TWD - Coconut-Roasted Pineapple Dacquoise

I thought about skipping this one. I'm not a huge fan of white "chocolate," and I was afraid it would taste of white "chocolate," but I decided I could always pawn it off on my unsuspecting coworkers. I learned a lot with this dessert:

1. Always unload the dishwasher, then load the dishes in the sink before baking.

2. Shortcuts aren't.

3. Dorie's cookie sheets are larger than mine.

4. Don't separate egg whites into the mixing bowl to save time. It doesn't.

5. Do laundry, or bake. Not both at the same time.

6. Pick a recipe. Make it. Then pick another. Repeat. Don't do them all at the same time.
7. Trust Dorie.

Onward to the dacquoise. If you live in earthquake country as I do, it's important to make this recipe on a day that you plan to be at home for a while. The meringues bake for 3 hours, and in California, it's never a good idea to leave the house while the oven is on. I'm not saying I've never violated this rule, but you've been warned.

I only had extra large eggs since that's what my CSA gave me, so I checked the handy table in the back of The Cake Bible and learned that one large egg white weighs 30 grams, so I started cracking eggs and putting the whites in the mixing bowl (which I placed on the scale-saving time and saving dishes!) Then, on the third egg, I must have whacked it extra hard and the yolk broke, polluting the whites in the mixing bowl, as well as the mixing bowl itself. Pause, unload dishwasher, put dirty dishes in dishwasher, wash mixing bowl and dry it. Oops, the laundry is done and needs to be attended to. Come back, separate the eggs (each into a ramekin - coincidentally no yolk breakage this time.) Draw three 12x6 rectangles using two pieces of parchment paper...err, I don't think so. Fortunately, I was using the back of a sheet pan to do this since parts of my counter top were off limits (stains on my new-guaranteed-not-to-stain-for-10-years granite are being treated), because I could tell right away that two 12x6 rectangles weren't fitting on one of my sheet pans. I use sheet pans instead of cookie sheets, so I just put one rectangle on each of three sheet pans. Are you still with me?

At this point, I was questioning the wisdom of making this recipe. But I had bought unsweetened coconut, white "chocolate," and already sacrificed almost a dozen eggs, so I was committed.

With stencils drawn and sheet pans dried, I prepared the dry ingredients in the food processor, then beat the egg whites and cream of tartar, adding powdered sugar when they reached the soft peak stage. The dry ingredients were gently folded in, and the meringue was divided between the sheet pans. I had to improvise to keep the parchment from rolling up before I got the meringue spread out.

After three hours, the meringues were done and after they cooled, I covered them with parchment, made the white chocolate ganache and went to bed, planning (with my usual mix of optimism and idiocy) to complete the dacquoise the next morning and take it to work for my coworkers to enjoy. This plan wasn't as insane as it sounds, since all I had to do was whip the ganache, cut the pineapple (I bought prepackaged fresh pineapple at Trader Joe's) and broil it. What could go wrong?

M. is on a business trip and he Skyped me from the road thinking I might want to talk to him (which I did, but can't we do it after I finish assembling my cake...?) Needless to say, I halfway paid attention to him while I assembled, frosted, layered the pineapple, etc., pausing occasionally to ask him if he wanted to see it. I'm sure he was asking himself why he left an important meeting to call me if all I was going to do was babble on about my dessert.

It actually didn't look half bad:

I put it in back of the car and headed off to work. Halfway there, I heard the sickening sound of my tote bag (with my lunch, coffee mug, a yogurt, box of crackers, etc.) fall ON TOP OF the dacquoise. I pulled the car over and opened the back of the car and could have cried. My beautiful dessert was a misshapen shadow of its glamorous self. It was largely intact but obviously had cushioned the fall of something heavier.

When I served it at work, you wouldn't believe how many people commented on how it looked, as in, how good it looked. Nobody said "That's a strange shape" or "Why didn't you smooth out the frosting?" They oooed and ahhed and politely waited for a small piece. And then a hush fell over my coworkers, except for the occasional "Mmmm."

The white chocolate that I vilified? It and the cream created a light cloak for the crisp and chewy meringues. The pineapple, lightly charred with the caramelized sugar, flavored the whole dessert. The almonds weren't detectable, but lent a subtle crunch to the meringue.

Once again, I learned lesson #7. Trust Dorie. Trust her palate. Trust her instructions. Trust her sense of the impact a simple but elegant dessert can have over a room of people, holding out their plates expectantly, holding their breath until they take that first bite.