I was skeptical about this tart when I first read about it. And I wasn’t the only one in my house who was not enthusiastic about it.
Me: My project this week is a lemon and cranberry tart.
Roommate Kathy: Ugh. <spitting sound> Bogberries.
She calls cranberries bogberries. Because that is what they are, berries grown in a bog. The cran part is marketing, because who would eat bogberries or drink bogberry juice?
I also don’t like cranberries. Or bogberries. Whatever. I merely tolerate them. I don’t ever exclaim “Cranberries! Yay!” I will have a tablespoon of the canned stuff next to my turkey on Thanksgiving. I will eat craisins already in something, because they are mostly sugar and it’s too much work to pick them out. Cranberry nut bread? I’ll eat it if there is no banana bread nearby. Unsweetened cranberry juice is medicine for a UTI. Otherwise, thanks but I’ll pass.
I didn’t try too hard to find cranberries for this recipe. I jogged (more like sprinted) through the produce department, looking around (not very carefully) for a bag. Since I didn’t see any (oh, darn!) I decided to use blueberries instead. Blueberries and lemon? That will work. Enthusiasm went up.
The crust of this tart was tasty. Really delicious. When I make a tart I save some dough to patch it. Not this time. I ate it. It was the best almond cookie dough I ever had. Not too sweet, lots of almond flavor, buttery, oh so good. I should have skipped the filling part and just ate raw dough and been very happy.
I made the blueberry sauce. It was good. If I made more and cooked it longer, I would have had blueberry preserves! I may do that sometime.
I made the lemon curd. I stirred and stirred and stirred it over the double boiler. I think I stood at the stove for 20 minutes stirring hot lemon curd, hoping it would thicken. NOTE: that is probably not the best idea. Maybe a gentle stir every minute would have worked. Next time I will stir, then put something in the kitchen away. Or wash a dish or two. Then stir again.
I put the tart together. Poured in the warm curd into the crust. My blueberries would not pour nicely as a ribbon. It was more like a blop of berries. (Is blop a word? It’s probably Dutch for “non-homogeneous measure of fruit.” Or maybe Hungarian.) I sort of pushed the berries down into the curd. I added the final layer of curd. I re-draped the foil edging around the tart.
Here is where my poor maligned tart went further afield. I put it in the oven, and I set the timer on my phone for 15 minutes. I went into the living room and played a game.
An unknown (but longer than 15 minutes) interval of time passed. I realized that the tart was still in the oven. And my timer did not go off.
I pulled the tart out and it looked … overcooked. Not burnt, but not bright yellow anymore. Brownish-reddish mixed with purple. And it leaked. I put it on the back porch to cool off and went to bed, disappointed and annoyed with myself.
The next morning, I wrestled it out of the tart pan. It looked better in the daylight. I cut a couple of small pieces and took a bite.
Rose was not kidding when she called this a TART tart. It was like I shoved a handful of lemon drops and an almond in my mouth. LEMON!!!! I couldn’t taste the blueberry. I got the crust but … LEMON!!!!!!
Not wanting to suffer alone, I offered a bit to Kathy. She knew I had substituted blueberries for the cranberries. She took a bite. She got serious pucker-face. It was like watching a YouTube video of small children eating something sour.
No one in the house liked it. I didn’t even share it. I ate the edges and tossed the rest of it. Sad.
I am looking forward to chocolate chip cookies, though!
This post is part of the Alpha Bakers bake-along. It’s an online project where a group of food bloggers bake our way through The Baking Bible by Rose Levy Beranbaum.
Most of the recipes made during this project will not be shared. If you see something amazing and want to know about the recipe please let me know. You might want to get the book for yourself, or at least check it out from your local library before deciding.