Pulled pork tacos. Mexican cokes in slim, tapered glass. A bowl of kumquats, gem-like, straight from tree to counter. And food trucks selling $21 foie gras PB & J sandwiches – welcome to LA!

It’s not my first time in the city of angels. I came at 15 with a couple friends, but the trip was forgettable. We stuck to downtown, mostly malls, and the Sunset strip. We tried to find celebrities and instead lost the chance to really dig into LA. Where were the farmer’s markets and neighborhood dives? Where were the local vendors? Where was the character? It’s no wonder the state left a bland taste on my tongue. California, that colorless word.

As a result, I spent the last four years telling people, “Oh, I don’t really like LA.” When pressed for reasons, I said the city was superficial, and for good measure, “I like seasons.” But I couldn’t resist when C-, an LA-based friend from college, invited me to stay and visit. I resolved to make this trip different, if I had to eat my way across California to do it.

I admitted defeat two days later, the car parked on a ridge overlooking all of LA. The sun had dipped past the horizon. The palm trees I thought looked so silly became unexpectedly beautiful against the blackening sky. As night fell, millions of lights edged the foothills, the city actually shimmering like a mirage. “Okay,” I told C-, who had known all along that I’d be easy to break. “I kind of love this.”

Maybe it’s naïve to think there’s a “real LA” to discover, but I’ve felt it everywhere. I waited in line for cheap, cheap tacos piled with cheddar in Culver City. In Santa Monica, I fell in love with a fashion designer’s tiny house, decorated with lime green plastic couches and funky glass lights. C- and I had dinner in a Hollywood club with a full jazz/swing orchestra. Unbelievable.

It’s hard to call California bland while you sip watermelon-rosemary lemonade, nibbling the last bit of salted caramel macaron.

When C- goes to work, I take advantage of California produce. His parents graciously opened the whole house to me, saying that every ingredient and kitchen counter was available. When I opened the fridge and saw quality coconut milk, spice flecked pumpkin butter, fresh avocado and more cherries than I could eat, my fingertips began to itch. I found their food processor, pulsed the butter, and had a tart crust chilling in the fridge in a heartbeat.

While I was in school, I bookmarked hundreds of recipes I wanted to try but couldn’t make. No tools, time, or ingredients there – but here the afternoon was mine. Right away I knew I wanted to tackle a white balsamic custard tart, topped with a mosaic of fresh berries.

C-’s kitchen is a lot bigger than mine. I opened almost every cabinet and drawer trying to find white balsamic vinegar. I felt vaguely like I was robbing the house, but they’d specifically said I could look around. Finally, tucked in the corner of a slim cabinet, I found a raspberry blush white balsamic vinegar. It was even better than I could have expected.

A few turns of the whisk, some gentle heat on the stove, and a yolk-colored custard came together. Opening the plastic cartons of raspberries honestly felt like unwrapping rubies. I snuggled the berries around the perimeter of the crust, circling the custard, one plump blackberry topping the center.

I was worried the balsamic vinegar would be too sour, but instead, the custard’s flavor is tangy and elusive. If I hadn’t baked it myself, I’d have no explanations for the mystery ingredient. Not citrusy enough to be lemon or sweet enough to be yogurt, but unusually pleasant. Paired with the fresh berries and buttery crust, the tart didn’t disappoint.

There’s a little less than half the tart remaining, and a full seven days to spend in California. Will there be any leftovers after my trip to the Hollywood farmer’s market? When I get back from Disneyland? Who knows, but I don’t mind. More raspberries magically appeared in C-’s fridge this morning. I can’t wait to see what else LA offers.

No, you don’t need a bottle Italian raspberry blush white balsamic to make this tart. But don’t be tempted to skip out on the balsamic vinegar. It’s just so interesting and unlike anything I’ve ever made. It’s also lovely with the fresh berries.

Next time I might try a different crust recipe. This one was delicious, but a little too crumbly. C- didn’t have any tart pans with removable bottoms, so I used a regular pie dish. Maybe that’s why I had a little trouble nudging each slice out of the pan. Oh well – still delicious.

Berry-Topped White Balsamic Custard Tart
Barely tweaked from Bon Appetit
Makes a 9″ tart

Crust
1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 large egg yolk
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon whipping cream

Custard
1/2 cup whipping cream
1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 large eggs
4 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup raspberry blush white balsamic vinegar
3/4 cup water
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 (1/2 stick) butter
Fresh berries to top

Pulse the flour, sugar, and salt a couple times in a food processor to combine. Add the cubes of butter and pulse until the mixture forms little balls, like coarse meal. Add the yolk, extract, and cream, and pulse just until a dough comes together.

Press the dough into a 9″ tart pan with a removable bottom (I used a ceramic pie dish and it worked out okay.) Prick all over with a fork and chill for at least an hour.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Bake the crust until golden, about 20 minutes. Check carefully – the very edges of mine burned because I wasn’t paying attention! If the crust has bubbled up at all, use the back of a spoon to press it down. Let the crust cool completely.

To make the custard, whisk the cream and cornstarch together until lump-free. Whisk in the eggs, yolks, and vanilla until blended. Boil the vinegar in a small saucepan until reduced by half, to 1/4 cup. Add the water, sugar, and butter, and heat until the butter melts and the mixture returns to a boil.

Working slowly, gradually whisk the vinegar mixture into the egg mixture. Return to the pan and heat until the custard thickens and boils, about a minute. Strain into a bowl and let cool. Spread the custard into the tart crust and smooth with a spatula. Cover and chill for at least 3 hours or up to a day.

Top the tart with fresh berries and chill until ready to serve.

Printer-Friendly Version – Berry-Topped White Balsamic Custard Tart

So I’m officially a college sophomore. Could my freshman year have gone by any faster?

