I remember the first time I had to make puff pastry at chef school. Actually, I’m surprised I remember it – what with our brains blocking out horrific events and all.  No other pastry has a more appropriate name than puff;  you spend what feels like hours just hanging around waiting (for the butter to chill in the fridge), and then there’s lots of huffing and puffing as you frantically roll and fold that pastry before that same butter melts. Then the waiting. Then the puffing. And repeat. I mean, it’s just a nightmare, and probably the only time butter is annoying. Ever. But, you only have to make puff pastry once to come to the same conclusion I did:

Life is too short to make your own puff pastry.

Let’s add a star thingy to that statement and include phyllo pastry in there too, shall we? Don’t even bother trying to make your own paper-thin phyllo pastry. It will end in tears. And tears. Gosh, English is weird.  But I digress, back to puff pastry. The pastry that won the butter lottery.  I’ve had this old box of cream horn moulds for ages which I was given by my Great Aunt and have been desperately wanting to bake a batch. Except, are they still a thing?