Eeek, Thursday already! How did that happen? I’ve been busy with a freelance photography job this week, and between that and getting ready for my upcoming Italian break, I’ve barely had a moment for blogging. Any second that wasn’t spent taking, uploading or editing photos was automatically bookmarked for restaurant research, laundry and last-minute purchases. Do we think four bottles of sunscreen is enough for five days?

I had hoped to post some more recipes this week; though I might be busy, I’ve still been eating pretty well. But I’m realistic about the likelihood of me finding time to post again before Sunday morning (not likely), so this will be it for another ten days or so. But talk about going out with a bang! This Strawbuckle (get it? Strawberry Buckle?) is one of the yummiest desserts I’ve made in months, and certainly my favourite strawberry dish of the season.

Like I said on Sunday, I was a little down about the impending end of strawberry season, so I wanted one last strawberry shebang (incidentally, another awesome dessert name) before I went away. My galettes had been somewhat of a disappointment, and nothing this summer had come close to the levels of deliciousness reached by last year’s Strawberry Mascarpone Tart.

I had my work cut out for me, but luckily inspiration was close at hand. Deb had recently posted a nectarine buckle, both the name and description of which piqued my interest. This American take on cobbler has three components: cake batter, fruit and a streusel topping. On baking, the batter puffs up around the sinking fruit, causing the cake to “buckle”. And since I love any opportunity for wordplay, my Strawbuckle was born. (Seriously, not kidding about the wordplay. My best friend will confirm- my favourite one during university was “Can I borrow your awl? I’ve looked all over for mine.” Perhaps something I shouldn’t admit on the internet.)

I changed Deb’s recipe up a bit, cutting down on the sugar (though it’s still a very sweet cake, be warned) and replacing some of the white sugar with brown. The combination of brown sugar and strawberries is one that isn’t celebrated enough, I always feel. The obvious summer-ness of the fruit is strangely complemented by that molasses sweetness, usually associated with winter baking. Adding the tartness of sour cream into the mix takes things to another level, so I did that, too.

I certainly won’t be eating like this next week in Italy- gelato and prosecco are the indulgences I have in mind for then. But since I also won’t likely be enjoying British strawberries for another year, I figure what’s the harm of indulging now? So, until we meet again…

• Strawbuckle
• adapted from Smitten Kitchen
• makes one 8″ x 8″ square cake
• For the cake:
  1 1/2 cup plain flour
  2 tsp. baking powder
  1/2 tsp. salt
  113g (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
  1/2 cup sugar
  1/4 cup brown sugar
  2 eggs
  1 tsp. vanilla extract
  1/2 cup sour cream
  1/4 cup milk
  380g strawberries, washed and hulled
  
  For the streusel:
  57g (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, very soft
  1/4 cup brown sugar
  1/4 cup plain flour
  pinch mixed spice (or cinnamon)
• 1. Preheat the oven to 175°C/350°F. Prepare an 8 x 8″ cake pan by greasing and flouring. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt and set aside.
  
  2. With an electric beater or in a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time and the vanilla, and beat until incorporated. Next, beat in the sour cream and milk- the mixture may curdle at this stage, but don’t worry. Add the dry ingredients in three additions and mix well, scraping down the sides of the bowl. The mixture will come together into a smooth cake batter.
  
  3. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan, and dot the strawberries over the surface.
  
  4. To make the streusel, mix together all ingredients using an electric mixer, a spoon, or even your fingers. It should reach a breadcrumb-like consistency. Sprinkle the streusel over the top of the cake, in between all the strawberries.
  
  5. Bake the buckle for 40 minutes- the strawberries will sink and be barely visible, while the streusel-topped cake will puff up brown and golden. Allow to cool completely before serving, as the fruit layer makes this cake delicate.

This blog is such an enabler. Here I am, in the middle of my early-summer “yikes-it’s-skirt-and-tank-top-weather-when-did-that-happen?” health kick, and finally sticking to a running schedule for the first time in months, and what do I do? Bake, of course. Why? Because my blog needs sweets.

Over the past 14 months Kitchenist has taken on a life of its own, so much so that it’s started demanding baked goods, and fancy ones at that. Most people bake for someone – kids, houseguests, co-workers, a partner – who can appreciate, or at least consume, the fruits of their labour. Not me, I bake for my blog. Which, as it turns out, doesn’t have much of an appetite.