After classes ended, I headed up to Maine to spend a week with my boyfriend I- and his family in the pine tree state. My last trip was full of snow and bluster, but this time, sunlight broke through the morning fog and the coastline couldn’t be bluer. Maine is beautiful in the spring – all crabapple blossoms and forsythia flowers. It makes you want to grab plastic sunglasses, tumble through grassy fields, and buy fish and chips from the roadside seafood shack.

The food in Maine is good. My theory is that the town is so small, your business has to be solid or people won’t come back. In the mornings I ate eggs, sunny-side up, blueberry pancakes, home fries and chewy bacon. I tried a sweet potato and carnitas burrito (mind-blowing) and a triple-decker crab BLT. For dessert, we gorged on soft-serve hot fudge sundaes.

The food at I-’s home was delicious too. My first night there, I practically inhaled my dinner. It was such a comfort to eat a hot, home-cooked meal that didn’t come out of a can or a microwave. For dessert, I-’s mother gave me a spoonful of strawberry rhubarb crisp and a generous scoop of ice cream.

“By the way,” she added casually, “the rhubarb is from the garden.”

I can count the number of times I’ve eaten rhubarb on one hand. I know it’s not an uncommon ingredient, but we don’t grow it, and my family generally passes it as overpriced in the grocery store. Rhubarb is a luxury for me, something that elicits oohs and ahhs. “Will you make it again with me?” I asked.

I-’s family has made this crisp for years. I-’s mother pulled a card from a tightly packed box of recipes. His parents cut the recipe out of a newspaper 30 years ago – the paper is yellow and faded, and they can’t remember which paper it came from anymore. The clipping is full of cross-outs, changes and substitutions as they made the recipe their own over the years. I told them that made it officially theirs.

She cut a bunch of rhubarb from the plant outside. They sat on the counter, striped red and pink and cream, billowing into dark green leaves. I couldn’t believe how vivid and thick the stalks grew. Then I tried fresh rhubarb for the first time. I bit off an end, gnawing down the fibers, and slowly chewing. It was definitely more bitter and stringy than I’d expected, but I dipped the end into sugar and discovered tangy bliss. I-’s mother peeled off the rhubarb skins, like glossy ribbon on a birthday present.

We tossed the rhubarb chunks and strawberry halves into a bowl, and let them macerate in sugar and their own juices.

After dinner, I made the topping with I-’s father. He popped the butter in the microwave until it was just shy of melty. I used my fingers to rub it into the almonds, oats, and flour. Together, we tumbled the fruit into a pan, blanketed it in crumble, and slid the dish into the warm oven. “It’s that easy!” he said, smiling at me.

As the fruit bubbled and I walked up the stairs, I realized how much I’d missed family time in the kitchen. It’s not just about good food, though I ached for that too. I missed the intimacy of standing side by side at the counter, slicing potatoes and whisking salad dressing. I haven’t danced around my parents in so long, the three of us weaving among each other to grab pots and pans in our too-small kitchen. I suddenly wanted to sit at the dinner table after a long meal, listening to water run while my mother filled the dishwasher, a sleeping dog against my toes.

In my year away, I’d started to forget that family is the smell of simmering beef broth, and that home is the warmth of hot oven air. I called my mom, dad, and grandma that night. As much as I loved Maine and half wanted to stay forever, deep down I also wanted to see my family.

I’m home at last. I already long for the bustle of Boston. Sometimes I get bored without the rush of classes, work, and extracurriculars. I miss my friends, my roommate, and especially I-.

But Seattle is sunny and even greener than I remembered. I love the familiar murmur of rain on the roof at night, the way the towering trees nestle around our house. When I came home my mother showed me around the yard, pointing out where the groundcover had spread and the plants that had burgeoned forth.

She led me to the vegetable garden, dotted with slender green stems and tiny leaves. I saw the apple trees, lush and fragrant with blossoms – I can’t wait to see the branches bowed over with ripe fruit. But most hopeful of all? Our strawberry plants, which have seriously flourished, carpeting the entire ground.

They make me crave rhubarb.

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp
An I- Family Original
Makes a 9×9″ pan

Crisp Topping
1 cup toasted slivered almonds
1 cup flour
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
Pinch of salt
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup oatmeal

Fruit Filling
6 stalks rhubarb
1 1/2 pints of strawberries
6 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons flour

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Combine flour, brown sugar, salt, oatmeal, and almonds. Mix the softened, room temperature butter into the flour mixture with a fork or with your fingers until crumbly.

Peel off outer skin of rhubarb and cut off the ends. Cut stalks in one-inch pieces, enough to make three cupfuls. Hull the berries, cut in half. Toss fruit together with the sugar and flour until evenly coated. Place the fruit in a 9×9″ baking dish. Sprinkle the topping evenly over the fruit. Bake for 1 hour, or until bubbly, brown and crisp.

Printer-Friendly Version – Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp

17 and Baking turns two years old this week. I almost missed it.

In the past, I spent afternoons alone in the kitchen, flour dusting my palms and lots of quiet thoughts in my head. Afterwards I wrote about the baking process, my love for fresh ingredients, the joy of brainstorming desserts and sharing them with my family. I had more ideas than photographs.

I went a record-breakingly long time without posting as of today. Looking at my life it’s clear why I’m struggling to blog. Though I’m happier than ever, I’m living between sips of coffee and half hour power-naps. The biggest issue is that I haven’t been baking. At all. I use photographs of desserts I baked last summer to keep this blog running. While there’s a trunk of baking supplies beneath my bed and a working oven in the dorm building down the street, I haven’t used it once this year.

Over Thanksgiving and winter break, reunited with family, I obligingly creamed butter and whipped cream, but frankly, much of the magic was gone. I’ve never lost my passions for writing, photography and baking, but my weariness shows. I’m scared that 17 and Baking is in decline, that I’m losing something I consider such an important part of myself.

