Tart

I've always loved to bake.  I vividly remember making brownies for the first time with my aunt Jeanette in the kitchen she shared with my grandmother on Long Island.  I remember the pounds of dough my mother kneaded, rolled, pressed, and dusted with sugar every Christmas.  Halloweens when my grandmother from Brooklyn visited, fresh apple pies were the solution to not biting into the apples we received as treats for fear they were "laced" with razor blades.  Gotta wonder which candy company started that myth.

Living alone, and consuming a sugar and lactose free diet, I only pull out the cookie sheets and baking pans when there's a holiday or occasion.  Last night's dinner with the astronaut whose life we're adapting into a series was the perfect excuse to peruse my cookbooks and experiment with a new recipe.  Juicy red plums from the farmers market gave me a direction, and I finally settled on Nancy Silverton's hazelnut and plum tart.  Several labor intensive steps:  roasting and peeling the nuts, toasting and grinding anise seeds, infusing melted butter with vanilla bean, took longer than anticipated.  Having to rechill the dough after difficulty rolling it, threw a wrench into my timing.   I brought it to DS's half-baked, certain the recipe didn't call for a twenty minute car ride of twists and turns midway through the process, but I had no choice.  I only have the other guests to gauge how it turned out, but the empty plates and smiles suggested it turned out well.