This Coffee-Ginger-Pistachio cake is a good example of how my blog cajoles and convinces me to bake it fancy treats, and then leaves me to eat them. Of course, this cake wasn’t all that fancy to begin with; it started life as an iced-in-the-pan, square-tin sweet. But with the controlling Kitchenist whispering in my ear, I made some changes. That square tin became a round one, and the resulting cake got sliced in half to become a modest layer cake. With the rustically spread cream cheese frosting and the artfully sprinkled pistachio pieces, you’d almost think that someone other than me or my boyfriend was going to enjoy this thing.

Because in my book, this is the kind of cake that you make for a reason; dinner party, a birthday, something where “impressive” is on the menu. Generally I ignore this brand of dessert and focus on simpler fare, like cookies, squares and loaf cakes. But I suppose there’s nothing wrong with making something fancy for no reason at all. It keeps the blog happy, anyway.

Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my evening run.

• Coffee-Ginger-Pistachio Cake
• adapted from The Guardian
• makes one 9″ cake, cut into 2 layers
• For the cake:
  50g unsalted butter
  75ml milk
  1 Tbs. ground coffee (not instant)
  2cm piece of ginger, finely grated (about 1 Tbs.)
  2 eggs
  200g caster sugar
  100ml neutral oil
  75g pistachios, chopped
  75g glacé ginger, chopped
  275g plain flour
  1 Tbs. baking powder
  1/4 tsp. salt
  
  For the topping:
  200g cream cheese, at room temperature
  125g unsalted butter, at room temperature
  zest of one lemon
  2 tsp. lemon juice
  175g icing sugar
  25g pistachios, chopped
• 1. Line the bottom of a 9″ cake tin with parchment and butter the sides lightly. Preheat the oven to 180°C/35°0F.
  
  2. Melt the butter in a small pot over low heat, then remove and mix in the milk, coffee and ginger. Set aside.
  
  3. Beat the eggs and sugar together with an electric mixer until pale and foamy, then beat in the coffee mixture and oil until well combined. Stir in the pistachios and glacé ginger then fold in the flour, baking powder and salt.
  
  4. Scrape the mixture into the prepared pan and bake for 30-35 minutes, until an inserted skewer comes out clean. Let cool completely before carefully slicing in half with your largest knife; separate the layers until ready to ice.
  
  5. To make the icing, beat the cream cheese with an electric mixer for one minute, until smooth and creamy. Add the butter and beat for another minute. Briefly beat in the lemon zest and juice before adding the icing sugar and beating until just combined.
  
  6. Spread half the icing over the first layer of cake before carefully topping with the second layer. Cover with the remaining icing and sprinkle with the pistachios.

There was no farmer’s market around here yesterday; cancelled due to the 30th annual London Marathon. Usually, I welcome this once-yearly break from the norm and watch the festivities from my living room windows. But this year I slept through the whole thing, and didn’t even have the possibility of fresh veg to cheer me up after.

Still, there’s no reason why any of us should be deprived of my favourite shade. After a leisurely walk around the neighborhood with Andrew, I returned to my kitchen determined to make some sort of celebratory, Sunday-afternoon, Marathon-day, green treat. So here we have it: Lime Coconut Yogurt Cake.

Ok, so the cake isn’t exactly green. But allow me my exaggeration, because I’ve been loving limes lately. Like their paler counterpart, limes lend that summer freshness to a dish, but with a little something extra as well. I remember being 11 years old and discovering Limeade, and feeling like I’d been let in on some great culinary secret. This was Lemonade’s more sophisticated cousin, and I felt particularly discerning sipping it on the back deck. It’s the same with baking. A lemon yogurt cake is good, but a little run-of-the-mill. A lime yogurt cake? With coconut? Now we’re talking.

This cake may not carry the same health factor as a head of broccoli, some leeks and a bunch of fresh herbs, and I’m not quite suggesting substituting one for the other. Still, in lieu of a load of fresh veggies it curbed my craving for something green. Even if it was only the baking utensils I used.

• Lime Coconut Yogurt Cake
• adapted from Smitten Kitchen
• makes one 9″ loaf
• 1 cup full-fat plain yogurt
  1/3 cup neutral oil
  1 cup sugar
  zest and juice of 2 limes
  2 eggs
  1 1/2 cups plain flour
  1/2 cup unsweetened, desiccated coconut
  1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
  1/2 tsp. baking soda
  1/4 tsp. salt
• 1. Preheat the oven to 175°C/350°C. Butter and flour a 9″ loaf pan very well, and set aside.
  
  2. In a large bowl, mix together the yogurt, oil, sugar and lime zest and juice well. Add the eggs one at a time and whisk until well combined.
  
