French Buttercream

Late May. Memorial Day weekend. The city is quiet in a different way than it has been since March, a chosen quiet rather than a frightened one. People are outside more, on porches and in parks, keeping distance but visible. I walked three miles around the neighborhood on Monday and nodded at people and they nodded back. That is what community is sometimes: nodding at people and meaning it.

I made macarons this weekend, which I have not made since the pandemic started. I was waiting until I felt like myself enough to make something that requires precision. I felt like enough of myself. The macarons were perfect. Smooth, even, the ganache right. I put six of them in a small box and left them outside Edna door. She texted me from her phone, which she does sometimes, to say: these are the finest cookies I have ever eaten. I texted back: I know how to make things for people. She sent back a heart. We understand each other, Edna and I.

Porch visit with Gloria and James. She had baked a sweet potato pie and she handed it through the crack of the door, the whole pie in a carrier, and she said: for your birthday that is coming, early. I said my birthday is not for months. She said: I know. But I wanted to bake you a pie and it does not need to be your birthday for that. I drove home with the pie on the seat and it smelled like every Sunday I have ever been there and I ate a slice at the kitchen table alone that night and it tasted like exactly that.

The macarons I made that weekend were only as good as what went inside them — and after months of not trusting myself to make something that required that kind of care, I wanted the filling to be exactly right. French buttercream is what I use: silkier than American, richer than Swiss, and demanding enough that you know when you’ve done it properly. If you’re going to leave something at someone’s door and mean it, it should be made of something that asked something of you.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 12 (enough to fill and frost one batch of macarons or one 8-inch layer cake)

Ingredients

5 large egg yolks, room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into tablespoons, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon fine salt

Instructions

Beat the yolks. Place egg yolks in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Beat on medium-high speed until the yolks are pale, thick, and ribbon-like, about 4–5 minutes.
Make the sugar syrup. Combine sugar and water in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Stir just until the sugar dissolves, then stop stirring. Cook until the syrup reaches 238°F (soft-ball stage) on a candy thermometer, about 5–7 minutes.
Stream in the syrup. With the mixer running on medium speed, carefully pour the hot syrup in a thin, steady stream down the side of the bowl into the beaten yolks — avoid pouring directly onto the whisk. Increase speed to high and beat until the mixture is thick, pale, and the bowl feels cool to the touch, about 8–10 minutes.
Add the butter. Reduce speed to medium. Add the softened butter one tablespoon at a time, waiting until each piece is fully incorporated before adding the next. The mixture may look curdled partway through — keep beating, it will come together.
Finish and flavor. Add vanilla extract and salt. Increase speed to medium-high and beat until the buttercream is completely smooth, glossy, and spreadable, about 2 more minutes.
Use or store. Use immediately to fill macarons or frost a cake, or refrigerate in an airtight container for up to one week. Bring to room temperature and re-whip briefly before using.

Nutrition (per serving)

French Buttercream — The Filling That Makes Something Worth Giving