Lagniappe: A Citrus Tart and the Unexpected

The air is clear and cold, and there are paper-white narcissi in a bowl on the table, filling the kitchen with their gentle, vanilla smell. Winter at its purest. This is the sort of day on which I like to bake — a cake, a pie, a tart perhaps. I enjoy making pastry, though rarely do, each time adding as much butter as I dare, just to see how crisp and fragile I can get the crust. Today I want something fresh, with a clean bite to it, a dessert to make everyone smack their lips. I decide on a lime custard tart in the style of a tarte au citron. The lime zest cuts through the cool air. The warm smell of baking pastry wafts into the house. Heaven. Halfway through baking, I check the tart's progress only to find the pastry shell empty and the citrus filling forming a lemon-colored pool on the baking sheet. I pile the whole damn failure into a bowl (and later eat it in secret after everyone has gone home) and start again.

Nigel Slater, The Kitchen Diaries

I can relate. I love, love, love that honesty.