My boyfriend I-’s birthday was a few Fridays ago. He wanted to go up to Maine and spend several days with his family, and at the last minute I went along too.

“You’ll be able to bake,” he said, convincing me to come.

I was nervous to meet his parents and sister and his friends, more nervous than I wanted to let on. But for the first time in a long time, I was excited to make something for his birthday. That outburst of butterflies in my chest was so comfortingly familiar, so nearly forgotten, it was almost painful.

The next afternoon we drove to the local grocery store. I’m not used to buying staples at once – usually I have all the basic ingredients on hand, though I might need more chocolate slabs or an unusual spice. We picked up flour, sugar, heavy cream, local homemade butter. But I couldn’t decide what to make. I hadn’t flipped through a cookbook or wanted to make something in so long, and I actually felt out of my element in the baking aisle.

I- kept making suggestions, and I kept shooting them down. The possibilities were overwhelming. “You have to pick something,” he said finally as we wheeled the cart around the entire store for the third or fourth time. “Make a pecan pie.”

Why not?

We threw pecans into the cart. “Maybe some walnuts?” I- was holding another bag. “Those might be good with the pecans.” Into the cart. “Milk chocolate toffee bits? In the pie? Yes?” Yes. He kept smiling whenever he saw me start to smile back.

I don’t always like getting a million suggestions from someone else when it comes to baking, but I didn’t mind. Even when he paused at the end of the aisle and added, “You should put in some coconut.” I know my dad will picture my usual eye-roll and heavy sigh but instead I said, “Why not?”

I watched every bag, carton, box pass across the scanner and pack into shopping bags. I helped carry them to the car trunk. At the house, I arranged them on the counter and stared for a good minute. It felt unreal.

I winged a good deal of the recipe, just throwing things in. I-’s mom and sister popped in a few times to see how I was making the pie totally from scratch. There was a moment when the crust was in the freezer and the nuts were all chopped in a bowl and suddenly I felt like I was breathing for the first time in months.

I-’s family and I ate dinner together as the pie cooled in the kitchen. When the plates were cleared, I’-s dad went next door to borrow a bit of bourbon so I could make bourbon whipped cream. I beat the cream to stiff peaks, folded in the bourbon, and cut the pie. I could feel my heart thumping and the heat rising to my cheeks as the first slices made it to the table, so nervous. What if it wasn’t good? What if I was really, really out of practice?

“Oh my gosh,” somebody said, and round 2 of pie became a reality.

Later I- and I brought a wedge of pie over to the neighbors, along with some whipped cream. It turned out the bourbon was decades old, saved from a wedding. I couldn’t believe something so special had been opened and shared. When I- and I headed back to his house, I kept hoping the pie would be delicious, wanting them to get as much happiness from it as possible.

None of the whipped cream survived the night, but in the morning, I pulled out the Canon and shot some food photography for the first time in too long.

An out-of-the-blue pecan pie, dropped into my life weeks before 17 and Baking turns two. There are a lot of things I love about this pie – it’s sophisticated and rustic, unfussy with complex flavors. It isn’t overly sweet or sticky and there’s no light corn syrup involved. I love that my boyfriend came up with most of it. I love that it was shared and gobbled up embarrassingly fast. In so many ways, this pie reminded me of why I love to bake and why I’ll continue to blog.

Happy birthday, 17 and Baking. Eat some pie.

No light corn syrup! The resulting pie isn’t as sturdy to slice as others, but it’s a lot less sticky and sugary. It wasn’t soupy at all, a pitfall some pecan pies fall into. It helps that the pie filling is nestled between a flaky, buttery crust and a not-too-sweet whipped cream jazzed up with bourbon.

The toffee bits we found were from Hershey’s, in the baking section. You could replace them with chocolate chips or leave them out completely, but I thought they added something special and different to the pie.

When I considered the coconut flakes, I didn’t want the pie to become too sweet. We got sweetened coconut flakes (and besides, it’s so hard to find unsweetened ones in the average grocery store.) I discovered a way to “unsweeten” sweetened coconut flakes, and while it isn’t a perfect substitute, it works in a pinch.

Place the sweetened coconut flakes in a sieve rinse with very hot water, until all the sugar washes off. Squeeze out the excess liquid with your hands and spread the flakes out on a flat sieve or paper towel. When they dry they’ll be un-sweetened and fluffy again.

Coconut Pecan “Why Not” Pie with Walnuts and Toffee
Makes a 9″ pie
A 17 and Baking original

Crust
1 stick cold butter, cut into small pieces
1 ½ cups flour
1 ½ tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons ice water

Filling
2 eggs
½ cup butter, melted and cooled to room temperature
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 tablespoon flour
1 tablespoon milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup chopped pecans
½ cup chopped walnuts
1 cup unsweetened coconut flakes
½ cup chocolate toffee bits

Bourbon Whipped Cream
1 cup heavy whipping cream
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon bourbon

To make the crust, stir the flour and sugar together in the bowl of a mixer. Use the paddle to beat the butter in, cutting it until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs (you can also do this in a food processor or by hand with a pastry blender or fork.) Dribble in the water while stirring the mixture until the dough clumps. Gently knead a few times until the dough forms a ball. Flatten into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and chill 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Roll the dough out into a circle and press into a 9″ glass pie pan. Freeze for half an hour.

To make the filling, lightly beat the eggs in a medium bowl. Stir in the melted butter, which should be cooled to room temperature. Mix in the sugar, flour, milk, and vanilla extract. Mix the pecans, walnuts, coconut and toffee bits together in a large bowl, then combine with the egg mixture. Pour into the unbaked 9” pie crust and top with pretty pecan halves. Bake at 350 degrees F for 15 minutes, then lower the oven temperature to 300 degrees F and bake for another 55 minutes, or until crust is golden and top has gently cracked. Cool to room temperature.

