Chocolate Biscoff Banoffee Pie

Can it be true? The French are copying... British food?!

As a Brit, it’s not often that I get to feel smugly proud of my country’s culinary prowess but, what d’ya know, it’s finally happened. Can you believe it, nowhere other than France – that pinnacle of worldwide cuisine – is holding its hands up in surrender and declaring the British banoffee pie as one of its favourite desserts? Have I entered the Twilight Zone?

Sure, Jamie Oliver has done what he can to put Britain on the world’s culinary stage, but to most, ours is the joke performance, the one we all snigger at behind our hands. But wait – are we about to pull a Susan Boyle on the world? Cue Ant and Dec wheeling out a banoffee pie – what is this lunacy, a biscuit base, thick caramel (probably from a jar, not a minute wasted on actually making it), sliced banana and whipped cream?

The judges sink their forks in as one, scooping through the layers, a trifle in sliced form, which they then pop into their mouths with the practiced expression of distain. What on earth could this rainy little country possibly make to be in league with the French big guns; the eclairs, crème brûlée, tarte tatin?

Turns out the banoffee pie can take the gold. I know, I was just as shocked as you no doubt are, dear reader. Every salon de the in Toulouse serves banoffee. Patisseries displaying gateaux enshrined like diamond jewellery in their glass cases include banoffee pie (although we’re talking about the gourmand version – no Carnation Caramel to be found here). Have the French been hoodwinked by that sticky caramel, the sweetness of banana, the effortless base of biscuit crumbs that can even put the perplexing world of pastry into perspective?

According to the local paper: Banoffee pie will delight the gourmands of la ville rose and has even established itself as a must-have on the dessert menu from downtown restaurateurs. “We are one of the first tea rooms to offer it. Since then, it’s been a real explosion. Everyone asks for them, we sell on average between 5 and 8 pies of this type per day! Banoffee is becoming a classic.”

I never thought I would be proud of a bog-standard banoffee pie, but stranger things have happened. Is this the dish that will finally get the French to sit up and notice that British cuisine isn’t all that bad? That we don’t eat jelly and Marmite with every meal? I name the French here, but honestly, Britain has made a name for poor cuisine around the entire world.

No one can deny that its food was rather ropey post-war when the country was still in the throes of rationing. It wasn’t until the 1950s when olive oil was finally used for cooking as it was found only in pharmacies for medicinal purposes. This is the country that combined jam with meat and raisins and called it a salad. And I don’t think the 70s did global cuisine as a whole any favours – aspic and cheese and pineapple on sticks come to mind.

But it routinely astounds me the number of people who tell me how bad British food is, all of which of course is based on hearsay and photos of black pudding and stargazy pie found on the internet (just google the French andouille sausage for a nice dose of hypocrisy).

As someone who grew up in the 90s and 2000s with Jamie Oliver lording over British produce, Heston Blumenthal doing some molecular wizardry to cheese and pickle over at the Fat Duck, and my culinary fairy-godmother Delia Smith teaching me the basics, I find it odd that so many people from other countries expect me to agree with them that British food is bad. Would I have become a chef if I thought so?

Gaylord, my champion defender of all things British, has apparently taken his by-proxy adopted country into his heart and will staunchly advocate for British cuisine (that said, he will never understand Marmite) to his friends who confidently tell him how god-awful it is. Honestly, it feels like he’s riding into battle to defend my honour, championing the fried breakfast, Cheddar, Yorkshire puddings, custard, and pigs in blankets. In fact, he recently made pigs in blankets, outside the usual allocated Christmas period, to take to a party with friends. He knows how to make a girl’s heart flutter.

Its varying shades of beige aside, British food is a world leader in stodge. The whole point of cooking and eating is to be satiated, and the many carby wonders of the British Isles will do exactly that. While some of it may also give you a heart attack, there is a reason Nigella Lawson, the namesake of this blog, is both so widely cherished and memed – she’s the only Brit to make food sexy. Sexy food is seen as frivolous and hilarious in the UK. Yet, maybe it’s awakening something inside us? Are we starting to play with our food?

Maybe this wonderous “food play” is what the banoffee pie’s creator Ian Dowding had been doing. He found his new banana-toffee experiment to be the talk of the town when it appeared on his restaurant’s menu in the early 1970s. News travelled fast, and nothing zips along faster than the discovery of something tasty, and soon it was being devoured worldwide and (according to him anyway) in the likes of Buckingham Palace.

This big cream pie has a distinct 70s get-up. It makes me think of a Black Forest or blancmange and our fascination with garnishing anything sweet with rosettes of aerosol chantilly. Could the experimentation of the British 70s – the mind-bending power of Lycra and punk and David Bowie – have morphed its way into the food? It is distinct amongst the carby delights of British grub – its frivolity is like a can-can girl to a solid squat farmer of a scone or fruit cake. Apparently, Ian’s inspiration was an American Coffee Toffee pie, and yes, you can instantly see that its roots lie across the pond with their extraordinary range of pies and places with only pie on the menu.

So, what are the parameters of a national cuisine then? It no longer stops abruptly at a border’s edge. No matter where in the world we are from, can we claim a dish as our own and flavour it with our own distinct international spin? And in doing so, does this change the cuisines as a whole?

