A Humble Tart

The proper season for strawberries is long past, but still they refuse to disappear from the super markets. For weeks I've been eyeing them suspiciously, wondering why they won't go away. And then feeling guilty for indulging such uncharitable thoughts. The strawberries can't help themselves, I tell myself. They don't know any better. They've been duped into tricking out their colors. Like the seals that perform at the aquarium for some raw herring snacks they are too good-natured even to show any embarrassment on behalf of their task masters.They kindly leave them to indulge their illusions of mastery.

A Humble Strawberry Tart

My conscience unsettled, I sniffed last night at a carton while at the grocery store. To my surprise, they had an odor. Even more to my surprise, they smelled like strawberries.

A Humble Strawberry Tart Before it is Glazed

The fruit fates were calling a truce and I accepted. The result is a rather humble tart, rather homely around the edges. But fragrant. And ruby toned. And toothsome. A little humility, I reckon, is never out of season, and never tasted so good.

A Thin Layer of Jam

The filling is an improvised hash. Some mango diced fine. Some of the strawberries crushed. A bit of sugar, a bit of cornstarch, a splash of rum, half a jar of seedless preserves languishing too long in the refrigerator. All cooked at a simmer a few minutes, stirring constantly.

The Blind Shell

The pastry is my standard 4321. Four tablespoons of butter and three tablespoons of shortening to one cup of flour. A pinch of baking powder, a tablespoon of cider vinegar, a few tablespoons of water, a long rest in the refrigerator, and a light frissage to finish things off.

 The First Piece

The glaze is clear Tortenguss, dabbed on gently with a pastry brush, not poured. I got a supply when I was in Germany a couple of years ago, but no doubt it is available online.