted at the end of a long day. The Confrerie would not approve.

Final presentation.