Holly Herrick - Tart Love: Sassy, Savory, and Sweet

My relationship with tarts has not always been sweet. In fact, it could more accurately be defined as a mild dislike that eventually developed into a true lovea little like that pesky boy you knew in third grade who by the time high school rolled around had morphed into the man of your dreams.

My first exposure to the term tart had nothing to do with food. It came via my older brother Tom when he was in tenth grade and just beginning to expand his vocabulary for upcoming college exams. He learned in English class that a tart was a kind of wanton woman. He couldnt resist throwing the term relentlessly at my twin sister Heather and me, declaring almost daily for what seemed like a very long time, You silly tarts, with aggravating adolescent swagger punctuated by an obnoxious giggle. Of course, at least at that young age, we were nothing of the kind, but it sent my mind wondering about the true meaning of tarts, and especially their edible casing, pastry. That wouldnt come until a decade later when I got married and simultaneously met and adopted Doris Herrick as my mother-in-law.

Dori, as she was affectionately called, amazed me. She cooked three delicious meals a day, always neatly coiffed and made up, wearing heels and a pretty dress. She never looked flustered in the kitchen, certainly never perspired, and practically always whistled while she worked. An Iowa farm girl at heart, she ate pig virtually three meals a day and never gained an ounce. But the thing that impressed me more than anything else was that Dori could make pie pastry that could make a grown man cry, or at least come begging for more. I came to believe it was this skill that in no small part contributed to her very happy 50-plus year marriage to the love of her life, Walt.

I marveled at Doris deftness with pastry and told her so. Slowly but surely, she began to teach me in her gentle, motherly way. For Dori, pastry was always made by hand, using a pastry blender and a bowl, and it always included equal parts lard (she swore by leaf lard, the rendered lard from the fat surrounding the pigs kidney) and sweet butter to two parts flour. After that, it was simply a matter of adding just enough water to hold it together. The rest was elementary, or so she said. She never fussed with tart pans and was ardently committed to the world of deep-dish pies, usually fruit or pecan.

At home, in my own kitchen, I tried to replicate Doris pastry for several years, but I always felt that mine fell short. It just didnt have the right flake factor or buttery deliciousness. I didnt hold that against Dori. She became one of my best friends, and though shes now passed, remains the same in my heart. She was the person who set me on the path of learning the joys of cooking. I can never make pastry without thinking of her.

Dori was my inspiration for pursuing culinary training at Le Cordon Bleu, Paris, France, where I learned the mechanics of pastry (well get there in the Perfecting Pastry chapter), was introduced to tarts, and finally got comfortable in my own tart skin. But it was a petite woman with a huge heart who I met in the soulfully beautiful Pays Cathare in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France that fully opened the doors of my mind to the limitless possibilities of tarts.

After graduating from cooking school in Paris and falling in love with France, my by now tart-happy husband and I decided to buy a small house in that rugged part of the country. Simone lived in a tiny village about 12 kilometers from mine called St.-Jean-de-Paracol. We met through mutual friends in her beautiful, bougainvillea-walled garden over glasses of Blanquette de Limoux and a savory platter ofwhat else?tarts.

Besides her celebrated couscous and choucroute garni (sausage and sauerkraut dish), Simone was best known for her tarts, especially the savory kind. A frugal widow of limited financial means and mother of two young girls, she was most often found in her rocky garden with a Mediterranean view, cultivating the foods that fed her family and, often, friends. Winter squash, fennel, figs, tomatoes, zucchini, mushrooms, apples, cherries, onions, arugula, spinach, endives and assorted cheeses and meats from the local marches any and allwere delicious tart-topping fare. Encased in simple pastry, and often puff pastry, these became low-cost, high-nutrient meals-in-one and were frequent features at her always delicious table.

Before Simone, I thought of tarts as sweet, a kind of dessert. After Simone, the universe of tarts became literally limitless.

In Tart Love, it is my desire to share some of Doris, Simones and my pastry and tart wisdom so that you, too, can revel in the joy and delicious diversity of tarts. As you read the following book and practice the techniques, hopefully you, like I did, will shed any trepidation you may have about pastry and experience firsthand the pleasure of flour-dusted hands, the heady aroma of baking butter, and the unparalleled beauty of the tart. Perhaps with patience and renewed confidence, youll even fall in love.