CARAMELIZED ONION AND TOMATO TART

KITCHEN ANTICS

My friends continue to ask me what the first thing will be that I will make or bake in my brand spanking new kitchen. I shrug. I cannot for the life of me think that far ahead in time. We are still at the interminable stage of scraping old carpet glue and cement off of ancient, faded and stained tiles and wood parquet and arguing over the individual elements of the design to be able to project ourselves barely two months into the future and think of food. Input from all sides, new ideas, changing opinions, and more trouble with that damn floor than we could ever have imagined, and exhaustion! block out any thought of sliding cake pans into some non-existent oven or homey smells emanating from a Dutch oven on a stovetop. Covered with dust and bruises, we drag our sagging bodies home at mealtime; picking up sandwiches at the boulangerie at noon and flopping onto the sofa late afternoon to “Are you hungry?” and “Who’ll fix dinner tonight?” singing through the house. How can I even begin to think of christening (or is it baptizing?) our new kitchen when I even have trouble considering throwing together a meal for my family now?

Talented son has finalized the design plans, yet to build it ourselves or not to build it ourselves, that is the question. Cabinets and worktop have been selected from that great Swedish warehouse in the sky while our neighborhood cuisinista, kitchen design studio, is luring us with a second design and the heavenly promise of shouldering the hard labor and assuming all responsibility. Each appliance has been mulled over, advantages weighed out and finally selected. Yet each day as we step over the threshold, as our bodies are enveloped and consumed by a fine white dust, as we breath in the heady scent of stripping solution and plaster, all thoughts of a shiny new kitchen, a cozy home flooded with sunlight fall away.

What to cook in my future kitchen, you ask? Shall I have images of bottles of Champagne nestled and chilling inside a shiny refrigerator in my head? Can I see myself sliding gooey layers of chocolate cake out of an oven as thick, creamy ganache cools on my beautiful new countertop? As I stand in the middle of an empty room, surrounded by broken chunks of woodwork, the hideous floor strewn with hammers, scrapers, crowbars and bulging plastic bags overflowing with bits and pieces of electric wiring, plaster and gravel, do shiny, cream-colored cabinets filled with china and glassware, pots and pans take shape in my mind? Does my excitement at standing behind stovetop, window thrown open, the breeze tickling the back of my neck as I chop and stir block out the mess at my feet or soothe the sores on my hands? Can I feel the weight and heft of a tray laden with choice delicacies, oysters on ice chips, glistening olives, crystal goblets of wine each time I slip on a grimy yellow work glove and curve my aching fingers around the handle of the scraper? At the pain of disappointing, I must admit that the answer would be no.

Therefore, I answer my friends who press me for my dream menu that I just cannot think about it at this time and place. In normal times, I am much more invigorated to cook and bake in the winter when the weather is cool than in the slow, stagnant, lazy days of summer when my mind is a blank stretch of road winding into the flat, hazy distance. I lie on the sofa, drowsily mumbling lists of items I should be picking up at the market and murmuring lists of dishes I could be cooking for this meal or that. Yet the energy eludes me and I remain sprawled in the same position, leaving my family to fend for themselves. And this summer more than ever, what with Clem out of town, only drifting in on the odd weekend, Simon slipping out with his friends or simply not hungry at the same time that we are and JP and I just flat out lethargic, drained from the renovations. We prefer the simple, the cool and fresh, stopping by the market on the way back from a morning’s renovation to pick up fruit and a head of lettuce, cold cuts and cheese, a baguette or two. We may, in our attempt to put together a complete and balanced meal, boil pasta and eggs, slice tomatoes and toss it all together with a can of corn and another of white beans for a * ta da * pasta salad! But the cooking and baking bug has surely left on a long vacation.

(Here I must do justice, give credit where credit is due at the expense of my story and say that JP does indeed make much more of an effort to cook real meals during the summer than I do and we often eat scrumptious dishes much to my delight and our satiation.)

