Keep It Simple, Stupid
When I was little, few things made me happier than being outside in the garden. Although I don’t have any photos of it, the absolute best thing (as far as I was concerned, anyway), was picking sweet peas.
Those little pods each spring were absolutely magical, no two ways around it. Sun-warmed and popped open mere seconds after plucking, they popped into my mouth more often than they ended up in my basket, I’m afraid. To this day, no other peas can compare, and it isn’t just because of the sentiment of sepia-toned memories—there’s quite a legitimate case to be made for those peas, and it is very simply this: the less food travels before it’s eaten, the better it is.
But how, exactly, are we qualifying and/or quantifying the value of “better”?
Nuts and Bolts of Total Tartiness
Further to my photo post from yesterday, of course someone asked about a recipe.
I was largely inspired by one found in Frank Mentesana and Jerome Audureau’s Once Upon A Tart, which you can read online here. I like this book a lot—but I tend to use it more as a starting point for forming my own ideas. Sort of like a conversation-starter in my head about food.
My changes to this recipe include the following:
- I make tart crusts similarly to how I make pie crusts and other pastry crusts, which I think is a lot easier and more sensible (and more respectful of your time spent in making your tart/pie/other pastry shell) than the method they describe here. Firstly, while it’s incredibly easy to do it in a food processor as they describe, it’s also really easy (and just about as fast, since you’ll spend less time cleaning up afterward) to do it with your hands in a large bowl—provided you don’t mind getting them a little dirty. Simply cut the butter into small pieces and put it and all your other ingredients in a large bowl. Then, start rubbing the butter between your fingers, in with all the other stuff. Drop each piece of butter fairly quickly; just keep going throughout the dough, massaging and massaging till there’s no butter left. Drizzle in the ice water carefully; knead just until the dough starts to come together. If it’s a tiny bit sticky, that’s OK—but you don’t want it really sticky, and you don’t want to overknead. With bread, you want to develop gluten, but you don’t want to develop excessive gluten in a pastry dough or it will be tough and decidedly not what you want. Then, divide the recipe in half as they suggest and tuck each half into a gallon-sized zip-top storage bag. Squeeze all the air out of them, close them, and stick them in your freezer for just 10 minutes before rolling it out to make your crust. Don’t unzip your bag; just roll in the bag with your trusty rolling pin, then slice the sides open with your kitchen shears or a knife. No muss, no fuss…couldn’t be easier, faster, or better.
If you think you’ll make your second tart sooner rather than later, by all means, par-bake the crust for it along with your first tart crust and freeze as they suggest. But if you think it’ll be awhile, label it, double-bag it, and stick the dough in the freezer. Allow it to defrost overnight when you plan on making your next tart; if you par-bake the same day, it’ll taste fresh. - I don’t think grated cheese is absolutely a necessity here, although it’s nice. I used some baby swiss I had around, which was in slices. You can easily lay the slices on top of the mustard layer and achieve a very nice result.
- If you want to boost the herbal note of the tart, you could also include some of whatever herbs you’re using in the tart crust. Not too much, of course—a little goes a long way. But it’s a thought.
- Also, another note on par-baking: you don’t need expensive pie weights or special equipment in order to par-bake a crust. Also, this dough has plenty of butter in it, so you don’t need to butter your foil before wrapping your crust. Try using dry beans or rice (or rice and beans together, if you like) as your weight instead.
- If you go with the custard (and it’s a lovely, light custard, so I think it’s quite nice), I might up the mustard content at the bottom. Really slather on a nice Dijon that you like, so the flavor gets through all that custard and plays nicely with the tomatoes and herbes de Provence.
- Plum tomatoes are suggested here because they slice well and of the ones that are sold year-round, they’re the most likely to be flavorful and tomato-y. The entire idea of most regional cooking around the world (not just France’s, though they might like to pretend it’s all their idea) relies on the freshness and seasonality of ingredients. So obviously, this is best during high summer, when your local tomatoes are in season and bursting with ripeness from their vines. Try different tomatoes and see what you get—as long as they slice well, I’m sure it will be lovely. I can’t wait to try this with zebra tomatoes later this summer. Also, I’m quite sure smaller tomatoes left whole would be nice as well, since they roast beautifully.
Satay (Just A Little Bit Longer)
In its native environment, it is known better as a popular Thai street food snack. However, satay is mostly seen in American Thai restaurants as an appetizer. There are many theories as to why this might be, and I think the most obvious one is our comparatively spotty acceptance of the notion of “street food.” On the one hand, it’s more difficult to regulate—but on the other, there are valid arguments for it as a genuine food and cultural experience and expression of a region, which shouldn’t be discounted. When I was little, I remember vendors selling food from carts in downtown Chicago, which you’d never see now. I miss that a lot, and never more than when I learn more about the vibrant street-food cultures evident in virtually every country but ours.
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Janaki