  3. In a smaller bowl, whisk together the rest of the ingredients. Add to the wet ones in two batches, whisking after each to ensure a uniform consistency.
  
  4. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and bake for 45-55 minutes, until golden brown on top. A toothpick inserted into the centre won’t quite come out clean (this is tricky with yogurt-based cakes) , but the cake will feel slightly spongy when touched. Cool completely before slicing and serving.

Every Christmas morning, my mum or sister will bake blueberry muffins. A strange choice for the time of year perhaps, but they’re made with frozen berries that Mum buys, freezes and hordes during the warmer months. For me, the origin of the berries is a moot point; my disinclination for cooked fruit means that I get two muffins made especially for me- before the offending berries are added. Oh, how I love my blueberry-less blueberry muffins.

The exceptions to my no-fruit rule are subtle but concrete: I like fruit-based desserts if the fruit in question is raw, baked but structurally intact, or else cooked and mushed beyond recognition. This last stipulation hasn’t been illustrated on the blog yet, so when I bought these blueberries at the market on Sunday, I thought this was as good an opportunity as any to give it a go.

I envisioned a blueberry purée swirl running through a delicious white cake, creating a feast for eyes and tastebuds alike. Inspired by Deb‘s Cream Cheese Pound Cake, I decided that a ring cake, rich with cream cheese and zingy with lemon zest, was just the vehicle for this experiment. I don’t have one of those massive 12-cup bundt pans, but I do have a silicone savarin mould from Sabre in Paris*. (My favourite cookery store which I’ve never been to: I love their products but alas, the pan was a gift.) Slightly smaller than a traditional bundt and far less fancy, this pan generally serves me well in the cake game.

And this was no exception; my swirly ring cake was a resounding success. Though I fear I overbaked it slightly, it was rich and moist, with the bright and zingy blueberry swirl a purple stroke of genius. I can’t promise that I’ll be taking my Christmas muffins with blueberries this year, but I’m getting there. Maybe if I can convince the rest of my family of the merits of a swirl?

*Edit: My Mum has emailed to say that while the cake cutter she bought me was from Sabre, the savarin mould was only purchased at Bon Marche. Sigh, how plebeian.

• Blueberry Swirl Pound Cake
• adapted from Smitten Kitchen‘s Cream Cheese Pound Cake
• makes one 24cm ring cake
• Blueberry Swirl
  150g (about 1 1/2 cups) fresh blueberries
  2 tsp. sugar
  1 tsp. lemon juice
  1 tsp. water

  Cake
  170g unsalted butter
  113g cream cheese
  1 1/4 cups sugar
  3 eggs
  1 1/2 cups plain flour
  1 tsp. salt
  1 tsp. vanilla
  2 tsp. lemon juice
  zest of one lemon

• 1. Preheat the oven to 160°C/325°F. To make the blueberry swirl, mix together all ingredients in a small saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium-high heat and cook for 5-8 minutes until thickened. Stir occasionally with a wooden spoon or spatula, crushing the berries as you go. Set aside to cool.
  
  2. In a large bowl (or a stand mixer), cream together the butter and cream cheese until smooth. Add the sugar and beat for another 3-5 minutes, until light and fluffy.
  
  3. Add the eggs one at a time, beating after each until smooth. Add the flour and the salt and beat until just blended. Finally, gently fold in the vanilla, lemon juice and lemon zest.
  
  4. Remove 1/2 cup of batter to the saucepan with the (now slightly cooled) blueberries. Mix well until you have a bright purple batter.
  
  5. Pour the rest of the batter into your ring pan and shake to distribute evenly. Dollop the purple blueberry batter on top and swirl the two together, using a toothpick or metal skewer. Be careful not to over-swirl! You want some purple and yellow bits to remain.
  
  6. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean, about one hour.

I’ve already mentioned my dislike for cooked-fruit desserts here on Kitchenist. It’s the texture: fruit should be crunchy (apples), or crisp (grapes), or at the most pleasantly yielding (bananas), but never a soft, mushy mess. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to get over this hangup. As a consequence, pies have been off the menu for most of my life. Sure, I’ll take a lemon meringue one or a yummy chocolate version, but an old-fashioned apple pie? Forget it.

However, there is one fruit pie that I’ll eat, and happily. My mum’s peach pie is not only baked, but it’s absolutely delicious. I’m not sure what makes this pie so different (I’m amazed she got me to try it in the first place), but I have a hunch. It’s made with fruit halves instead of slices, and while fruit slices can quickly disintegrate into mush territory, whole peach halves have a bit more structural integrity.