But once in a while, the urge and excitement to cook or bake wash over me, invigorating and refreshing like dashing into the sea. Maybe it’s the weather, cooler now, like the early days of autumn, my favorite season. Maybe it is something along the lines of the old adage “absence makes the heart grow fonder”; when days and weeks flow by and I’ve had neither the time nor the energy nor the desire to bake, it all catches up to me like a cavalcade in pursuit of the bad guys. And then I will spend a full day or two kneading dough, rolling out puff pastry, slicing and chopping seasonal vegetables and tossing fresh fruit into whipped cream. This past weekend, as the men made runs to the dump and to the hardware store, I made both a sweet and a savory tart with my homemade puff pastry. Fresh peaches, the sweetest we have found them in years, were sliced and layered onto a French Peach Tart. And summer’s local tomates nantaises were sliced and layered atop a tangle of caramelized onions and fresh goat cheese, dotted with salty olives and baked, served warm for a dinner for four that was consumed in joy and in record time. Both tarts, the sweet and the savory, were gobbled down by three hungry men, the persnickety, the finicky and the hungry husband and proud, little old me, both tarts loved by one and all.

At the end of a trying, physically exhausting, yet satisfying day, nothing beats a wonderful, homemade meal.

CARAMELIZED ONION AND TOMATO TART
The idea for this came from the July-August 2012 issue of French Saveurs, the twists and turns are my own.

For the tart you need:

Dough (I used puff pastry about 14 oz/400 g), the original recipe called for bread dough (about 14 oz/400 g) or you could simply use a quiche dough for a 10-inch tart. The puff pastry dough needs to be rolled out, line a lightly oiled 10-inch (25 cm) tart dish, pricked and refrigerated for about 30 minutes while you make the filling. The bread dough, if using, needs to stay out at room temp for 30 minutes once you have rolled it out and lined the oiled tart dish.

For my homemade Puff Pastry, follow the recipe here and the step by step directions here (adding the butter to the détrempe).

Roll out the dough (even the puff pastry) so when you line the tart/pie dish the dough comes up the sides to make an edge just to the top of the dish.

For the filling you need:

3 yellow onions - peeled, cut in half and thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic chopped or minced (not too too finely)
Fresh or dried thyme and basil (I used dried), salt and pepper
About 6 medium (maybe 2 - 3 inches across) ripe tomatoes **
A small handful tiny olives, such as Niçoise olives or Greek olives
A bit of fresh goat cheese or feta, optional
Olive oil

** you can use about 400 g (14 oz) cherry tomatoes, sliced in half. Instead of brushing the cherry tomato halves with olive oil before baking, toss in 1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil before placing the halves in concentric circles, close together, on top of the caramelized onions.

While the dough is resting, caramelize the thinly sliced onions in about 2 tablespoons olive oil. After about 5 minutes, when the onions become translucent and just start to color, add the garlic, salt and pepper and the herbs and continue to cook over medium or medium-low heat until the onions caramelized a golden brown. This usually takes about 10 minutes total. Remove from the heat and allow to cool for a few minutes.

Preheat oven to 400°F (200°C).

Spread the onions in the tart shell. If using goat cheese or feta crumble or lay slices over the onions, as much or as little as you like but only one thin layer. Cut off and discard the ends of the tomatoes and slice tomatoes about 1/4 inch thick and lay on top of onions/cheese in concentric circles, pressing the slices closely together in one tight, single layer. Lightly brush the top of each tomato with olive oil, salt and pepper again, a bit of basil and the olives, as many or as few as you like. Bake until the edges of the crust are golden brown about 30 minutes.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool just a bit before serving in slices. This tart makes a wonderful meal with only a green salad, bread and a cheese platter and a bottle of wine.
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PEACH PUFF PASTRY TART (Tarte Fine aux Pêches)

SIMPLICITY

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. 