To make the bourbon whipped cream, whip the heavy cream by hand or with an electric mixer until soft peaks form. Gradually beat in the sugar and continue to whip until stiff peaks form. Gently fold in the bourbon with a heavy spatula. Refrigerate until using and dollop on the slices of pie.

Printer-Friendly Recipe – Coconut Pecan “Why Not” Pie with Walnuts and Toffee

Lately, it seems to me that one of the most important things about being alive is, well, food. Even before this whole “baking thing” :) became a part of my identity, food has been as important as housing and education.

I come from a family where my grandfather laid the foundation for food appreciation… Heavy, dusty potatoes, long, gorgeously orange carrots, crackly-skinned poultry and lots of real cream and butter (lots of it.) My father has kept the tradition alive, too – among my favorite weekend dinners are homemade butternut ravioli with home-grown tomato sauce, barbeque ribs made with his secret hand-mixed chili powder, and crisp, creamy sweet potato fries.

It’s not just the holidays and weekends when we eat well. My mother claims not to enjoy cooking, but I don’t buy it for a minute. I’ve seen her make potstickers, mixing together the skin with only flour and water, chopping pork and herbs for the filling. I’ve seen the way her face lights up when I taste test a new red bean filled bun. She likes to cook for the same reasons I do: to savor something delicious, and to watch other people do it too.

When I was in middle school, lunch was the only unhealthy meal I got, paid for out of a vending machine. I’d wolf down a bag of potato chips, a pack of sour gummy worms, and a bottle of Dr. Pepper. Not so much anymore. When I eat out, it’s sushi or potato and mushroom piroshkies; when I pack it myself it’s a turkey sandwich on homemade bread and a blackberry yogurt.

Most of the things I blog about aren’t healthy, but I don’t treat myself to chocolate cookies and peanut butter cheesecake every day. I know you’re meant to eat these things wisely and share the rest. It’s important to us to eat healthy, and that’s what we do. And even when it’s not completely “healthy,” like when we generously add heavy cream to our mashed potatoes or deep fry halibut cheeks, at least we know we’re using quality ingredients.

I can hardly remember the last time we bought bread, since my mother makes it all herself: fresh tomato basil, ciabatta, carrot dinner rolls, naan, pita pockets and hamburger buns. Our herb garden is flourishing under the shy Seattle sunlight, and the vegetables are following – acorn squash, Japanese cucumber, arugula, snow peas, butter lettuce. We’ve got the promise of apples, pears, currants, and Asian pears to come.

As for what we don’t grow or make, we get pickier and pickier as the years go by. We’ve switched mostly over to organic fruit now at the grocery store. We love the fresh, firm fish that the Puget Sound has to offer. I like to use organic evaporated cane juice instead of white granulated sugar. We still only buy what we can afford, and we budget our shopping list, but we have definitely gotten choosier.

When Mother’s Day rolled around this year, I settled on making a Jam Tart. I didn’t exactly plan ahead, so Sunday morning I had two hours to get the whole thing baked. I put the tart crust dough in the freezer to chill, and then I rummaged through the fridge until I realized we didn’t have any jam left. Drat.

I remember, as I drove to the closest grocery store, being annoyed at myself for not making fresh jam myself earlier. Blackberry? Orange marmalade? Strawberry? I could have made all of those from scratch, I thought. When I got to the store – one I wouldn’t have picked if I hadn’t been pressed for time – I stood before their unimpressive selection of jams and jellies.

I didn’t even bother looking at the inexpensive generic brands or the sugar free versions. I picked up a jar, turned it around, scanned the ingredients. I grabbed another, checked the origin of the fruit. On the top shelf, I finally found one small jar of marionberry preserves – a little glass thing faceted like a black diamond. The brand seemed solid and the ingredients looked good. It was also two dollars more pricey than anything else.

But I didn’t think twice before buying it and running back to the car, barely on schedule.

Inexplicably, days after the tart was eaten and gone, I found myself thinking about that jar. There was definitely nothing wrong with the jam. It was smooth, sweet, fruity – but it was expensive. And it wasn’t even eaten straight from the jar with a spoon or spread onto a crusty loaf. It was baked into a tart. In hindsight, perhaps I should have bought something a little more affordable. You have to make sacrifices somewhere, right?

Am I turning into a food snob? I swore I never would. But I’m the one person of my friends who won’t eat if we go to Qdoba or Wendy’s for lunch, instead walking to the next door Trader Joe’s or waiting to go home to eat. I shop for fruit the way some girls shop for shoes. And even though we can’t exactly afford it, I beg to go to Whole Foods on special occasions.

I think it’s a good thing to care about your food: where it comes from, what it’s been treated with, how fresh it is. But I think I’ve also got to consider what things are really worth, and when they really matter. It’s easy enough to buy a little $6 jar of jam when the only thing I spend my own money on is ingredients. But when I’m on my own at college three months from now, I won’t be able to get away with those kinds of food purchases all the time.

I think the key is balance. I won’t compromise my food ethics, and I’ll always have an appreciation for good food. But I’ll never force it on anyone else, and I’ll still have to be responsible about my purchases. Maybe not everyone will agree, but I think that’s just another aspect of caring about your food. For now, I’ll take it one meal at a time, forkful by forkful of Mother’s Day jam tart.

In the food world, this jam tart has a great resume. It’s from David Lebovitz’s new book Ready for Dessert, and I found it over at Smitten Kitchen, where Deb has never led me astray. It has tons of good reviews through comments, and I knew it would be a winner as soon as I made it.

