We took a lake house vacation this past summer. Pete planned it up over the holidays of 2019 (those halcyon golden days) thinking that some relaxing time together with board games and boats and campfires would be ever so welcome. My grandparents retired to a place not far from where we stayed and I was looking forward to having a look at the world up there through the middle-aged eyes I seem to have acquired.
We went anyway because it turns out that we actually like each other and found some bubble friends to come along. I started thinking about keeping all those people fed (because nobody likes hungry Larson Babies) and nearly had a panic attack because how do you quickly and reliably source take out food while on a lake 20 minutes from town? And they all look at ME when it's time to eat. The solution was simple: make a pit stop at Nueske's for provisions on the way up, find a local farmer's market, and just cook.
My grandmother worked in the kitchen at Mt. Sinai hospital and had a catering side hustle. There's a lot of family recipes that taste like my childhood, but two things about her are ingrained in my memory:
1. If you're using someone else's kitchen, bring your own tools. Pack your knives or at the very least, a sharpener. If you're feeding 8 for a week, take your sheet pans and favorite small appliances. A rolling pin seems silly when it's so easy to improvise, though.
2. Stock the basics, namely: eggs, butter, and onions. With these 3 things you can produce something from seemingly nothing. Go look in your fridge right now. Go on, I'll wait. Potatoes and bacon? Great, make a burrito. Ground beef and carrots? You're a meatloaf hero. Cheese? Soufflé, baby. You can do it. Nothing? Cool. Make scrambled eggs. No one is sad about scrambled eggs with minced, caramelized onions. Sharp cheese and mustard? Excellent. You can make a tart. Really. I made one on vacation. And it became the summer of tarts.
We think tarts are hard because crust and special pans. Think about it this way, though: it's about $1.50 to make a crust. If it doesn't work, send it down the disposal and you've feed the fish. If it does work, well then it's a whole new world. Let's do this now, ok?
Get out of bed 15 minutes early. (If you're not a morning person I don't understand but fine, do this step before you go to bed you weird night owl freak.) Make Aaron's tart dough on page 395. Use sour cream or whole milk yogurt if you don't have the cream. It'll all work out. Tart dough is actually kind of forgiving, so long as you keep it cold cold cold and let it have a nap. Wrap it up in plastic and go to work or whatever it is you do all day long. (Read the fat chapter?) We'll meet back in the kitchen later, ok?
Since the heirloom tomatoes and farmer's markets are gone, console yourself with a crisp glass of white wine and sharpen your biggest knife. Take all the onions and shallots (which really are magic and does anyone else constantly think of her) and caramelize as per directions on page 254. Not blond. not browned. But caramelized. People will come in the kitchen to find out what's going on. Hide the wine and grumble about tarts.
While all that magic is happening with your olive oil, go get your dairy fat and flour out of the fridge. You can press it into a tart pan if you have one, otherwise just roll it on out like Samin says on page 395. Her sheet pan trick is genius. Parchment paper is your friend. If you need some, just come stand in my driveway. I bought a GIANT box at restaurant supply a year or so back and I'm glad to share. I keep a small tape measure in the kitchen for such times. It's this cute little keychain thing and I'm surprised how often I use it. I've also measured my hand but never seem to remember the dimensions, I think mostly because my hands are, well, big. It's ok. I know I'm the one.
When you're about to dump your onions and shallots into the crust, just pump the brakes for a hot second and let's talk about the mustard. It's this magic little acidic zippy bit in between those layers of fat. You'll be so glad you did it. I used a coarse grain stone ground because we were out of dijon because I made so many tomato tarts this summer. Just put the mustard on the crust, ok? It's the right thing to do. Since you have some parmesan left from the cacio e pepe, go ahead and throw some on top. Because cheese is never a bad idea.
Bake bake bake. Think about how your kitchen smells like your grandmother. Wonder if it's weird that onions are the aroma of your childhood visits to north woods kitchens. Decide that it's ok, because you're a bit of a marvel like your grandmother because you've made a bit of something from nothing. And that feels awfully good right now.
Thanksgiving might be a little lonely this year. Around here, Harry has talked us all into creating D&D characters (Pete's is from 1982 and it is so awesome that I cannot even say more) and we're making lasagne. But Samin tells us we should make pumpkin pie. And after eating that onion tart for dinner with a smoked pork chop and then for breakfast with a fried egg, I'm once again convinced we should do everything she says. So how about on Wednesday night at 7 pm central time, we hop on a little video call and mix up our pies together? If you're not making pie, that's fine. Bring some wine and say hello and be grateful together with us.
If you'd like to join, send a note to me or Patty, whichever way you know how, and we'll get you the goods.
xo-
c.
ps: up next: pumpkin pie.
pps: since it's never enough with me (my grandmother would have referred to this behavior as being a 'splatterass'), I also made the apple frangipani tart. i can assure that you should not make this if you do not wish to gain 5 lbs in a single week. it was delicious.
ppps: since it's been all tarts all the time over here, i'm going to be working on making a beautiful tart next. the cranberry curd over at the new york times cooking section is in my crosshairs. anyone make this already?
pppps: splatterass is the best word ever, right?
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