– Leonardo da Vinci 

There are few meals that are so spectacular that the memory, the impression left stays with us forever. Meals unique in their originality, quality, flavor; care and attention, a warm, welcoming ambiance add to the meal itself, framing the memory in elegance or glamour, creating something dreamlike, but it is the food that is center stage, the primary element, the leading lady, the meat and potatoes of the narrative. If the food isn’t perfect, nothing will hold the experience in our imagination.

It is a truth universally known that the simplest things are often the best. A slow, lazy Sunday morning in bed with a good book. An evening in with husband and sons just chatting, laughing, dreaming together. A pizza and a movie on a Saturday night. A walk through the vineyards on a sunny morning, hand in hand, dog romping happily around our feet. A little black dress, the only ornament a dab of red lipstick. Three little words. A single band of gold. Nothing gaudy, nothing complicated, just focusing on the basic, unpretentious beauty and simplicity of the best. Pure, simple pleasure.

The simplest things are often the truest. 

– Richard Bach 

Take food, for example. A few, simple ingredients, fresh, seasonal, of the highest quality, make the best dish. Pasta tossed simply with ripe sweet tomatoes, fragrant basil, a drizzle of olive oil and the gentle bite of garlic create a stunning meal. A chicken, cooked to perfection, the meat tender, flavorful, the skin crispy, golden brown, roasted with nothing more than salt and pepper, maybe a handful of herbs from the garden or the surprise of lemon, is heaven itself. Bread still warm from the oven slathered with butter and a dusting of freshly grated Parmesan cheese, or peanut butter smeared on warm toast, what could be simpler and what could be better? Or a classic jambon-beurre, a single slice of ham and a lick of pure, creamery butter on warm baguette. The perfect, dense, gooey brownie, no adornment necessary.

One of my most memorable meals was simplicity itself. A romantic getaway on the coast, an afternoon and a night at the Hôtel Anne de Bretagne in La Plaine sur Mer left an indelible mark. Elegant white surroundings, a view of the wild late-summer ocean, crisp table cloths, crystal and china lending sophistication and charm, the evening meal for two promised to be special. A warm bowl of thick chunks of crabmeat in a creamy fennel chaud-froid with a layer of shellfish gelée was a stupendous starter. But astonished I was to discover that the main course was unforgettable as simple as it was: tiny lamb chops, no bigger than the palm of my hand from top to bottom, grilled to perfection; tender baby vegetables, miniature carrots and leeks, slender asparagus gently steamed and laid out delicately across the plate in a light sauce like a breath of flavor. The high quality of the ingredients needed nothing more than the hand of a great chef to create such an incredible dish so full of flavor. And the final applause, the exquisite finale to this astounding meal was, well, so simple it took my breath away. A tarte fine. A paper-thin round of just-crisp puff pastry topped with swirls of paper-thin apple slices, delicate and sweet, and brushed with a hint of jam. Nothing could have been better, unadorned purity, perfection embodied in the simplest of desserts.

Simplicity is the glory of expression. 

– Walt Whitman 

And that perfect tarte fine has stayed with me, making me dream, and I have longed to recreate something so wonderful. Our boulangère fills the glass case of her bakery with seasonal tarts, great rounds of puff pastry topped with layers of apples or chunks of peaches and dabbed with glistening jellies and I ogle each one, scolding these delicacies for taunting and teasing me each time I walk in for our daily baguette. And I have decided that it was finally time for me to create my own with summer’s ripe, sugary, juicy peaches, abundant this year and sweeter than usual. I had spent a lovely afternoon joyously rolling out my own puff pastry and all I needed to do was dash to the market early and choose the fruit.

As simple as….pie.

TARTE FINE AUX PÊCHES (Peach Puff Pastry Tart)

Using very good quality store bought puff pastry or homemade using this recipe and these directions, simply weigh out a round of puff pastry – I cut mine out with a large ring mold – and roll it out gently on a floured work surface; do not push the rolling pin, rather gently and lightly roll back and forth, take your time so as to neither compact the pastry or distort the circle. Turn the circle of dough around and around after each stroke of the rolling pin in order to create a circle.