But you know what? It was just okay. I had a lovely Mother’s Day with my mom, grandma, and dad. We went out for dim sum and came home to a gorgeous afternoon. We cut open the tart, plated it. I went outside to photograph it and heard my family talking from inside.

“It’s… sweet. Wow.”

I took a bite and couldn’t believe it – it was definitely, definitely sweet. A little too sweet even by my standards. Maybe I did something wrong, since the tart had such great reviews all around. But we agreed that the crust was fantastic, a little crisp and a little soft and reminiscent of corn bread. I’ll definitely be making it again, maybe with a different filling… Sweet potato? Blueberries? Something savory, like grits? It would all work. Or maybe I’ll just use a thinner layer of jam.

So much for the $6 jar!

Jam Tart
From David Lebovitz via Smitten Kitchen
Makes a 9″ tart

1 1/2 cups (210 grams) all-purpose flour
1/2 cup (70 grams) stone-ground cornmeal or polenta
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
9 tablespoons (4 1/2 ounces or 130 grams) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup (100 grams) granulated sugar
1 large egg, whole
1 large egg, separated
1/8 teaspoon almond extract
1 1/3 to 1 3/4 cups (450 grams) jam or marmalade
2 tablespoons (30 grams) coarse-crystal or granulated sugar

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt. In a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, mix the butter and 1/2 cup (100 grams) sugar together until smooth. Add the egg, egg yolk and almond extract and beat until combined. Gradually add the flour mixture and mix until the dough just comes together.

Transfer about one-third of the dough to a lightly floured counter and shape it into a log about 2 inches (5 cm) in diameter. Wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate it until needed, or stick it in the freezer.

Transfer the remaining dough to a buttered 9-inch (23-cm) tart pan with a removable bottom of a 9-inch (23-cm) springform pan. Using your hands, press the dough evenly into the bottom. If using a tart pan, press the dough up the sides to the rim of the pan and set the tart pan on a baking sheet. If using a springform pan, press the dough about 3/4-inch (2-cm) up the sides of the pan. Refrigerate the dough-lined pan until firm, at least one hour, or for half an hour in the freezer.

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Spread the jam or marmalade evenly over the dough in the pan. Cut the chilled dough into very thin discs with a sharp paring knife, or use a cookie cutter. Arrange them slightly overlapped in concentric circles over the jam to form a top crust. Whisk the remaining egg white with a teaspoon of water until frothy; brush evenly over the tart lid and then sprinkle with 2 tablespoons (30 grams) coarse sugar. Bake until the top crust is golden brown, about 25 minutes. Let cool completely.

Printer Friendly Verson – Jam Tart

As my friends’ schedules become increasingly hectic and I continue to get by without a car, recently I’ve been taking the bus more and more.

For a long time, I resented it. There is not a lot to love about public transportation.

I’ve spent too many afternoons running behind a just-missed bus or waiting listlessly for an hour, so I’ve become overly cautious and give myself too much time. I rush out of school in that awkward state between walking and running, my backpack heavy against my shoulders, moving quickly to get to the stop. I stare at the stretch of road, trying to see the green roof of the bus emerge from around the bend, and I hate feeling as though the bus will never come.

Most of all, I hate the weary ride itself. It’s an hour long ride to my house, even though it’s a 15 minute trip by car, and the hour never passes quickly. My bus has sticky seats, a dirty floor, the smell of too many people come and gone and a lurching, roundabout movement that leaves me grouchy.

But the good news is that I’ve found an escape. I tuck my ipod into the pocket of my backpack every morning, and as the bus lumbers towards me I untangle the headphones. I’m almost always tired, so I choose something easygoing and simple, with strings or a soft-spoken correspondent on NPR.

I have the sort of headphones that eliminate your sense of sound. If you put them on without music, the world becomes shockingly silent, the kind of silence that makes you forget what noise was. I no longer hear the man snapping baby carrots between his teeth in the seat behind me, or the obnoxious beat pumping from the row ahead.

Instead it’s like I’m underwater, submerged into a place of only warm drafts and light reflecting against chrome. Everything is nothing, and suddenly I can feel all my other senses so much more acutely – dramatic, but true! I always marvel for a minute at the effect, and then I turn towards the window and turn on a song. Then, for an hour, the world is nothing but the blooming trees slipping past my eyes and the subtle reflection of my face in the glass.

I listen to music a few hours every day, and for the longest time I tried to make music compatible with baking. But it takes a lot of focus to hear my songs while the mixer is whirring loudly or while water splutters against silverware in the sink. I’ve tried turning on a radio instead, but the sound is washed out every other minute if I need to use the food processor or whip some cream.

I regretfully concluded that the two weren’t compatible after all. So I’ve started working silently, without any other noise at all. I’ve found that the kitchen makes music of its own.

The rhythmic churn of the KitchenAid, the crackle and pop of lighting the stove, the clinks and rolling as I open and shut the aged drawers one after the other. There’s the dingdingding of the timer and the satisfying, gradual pop! of a new jar finally opened. I love the quiet raking noises of zesting a tangerine, the insubstantial thud of a flipped-over cup of flour, and the low, sticky bubble of cooking sugar.

When I look back, I always remember little details about the baking process. Take this tangerine meringue tart… If I close my eyes and try to bring myself there again, I remember the sandy texture of the tart dough coming together between my fingertips and the silkiness of curd on my spoon. I remember the vivid orange of spilled tangerine juice on the old white counter and the smell of cocoa powder.

And more than anything, I remember the distinct sounds of each component coming together, using every instrument in my kitchen to create something beautiful. Chocolate crust, tangerine curd, marshmallowy meringue… it’s like a symphony in three acts.

I think it might be my favorite song.

Although I am notorious for planning out baking projects weeks in advance, sketching and listing out the things I want to make, I made this tart on a whim. We had a bag of smooth-skinned, brilliant tangerines, and I knew their sunny sweetness would shine between a soft chocolate crust and a heap of swirly meringue.

