It’s a Saturday in January, and students at New Orleans Culinary and Hospitality Institute, or NOCHI, are setting up for a four-hour class, hauling stand mixers to their workstations.
Denae Reddick, a professional cake decorator who was among the school’s first graduates in 2019, teaches this king cake workshop twice a year.
“We teach it, but it is sacrilegious to eat it outside of Carnival season, for sure,” said Reddick, who also goes by Chef Denae.
Despite the name king cake, today’s dominant version is brioche, a rich yeasted baked good that sits between bread and pastry.
If you consider yourself a baker and you live in New Orleans — as I do — making a king cake is a rite of passage, and in a city where the dessert is practically sacred, the pressure is on to get it right and make it your own.
Chef Denae said when it comes to king cake, people typically go wrong in the dough-making process. (Working with yeast always makes me nervous. Measurements need to be precise, and you don’t want to under-or over-mix.)
Shaping it can also be tricky, though the dough — if made properly — is pretty forgiving.
“At the end of the day, it’s all gonna kind of bake together,” Chef Denae said.
Since the dough needs to rise overnight, another instructor has prepared it in advance. Chef Denae’s students look relieved.
“I'm glad I didn't have to make the dough for today, I'll tell you that,” said Sierra Francois, one of six people in today’s class — all Black women, dressed in fresh chef’s whites.
Some already work in the restaurant industry, like Francois, who’s at a seafood place — but their baking experience is limited, and they’re here to level up.
NOCHI, pronounced NO-kee, was founded in 2016 by local restaurateurs and cousins Dickie Brennan and Ti Martin to help people advance in the restaurant industry.
The nonprofit offers more affordable certificates than traditional degree programs, provides scholarships, and classes end at 2:30 p.m. to accommodate students who work dinner shifts.
Bake your own king cake with NOCHI's recipe
Its six-month culinary program includes a crash course in baking and pastry, about 10 days, and today’s class is a bonus, just in time for Carnival season.
“I think we all love king cake, and we know how important it is to the culture, and so we want to do it justice,” Francois said.
And they aren’t afraid to experiment.
To her cinnamon filling, Francois adds coffee liquor and bourbon.
Her classmate, Orion Cho, adds a few teaspoons of orange liquor.
“It’s a little sweet. Very orange forward,” Cho said, before tasting it and playing with it some more.
After they finish their fillings, Chef Denae waves them over for a demo.
She dumps the sticky dough onto a table and starts working it into a rectangle, using a yardstick for reference.
“For the most part, stretch it by hand,” she instructs, as Cho takes notes on a pad. “Roll it just a little bit to get it to the shape and size you need it to be, and then go ahead and braid it.”
Francois follows Chef Denae’s instructions. She’s careful not to over-flour her workspace or overwork her dough.
Once she hits the right dimensions, her own yardstick in hand, she spreads her filling, pushing it with an offset spatula.
“I’m just making sure it gets everywhere. Trying to be like Chef Denae, even though they told us Chef Denae is a perfectionist,” Fracois said, laughing.
From there, the now ring-shaped cakes rest for about 90 minutes, the bake’s second proof.
When it’s nearly doubled in size, Chef Denae wets her finger and presses it into the dough.
“If it bounces back, I know it is ready to go,” she said.
Then, into the oven. The dough itself is thin, so they should bake quickly. Chef Denae sets a timer for 15 minutes.
Students whisk together a quick glaze of powdered sugar, milk, vanilla, salt and a little melted butter to help it set. Then they crowd around the oven like children watching television, as their cakes spin on rotating racks.
They’re nervous, but excited, pumping one another up while they wait.
One student compliments another’s cake, “It rose so good, girl.”
Small crises are averted. Tasting spoons are used to weigh down parchment paper that’s sticking to the edges of Francois’s cake. Cho’s appears to be lagging, but it’s a faulty thermometer.
When the internal temperature hits 190°F, they’re ready.
“Oh my goodness. It’s so beautiful,” someone shouts.
They’re puffed up and golden brown, clear successes.
After they’ve cooled some, Cho pours coffee glaze over her cake — a nod to her sister, who she describes as a coffee connoisseur — and finishes it with traditional purple, green and gold sugar.
With one now under her belt, Cho says she sees more king cakes in her future.
“Making something so traditional my own is really appealing to me,” she said. “Hopefully, I get to experiment with other flavors and combinations and break molds of what a king cake could be.”
She wraps up her cake to take it home. Everyone is so proud that no one wants to cut their creations.
That’s right, after all of that, I didn’t even get a taste, but there’s no way they weren’t delicious.