Puff pastry
Peaches
Unsalted butter (7 or 8 g – ½ Tbs), softened
1 Tbs granulated brown or white sugar

For a tart about 22 cm (8 ½ inches) in diameter use about 250 - 300 g (9 - 10 oz) puff pastry. This serves 4 to 6 guests depending upon how hungry they are and if the tart is served with a scoop of ice cream or not. Use about 3 ripe peaches. 

Feel free to use more puff pastry and more peaches for a larger tart. The tart is freeform so all you need for a bigger tart is a larger baking tray.

Roll the dough out to a thickness of about 2 – 3 mm (not more than 1/8 inch). You can leave the edges a bit thicker. Place the round of dough on a parchment paper-lined baking tray larger than the tart (the butter and juices may run a bit), cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F) Note: towards the end of the baking, you will need to turn the oven up to 200°C (400°F) in order to brown the edges of the pastry.

Lightly brush the puff pastry with some of the softened butter, all the way to the edge of the dough. Prick the dough all over with a fork. Slice the peaches into thin slices and place them in a concentric circle on the dough, overlapping the slices slightly, but leaving about ½ to 1 inch free all the way around (do not place the peach slices to the edge). Dot the rest of the butter over the peach and sprinkle the granulated sugar evenly over the fruit slices and the edge of dough.

Bake in the preheated oven for about 35 – 40 minutes. If the puff pastry is not yet golden and puffed all the way around, simply turn the heat up to 200°C (400°F) and watch the tart carefully so it browns without burning.

Remove from the oven and dust with powdered/confectioner’s sugar just before serving.

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VISUAL FEAST II

I SPY

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. 

– Pablo Picasso 

We hang suspended somewhere between the grand exodus of July, when the city folk flood out towards their own private Promised Land, be it seaside or mountaintop, and the end of August, heralding the grand return, the sudden rush of population that arrives en masse for the opening of school doors. The streets are left deserted, sidewalks empty of crowds. The drowsy days of summer, and the city is ours to discover. Walking through the market, my camera poised, aimed at what I have long considered simply ordinary ingredients with which to feed my family, framing each image, fruit, vegetable, pastries, meats have become objects of art and desire. Leaving the market and strolling through the streets on these hot, lazy days of the end of the season, I peer through my iphone, my eyes scanning up and down buildings, around and across squares, contemplating individuals as they cross my path, and I discover a visual playground, a play, curtain lifted on Act I, filled with matter and substance for excitement and admiration. I see beauty, humor and magic where I once only saw blank walls, a blur of bodies, dirty sidewalks.

You don’t take a photograph, you make it.

– Ansel Adams 

Voyage à Nantes. Cultural events and artistic manifestations color the town exciting; walls light up and the ground transforms into a magic carpet. Ice cream stands and bars spill out onto the street, becoming at once front row center to the greatest show on earth and the stage itself, brimming with characters and action. Graffiti moves and twines around corners, paintings larger than life jump out into my path, tiny images play hide and seek, awaiting discovery and my consideration. Although grime and soot encrust tangles and swags of masonry flowers hanging delicately over doorways, besmudge stone faces and Madonnas secreted away in niches, remnants of other eras, each lends a romance to this city of mine, together they tell a tale if only one takes the time to look up and notice.

Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others. 

– Jonathan Swift 

I snap picture after picture and lock them away for another time. I collect image after image for the days that I forget the beauty and grace of life, the humor of living. I have learned to slow down and look around and what I spy makes me catch my breath in wonder or smile in lightness. So many years living in one city and we tend to become blind to the details of the world around us. We become bored and restless, expecting grand things in shapes and sizes too hard to miss, gifts wrapped up larger than life and handed to us noisily, bells and whistles catching our attention, pointing and shouting Me Me Me! But there is so much hidden, hidden out in the open, silent and still. Like those old kid’s games we used to play, Red Light Green Light or Statues, we look yet we see nothing but unmoving shapes, yet look closely, or turn away your eyes then flash around quickly quickly and it all comes to life!