The three components are very simple, although I admit that the meringue is tricky. It requires you to cook sugar and then pour it into whipped egg whites. I’ve been trying to master this technique for years, and I’ve always ended up with either scrambled eggs or a hard, frustrating lump of sugar on the side of my mixer. Today it worked.

I was so awed that two simple ingredients like sugar and egg whites could make something so ethereal and fluffy. This meringue melts in your mouth. It’s cotton candy for grown ups. It’s sweet, light, but sophisticated. It works beautifully with the other two richer, more assertive aspects of the tart. The contrasts in texture, flavor, and color made this tart pleasantly complex.

It’s worth mentioning that since I piped the meringue, instead of smoothing it on top, I had a lot leftover. I tried baking individual meringues and failed (burned them) but you might find a use for it. Also, the filling is just a tad too sweet for my taste, so next time I’ll include some lemon or decrease the sugar a bit.

Chocolate Tart Crust
From Epicurious
Makes enough for an 11″ or thick 10″ tart crust

1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 teaspoon (generous) salt
10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, diced
1 1/2 tablespoons ice water

Spray a 10″ tart pan with cooking spray or grease with butter. Meanwhile, combine flour, sugar, cocoa powder, and salt in a food processor. Pulse five seconds to combine. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles coarse sand. Add the water and pulse until a crumbly dough comes together (I needed an extra tablespoon of water.) Press into the tart pan and freeze for 30 minutes to an hour.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and place the tart pan on a baking sheet. Bake 18-20 minutes or until the crust is dry and puffy. (Mine was very, very puffy, so I pricked it all over with a fork when it came out and the puffiness died down. It was a little soft initially, but it cooled into a flat, hard crust.) Cool completely.

Tangerine Meringue Tart
Filling from Carole Walter, Meringue from Pittsburg Needs Eated
Makes a 10″ tart (maybe extra meringue)

Tangerine Filling
1/2 cup sugar, divided
1/3 cup cornstarch
1 1/2 cups fresh tangerine juice
1/2 cup water
2 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons grated tangerine zest
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Meringue
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup water
4 egg whites

Before making this recipe, you’ll want to make the chocolate crust (recipe above) or any crust you’d like.

To make the filling, combine 1/4 cup sugar with the cornstarch in a medium saucepan. Whisk together, then gradually pour in the tangerine juice and water, whisking until smooth. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture boils. Turn the heat down to low and cook for an additional minute. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, lightly beat the eggs together, then whisk in the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar.

Stir a small amount of the warm tangerine mixture into the egg mixture to temper it (keep it from scrambling by gradually warming it.) Pour the egg mixture into the pan with the rest of the filling and blend until combined. Cook for a minute longer until the filling is thick, making sure to scrape the bottom and creases of the pan. Whisk quickly to smooth the filling without overmixing.

Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the vanilla extract and tangerine zest. Pour into the baked tart crust (I poured it through a sieve to remove any lumps or bits of egg, but you don’t have to.) Wrap and chill while making meringue.

Make the meringue: stir the sugar and water together in a small saucepan, until it has the texture of wet sand. Heat the mixture over medium-high heat until it reads 240 degrees on a thermometer, the softball stage. You’ll know you’re there if, when you drop a bit of the mixture into a cup of water, it forms a flexible little ball. Don’t let the mixture get hotter, you really need the thermometer for this one. In the meantime, whip the egg whites until stiff peaks form, but don’t overbeat.

As soon as the sugar is ready, carefully pour the mixture into a heat-proof cup that you can pour out of. This does a couple things: it stops the cooking of the sugar, and it’ll make it easier to gradually pour into the eggs. With the mixer on low, slowly, gradually pour the sugar mixture into the whipped eggs. Avoid hitting the beaters or side of the bowl, where the sugar might splatter or harden, and go slowly. Once all the sugar is added, turn the mixer on medium and whip until the mixture is cooled and very fluffy.

You can either mound the meringue on top of the pie, or you can fill a piping bag and pipe (that’s what I did, using a Wilton 4B piping tip.) Either way, try to reach all the way to the crust and cover up all the filling, so you don’t see any orange. If you’d like, bake the pie for 15 minutes on a low rack at 350 degrees to brown the top, or use a hand-held torch. The tart is best eaten as soon as possible, but it’ll keep wrapped and chilled for 2 days.

Printer-Friendly Version – Tangerine Meringue Tart and Chocolate Tart Crust

It’s nearly July.

You’ve got it in your head that you want to remodel your front yard. You’re going to pull out all the old grass, taking the moss and weeds with it, and replant new seeds. You’re going to transfer your herb garden, plant lots of beautiful flowers, and create a fence with espalier fruit trees – apple, pear, and asian pear. You might even ask your teenage daughter to help once in a while.

And generally, it’s hard work. Hard, hot work. You can drink all the water you want, but what would really cool you off?

A mojito!

I know some of you guys were intrigued by the jelly that I put up earlier this week. There were a lot of great guesses, and some of them got pretty close but nobody got it quite right. It turns out, this little jar is much more than a delicious batch of lime and mint jelly. It’s part of this month’s Daring Bakers challenge!

The June Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar. They chose a Traditional (UK) Bakewell Tart… er… pudding that was inspired by a rich baking history dating back to the 1800′s in England.

The Bakewell Tart is a tart crust spread with jam, jelly, curd, or even chocolate, and then topped with moist, spongy almond frangipane. For the challenge we were asked to make the crust and frangipane as instructed, but we had freedom over the jelly.

I’d never made jelly by myself before, so I knew that I definitely wanted to make that part of the challenge. I played with so many different flavors in my head before finally settling on lime and mint. It’s a slightly unusual combination for a jelly, and it sounded so utterly different and refreshing that I knew it would make this pretty challenge even more special.

