Aunt Piggy (also known as my sister-in-law who dumped her brother, me, and the boys for the promiseland with her honey, um, I mean who moved to Oregon a couple of years ago to pursue her culinary dreams) started a blog. Her blog has a tart of the week feature. A tart of the eating kind. (A tart that is edible by all, not just by sickos that Google weird things...so if you are that sicko, then back away slowly before I karate chop your ass out of my blog!)
I really miss Aunt Piggy and I'm kind of pissy that we can't benefit from her culinary prowess (or experience the Northwest). So when she started this tart of the week thing, I thought, "Hey, I can tart it Aunt Piggy style." Well at least I can try. It'll actually end up being an incestuous bastard culinary treat, just about 3 tiers down and 2 measuring cups over from what it originally was intended to be. But I will try.
Aunt Piggy doesn't have two boys with grabby, grubby hands fluttering around her convinced that, yes, in fact they do like lemon. Wrong. Aunt Piggy has culinary tools, like a tart pan and a food scale. I bet she even has a "zester" if there is such a thing. As I was grating away various peels, I was wishing there was such a thing. Aunt Piggy probably has an oven that works. At least better than mine, which is near death.
So I tried. And it's in the oven doing its thing. I already burnt the tart crust edges. Shhh. Don't tell her. This was after I called her to ask her some serious questions like "Can I cook the beans after I use them as weights on the crust? Or does that use up all of their cookedness?" I did not remember to ask her if I could use parchment paper instead of foil, because I couldn't find my foil. I think the burnt crust means parchment paper is not a good substitute. She said I could use plastic wrap, but apparently there is this whole "missing ion" theory that goes with it. Maybe that's what causes autism. My kids have plastic wrap poisoning.
My kitchen looks like she was right here with me. Flour dust is still settling. Pools of lemon juice are corroding the new counter top. Some broccoli is dying on the floor. Oh wait, that was from dinner. Aunt Piggy is a messy culinary chick. Just like me. And I miss her. I remember now how much fun it is to bake and cook even if you screw it up.
And here is my first attempt at culinary incest. Looks sorta like burnt scrambled egg potpie. Dirty bastard.*
*Updated to add that it was actually good. And very tart. But good. Now what do I do with the rest of it so I don't binge on it all day. Crap.