These have been my thoughts since moving to France, when I roguishly stacked peaches onto mille feuille, and with the news that the French Brie and camembert are endangered while other countries in the gooey cheese race close in behind them. Can foreigners, detached from unspoken culinary codes, do something more creative with a dish than the country of origin? Is this the death of the author in kitchen terms? Can I even claim banoffee pie as British?

Biscoff Banoffee Pie

With this question in mind, I have cross-bred this banoffee pie specimen to celebrate its new adopted home. The French banoffee still has its flouncy dolled-up looks from the USA, its reliable, convenience-friendly biscuit base from Britain, but here I’ve secreted inside a layer of chocolate mousse for the passionate chocolate-loving French. And added a new component to make a Biscoff banoffee pie.

Although not originating from any of the aforementioned countries, the Belgian Biscoff (or Speculoos if you prefer) might as well get a look in because I can’t deny that the biscuit shoved alongside every café served here, is a warmly welcomed spicy addition to this mound of sticky caramel bananas and whipped cream. A biscuit base is usually made from the solid Digestive, dependable but often the last to be chosen in the biscuit barrel, so the curveball of Biscoff is a welcome gamechanger. And that’s not all – I went the whole-hog here people and added Biscoff spread to the caramel, so it really takes the title as a Biscoff banoffee pie indeed.

Meanwhile, that chocolate mousse may have its roots in French patisserie, but it’s actually All-American; the shortcut to a chocolate mousse pie filling is chocolate silk. As it says in the name, the filling is silky smooth, a whipped amalgamation of butter, sugar, melted chocolate, and beaten eggs for that bubbly moussey finish. Smoothed over the chewy biscuity base, it is slathered in the Biscoff caramel, chopped banana, and then the all-important whipped cream (and a grating of dark chocolate) to finish.

While I am extremely flattered that British cuisine is being imitated by anyone, let along the French, I have a point of contention – yes, blending cuisines is all well and good, but our unique differences are here to stay, and my pedantic gripe is over the pronunciation. Here, my French and American friends say “banaffee” possibly to emphasise the presence of banana? Who knows, but for this lone Brit, who will die on the hill of “banoffee” (it rhymes with “coffee” and “toffee” guys), I will enjoy my slice of chocolate Biscoff banoffee pie and celebrate this first union of contradictory cuisines. I’ll save Marmite for another hybrid though.

Print Recipe

Chocolate Biscoff Banoffee Pie

Bananas, biscoff caramel, chocolate mousse, whipped cream – at least you know one of your five a day is involved.

Biscoff spread is available at many large-chain supermarkets.

This dessert is already sweet enough so I prefer my cream unsweetened. Feel free to add a spoonful of icing sugar to the cream before whipping though.

Prep Time: 1 hour

Chilling Time: 45 minutes

Servings: 12

Author: Adapted from delicious magazine’s recipe

Equipment

• 28cm loose-base tart tin 11 in

Ingredients

• 125 g unsalted butter

• 240 g Biscoff biscuits

• A pinch of salt

• 85 g dark chocolate

• 110 g unsalted butter, softened (½ cup)

• 100 g sugar (½ cup)

• 2 eggs

• 250 g salted caramel spread from a jar or tin to make life easier (Carnation caramel for UK bakers, in France I used Bonne Maman's Caramel au beurre salé)

• 4 heaped tbsp Biscoff spread

• 3 bananas - ideally bananas without bruises!

• 300 ml whipping cream (UK bakers – double cream)

• 1 tbsp icing sugar, optional

• 1 square dark chocolate for garnish

Instructions

• Place the butter in a saucepan and melt over medium heat. Meanwhile, in a large mixing bowl or sealable plastic bag, tip in all the Biscoff biscuits and crush them with a heavy saucepan or mug or rolling pin until they are crumbs. Combine the biscuit crumbs and melted butter in a mixing bowl along with the pinch of salt so it is all nicely coated in the butter.

• Fill the tart tin with the crumbs and press it across the base and up the side with the back of a spoon, spreading it out and flattening it. Chill the base in the fridge for at least 15 minutes.

• Now for the chocolate mousse – melt the chocolate in a bain-marie over barely simmering water. Combine the butter and sugar in a large mixing bowl and mix with electric beaters (or in a stand mixer) for at least 5 minutes, until the mixture is creamy, soft and fluffy, and the sugar has dissolved into the butter.

• Pour the melted chocolate into the butter and sugar mixture, then crack in one egg. Scrape the sides of the bowl then whisk the mixture again for another 5 minutes – it will gradually lighten and become creamier. Add the other egg and beat again for another five minutes, until it is light, smooth and creamy, like mousse.

• Take the Biscoff base from the fridge and fill it with the chocolate mousse, spreading it out to the edges and smoothing the surface. Chill for 30 minutes to 1 hour until firm to the touch.

• Combine the caramel with the Biscoff spread in a small bowl. When the mousse is ready and firm, spread the caramel on top – it will be quite thick so dollop spoonfuls all over the surface then gently spread them together. Return it to the fridge until ready to serve.

• When it is time to eat, slice the bananas into rounds and lay them on top of the caramel. Whip the cream with the optional spoonful of icing sugar until it reaches medium peaks – soft waves of cream that aren't too stiff. Pile it all on top of the tart, then grate over a little extra dark chocolate before serving.