When I told my dad my flavor combination, he said, “Why not make mojitos to go along?” So he brought the mint, the limes, and the rum, and I headed next door to ask the neighbors for a bowl of ice. The result was a cool, fresh mojito. It turns out, I really like them. I think I could have probably had one or two all by myself. Luckily my parents and I shared two glasses among us and I was able to really focus on the tart as well. :)

I was a little unsure about how almond would pair with lime and mint, but the tart was super delicious. On its own, the jelly is fantastic. It’s tangy and bursting with flavor, and tastes so bright that everyone is a little surprised when they first try it. In the tart, the flavor was much more subdued. In hindsight, a jam like raspberry, pear, or peach would have probably better fit the tart, but the mojito jelly did add a lovely green stripe and interesting twist to an otherwise straightforward dessert.

The tart crust was a huge hit, especially with my dad. It’s officially my new go-to tart crust. And the frangipane? I’d never made it before, but I can’t get enough of it. I’d love to try making it with other nuts (pistachio or hazelnut, maybe?) and the jelly is definitely a recipe I’ll keep. Three components, three successes… what a challenge!

I made the jelly first. I’m not sure it came out absolutely perfectly… the jelly didn’t fully solidify in the unopened jars. I put the one that I opened in the refrigerator, however, and the jelly had a great texture. I really encourage you guys to try this recipe… While it looks a bit unusual, the taste has such a zing. Next time I might filter out the bits of lime zest and mint, or perhaps I would try to cut them smaller.

I used half regular mint, and half orange mint that we grow in our garden. The orange mint is much more mild and sweet and has a slight citrus scent that went quite nicely with the lime, but standard mint works well too.

Mojito (Lime and Mint) Jelly
Adapted from Cookin’ With Cyndi
Makes 5 half-pints

2 tablespoons lime zest
3/4 cup lime juice
3/4 cup freshly packed mint leaves, finely chopped
1 3/4 cups water
4 cups sugar
Green liquid food coloring
3 oz liquid fruit pectin

The jars must be completely sterilized. Put the glass jars, lids, and a funnel into a large pan and cover with water. Boil for 20 minutes, or follow the directions that come along with the lids. When the jars are removed from the water they will dry off almost immediately, so wait until the jelly is nearly ready.

Combine zest, juice, mint, and water in a 4 quart saucepan and stir in sugar. Bring mixture to a boil over high heat, constantly stirring. Add a few drops of food coloring and stir in fruit pectin. Bring to a full rolling boil for one minute, then remove from heat and skim off the foam with a metal spoon.

Pour the jelly into hot, sterilized jars, using the sterilized funnel and leaving 1/4″ headway in each jar. Cover immediately with lids and screw on the bands finger tight. Process the jars in boiling water for 5-10 minutes, then cool jars on wire racks.

I made an 8″ tart and a small 4″ tart from this recipe, which originally makes a 9″ tart.

Sweet Shortcrust Pastry
Makes a 9″ tart

225g (8oz) all purpose flour
30g (1oz) sugar
2.5ml (½ tsp) salt
110g (4oz) unsalted butter, cold (frozen is better)
2 (2) egg yolks
2.5ml (½ tsp) almond extract (optional)
15-30ml (1-2 Tbsp) cold water

Sift together flour, sugar and salt. Grate butter into the flour mixture, using the large hole-side of a box grater. Using your finger tips only, and working very quickly, rub the fat into the flour until the mixture resembles bread crumbs. Set aside.

Lightly beat the egg yolks with the almond extract (if using) and quickly mix into the flour mixture. Keep mixing while dribbling in the water, only adding enough to form a cohesive and slightly sticky dough.

Form the dough into a disc, wrap in cling and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.

Frangipane

125g (4.5oz) unsalted butter, softened
125g (4.5oz) icing sugar
3 (3) eggs
2.5ml (½ tsp) almond extract
125g (4.5oz) ground almonds
30g (1oz) all purpose flour

Cream butter and sugar together for about a minute or until the mixture is primrose in colour and very fluffy. Scrape down the side of the bowl and add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. The batter may appear to curdle. In the words of Douglas Adams: Don’t panic. Really. It’ll be fine. After all three are in, pour in the almond extract and mix for about another 30 seconds and scrape down the sides again. With the beaters on, spoon in the ground nuts and the flour. Mix well. The mixture will be soft, keep its slightly curdled look (mostly from the almonds) and retain its pallid yellow colour.

Mojito Bakewell Tart
Makes a 9″ Tart

1 recipe Sweet Shortcrust Pastry (see above)
1 recipe Frangipane (see above)
1 cup Mojito Jelly (see above)

Place the chilled dough disc on a lightly floured surface. If it’s overly cold, you will need to let it become acclimatised for about 15 minutes before you roll it out. Flour the rolling pin and roll the pastry to 5mm (1/4”) thickness, by rolling in one direction only (start from the centre and roll away from you), and turning the disc a quarter turn after each roll. When the pastry is to the desired size and thickness, transfer it to the tart pan, press in and trim the excess dough. Patch any holes, fissures or tears with trimmed bits. Chill in the freezer for 15 minutes.

Preheat oven to 200C/400F.

Remove shell from freezer, spread as even a layer as you can of jam onto the pastry base. Top with frangipane, spreading to cover the entire surface of the tart. Smooth the top and pop into the oven for 35 minutes.

The finished tart will have a golden crust and the frangipane will be tanned, poofy and a bit spongy-looking. Remove from the oven and cool on the counter. Serve warm, with crème fraîche, whipped cream or custard sauce if you wish.

When you slice into the tart, the almond paste will be firm, but slightly squidgy and the crust should be crisp but not tough.