Life is not significant details, illuminated by a flash, fixed forever. 

Photographs are. 

– Susan Sontag 

My camera, my iphone have opened up a secret garden, an Ali Baba’s Cavern filled with treasures galore! I now see what I have been missing for all of the year’s I have lived in this city, years in which I wandered through town with my head down, eyes averted. And I see more and more each day. Art is everywhere; a jumble of beauty and silliness and romance and history ornament Nantes, the obvious and the clandestine, changing the face of a staid bourgeois city. Art and architecture in a torrent of colors and designs reshape the city, adding excitement and personality and I capture it every time I walk out onto the street. Joyously.

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A VISUAL FEAST

DOUBLE VISION

Seek the wisdom of the ages, 

but look at the world through the eyes of a child

- Ron Wild

I spy the world through a camera lens. I wander the city peering through my iphone. Since discovering instagram, I have an entirely new outlook on my own city as if I am now standing on a mountaintop with the world spread out at my feet. I stroll through the streets at a snail’s pace instead of my usual dash, stopping here and there, maybe much too often, to snap photos, capture images, capture the details of this city that I had long been seeing as a whole.

The mystery is gone. Or replaced with another, replaced with fascination. My everyday habits are no longer automatic reflexes, the city I traverse every day no longer a bundle of buildings standing tall, anonymously above the hard pavement and nothing more. I look up rather than always in front, look up and notice gorgeous detailing on buildings, statues in niches, swags of flowers, faces and animals carved into stone curving graciously, lightly over door tops. Slowed down, I look around and spy artwork, paintings, graffiti, sculptures, elegant, humorous, silly sneaking around me, waiting to be noticed, a city’s playfulness awaiting my reaction. I peer in windows and see treasures; I pause in front of glass cases and see wonderful delicacies. I sit on terraces, camera poised, and notice individuals rather than masses of movement, crowds of the anonymous.

Spending a day in Paris with David and The One, visiting the market street of Rue Poncelet with her food shops open and spilling out onto the sidewalk, I saw and experienced the food I take for granted everyday through the eyes of visitors, visitors excited by the novelty, the picturesque beauty, the very Frenchness of what was offered. We admired the roasted chickens, we tasted terrine de foie gras, we breathed in the heady scent of a jumble of cheeses. We were dazzled by the brilliant colors of rows upon rows of fruits and vegetables dressed in violet, red, yellow and greens. We ogled the pastry in the neighborhood boulangerie as for the very first time, weighing the delight of chocolate versus fruit tarts, buying a baguette as a great treat. Not exactly “look(ing) at the world through the eyes of a child” but almost. A shopping trip with David, his own phone poised to capture every enticing image, I began looking at what I was surrounded with day after day in a new light, appreciating the abundance of fresh products piled high on market stalls or stacked elegantly behind glass windows.

Wondrous beauty like objects of art, I now wander through my own city’s market and look carefully at each and every delicacy from glistening sausages and roasts decorated and wrapped like Christmas gifts, from golden apricots and fragrant berries, blocks of pale cheeses graced with ripples of black truffles like valuable ore in marble, to perfect rows of chocolate éclairs and fruit tartlets, powdery soft puffs of flour dusted and tossed over perfect oval gnocchi. The colors, the scents and odors, the shapes and textures pop out at me, offering a veritable feast before carrying home my treasures for degustation.

I now leave my home with my phone or camera clutched in my fingers, at the ready, my eyes peeled for each and every detail, unusual feature, the ordinary now seen as extraordinary. Through my iphone, I now see the magic in the world around me, the mysteries and enchantment in all that I have come to take for granted. And I am left enthralled.

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