Printer Friendly Version – Mojito Bakewell Tart with Mojito Jelly

I also highly recommend you check out the other Daring Bakers’ versions of this tart. From chocolate to lemon curd to more flavors of jam than I can list, every creation is super special. Thanks again for the great challenge!

Update: I’m giving away a jar of the Mojito Jelly! Post a comment to be entered… Ends July 6th, 2009.

I wish I could travel more. Traveling is something I’ve barely done, and yet, it’s one of my favorite things. There’s so many things I love about it – mostly, I just love to experience something so totally different from what I’m used to. A different skyline, a different perspective and culture, a different lifestyle… and different food.

Food is one of the biggest highlights of my travels, limited as they might be. It’s as important as the monuments, the museums, the shopping. Bagels, pizza, and cheesecake in New York, the best bubble tea and bao bing in Houston’s Chinatown, french brioche toast and tea in Victoria, Canada. Oh, but Paris…

I was in 8th grade when I went to Paris with my French class – such an amazing trip. While I didn’t photograph any of our meals, I remember them vividly. Crêpes, bought right on the street and spread with nutella; fresh sandwiches made with beautiful, crackly baguettes; and a fresh, flaky croissant served with orange juice and chocolat chaud every morning for breakfast.

And Fauchon, the famous luxury bakery! My French teacher told a story of a boy one year who was left behind in Fauchon, so mesmerized by the pastries that he did not notice the group leave the patisserie and board the subway. Madame called it a nightmare. Me, I think it sounds like a dream come true!

I really wish I would have discovered my love for baking at that point in my life. At the time, I’d never heard of Fauchon, and while I left feeling full and impressed (I bought an excellent fig éclair at what I thought a ridiculous price), I didn’t fully appreciate the visit.

When I saw that April’s Sugar High Friday, hosted by Heather of Diary of a Fanatic Foodie, was to make a dessert inspired by travel (“Take Me Away”), memories of Paris came back to me with surprising strength. There were so many unbelievable desserts I tried. But what made me think utterly of Paris? And what was simple enough to make at home, right after school?

This lovely pear tart was the ticket. Back to Paris, I mean. :)

The pastry that I always try first in a new French bakery is always the pear and almond tart. To me it seems like such a classic, something so simple but incredible when done right. Maybe it’s a little unfair, but I tend to judge bakeries right away based on that tart.

(The best pear tart I’ve ever had was in Paris, if you were wondering. It wasn’t even in a fancy or expensive pastry shop, but a teeny patisserie we passed on the street. I don’t even remember it’s name. An unknown pastry shop in Paris produces better pear tarts than most “genuine French” bakeries in Seattle!)

Unfortunately, my mom doesn’t care much for pear and almond tarts. The problem is mostly the custard, which is too rich for her. I didn’t want to make anything that she wouldn’t enjoy. I also decided on making just enough for two mini tarts, the perfect dessert for two.

The solution was this simple pear tart, which is nothing but a flaky, buttery crust and sweet, soft pear. It’s a snap to make, and of all the tarts I’ve ever made – this was probably my favorite. My mother surprised me by saying it was among the top 3 best things I’d ever baked, in her opinion. Quel succès!

You could double the crust and quadruple the pears and make a full sized tart, baking times adjusted accordingly.

Simple Pear Tart
Adapted from Carole Walter
Makes two 4″ tarts

2 Sweet Tart shells, baked (recipe follows)
1 Anjou pear, slightly under-ripe
Fresh lemon juice
2 tbsp sugar
1/2 tbsp cornstarch
3 tbsp apricot jam, divided
1/4 tbsp butter, room temperature

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Peel the pear and slice it in half lengthwise, from top to bottom. Core each half with a melon baller or a teaspoon, then coat with lemon juice to prevent browning. Slice each half lengthwise into 1/4″ slices. Toss in a bowl with sugar and cornstarch.

Spread a thin layer of apricot jam onto the bottom of each tart shell. Lay the pear slices decoratively on top – I overlapped the pears, using the longest slices in the center of the tart. Pour the juices left in the bowl over the pears, then dot with butter.

Bake the tarts for 45 minutes, then cover loosely with foil and bake an additional 5 minutes. Mix a tablespoon of apricot jam with a teaspoon of water, brush it over the pears as a glaze while still warm. Cool tarts completely before removing from their pans.

Dorie Greenspan’s Sweet Tart Shell
Crust adapted from Dorie Greenspan via Smitten Kitchen
Makes enough for two 4″ tarts, plus scraps

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
4.5 tbsp frozen unsalted butter, cubed
1/2 large egg, scrambled (crack a whole and use half)

In a food processor, pulse the flour, sugar, and salt. Add the cubed butter and pulse until the butter is cut in, with little “butter balls” the size of peas and of oats. Add the yolk bit by bit, pulsing after each time, then once all the yolk is added pulse the dough in long, 10 second intervals. When the dough clumps up, knead it gently a few times on a work surface just until it comes together. Chill the dough 1 hour before rolling.

Butter two 4″ fluted tart pans with removable bottoms. Divide the tart dough in two and roll each half between two sheets of plastic wrap. Peel off one of the sheets and invert the dough on top of a tart pan. Pat the dough onto the bottom of the pan and ease it into the corners and sides. Gently and carefully remove the second piece of plastic wrap, then use a knife to trim the overhang to 1/4 inch. Fold the excess dough over, into the pan, to create double-thick sides. Prick bottom with a fork, then freeze at least 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter the shiny side of two squares of aluminum foil. Press them into the chilled tart pans, then bake the crust for 10 minutes. Remove the foil and press down on any puffiness with a spoon. Bake for an additional 10 minutes.

Printer Friendly Version – Simple Pear Tart for Two

P.S.: My birthday is in two days… expect some birthday cake! :)