More importantly though, did I mention that it’s a peach pie? That alone was probably enough to convince me. To my tastebuds, nothing says August like a juicy, ripe Ontario peach. Growing up we ate them all the time, so imagine how upset I was when I moved to London and discovered that you can’t get peaches here. Well, of course you can- but they’re imported, and just not as tasty as my beloved Ontario ones. Watery peaches with an aftertaste of environmental guilt do not a happy Ele make. Believe it or not, but I haven’t had a peach in almost three years. 

Given that a) for nearly three years I’d behaved like a paradigm of virtue, b) I was craving peaches like there was no tomorrow, and c) I really wanted to share this recipe on the blog, I decided, just this one, to cave in a buy some peaches. Only, I couldn’t. No, not the guilt again- the peaches! Apparently I’m the only one with such misgivings about imported fruit, because my grocery store was completely barren of the fruit when I went to buy it. As in there was a single sad, bruised fruit at the bottom of an otherwise empty bin. Determined to have my pie, I bought some nectarines instead. I mean they’re just fuzzless peaches, after all.

To get my hands on Mum’s recipe, I asked my sister. She’s usually more on the ball with these things than I am, and I figured she’d have it already. Turns out my favourite peach pie is from the famous Canadian Mennonite cookbook Food that Really Schmecks. I should have known; this classic is full of delicious, old-fashioned recipes. 

Hil didn’t send a pastry recipe, but I quickly found one to adapt for my needs. I changed the filling only slightly, throwing in some blueberries from the farmer’s market. My mum often made this variation, and I almost like it more than the original. Yes, the blueberries do go soft, but I don’t mind in their case- perhaps because they bypass the mush stage and become almost a jam, holding the peaches together. 

Whatever the reason, this pie is worth making. Whether you’re like me and hate cooked fruit, or are (likely the case) more normal, just make it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it became your favourite pie, too.

• Peach and Blueberry Pie
• adapted from Food that Really Schmecks by Edna Staebler
• makes one 10″ pie
• 1 unbaked 10″ pie shell (plain or slightly sweet pastry) 
  4 Tbs. plain flour
  2/3 cup sugar
  1 tsp. lemon zest
  28g (2 Tbs.) unsalted butter, cut into 1cm pieces
  4 ripe peaches (or nectarines)
  1 cup of fresh blueberries
  3 Tbs. water
  2 Tbs. lemon juice
• 1. Preheat your oven to 190°C/375°F. Mix together the flour, sugar and lemon zest in a small bowl. Using your fingers, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Set aside.
  
  2. To peel the peaches, bring a large pot of water to the boil, and prepare a large bowl of ice water. When the water boils, remove it from the heat. Cut a small X in the bottom of each peach. Drop them into the boiling water 30 seconds each, before removing to the ice water. Once cooled, the skin should easily pull away. Halve the peaches, remove the pits and set aside. 
  
  3. Spread half the crumbs in the bottom of the unbaked pie shell. Arrange the peach halves face-down in the shell, and scatter the blueberries between them. Cover with the remaining crumbs. 
  
  4. Mix together the water and lemon juice, and drizzle over the top of the pie. Bake for 35-40 minutes, until the crust is golden and the blueberries are bubbling. Cool before serving.

• Slightly Sweet Pie Crust
• adapted from Hilary‘s Pie-like Fruit Bake 
• makes enough for one 10″ pie crust (bottom only)
• 112g unsalted butter, cold and cut into 1cm pieces
  1 cup + 2 Tbs. all purpose flour, more for rolling
  1 Tbs. sugar
  1/2 tsp. salt
  1/4 cup ice-cold water 
• 1. To make your pastry dough, mix together the flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Using your fingers, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add about half the water and work until it just comes together- you may need to add more water, but do so drop by drop. 
  
  2. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and leave in the fridge for at least 30 minutes, and at most 3 days.
  
  3. When you’re ready to make your pie shell, take the dough from the fridge and roll out on a well-floured surface. Press into a non-stick pie or tart tin, or else one that has been buttered and floured. If parts break, simply patch with a bit of dough. Put the unbaked pie shell in the fridge until you need it.

I noted on the weekend that I haven’t been posting many desserts lately, and vowed to step up my game. True to my word, I got right to it yesterday; I was in a cake-baking mood and had some berries from the market, so a strawberry-topped cake seemed just the thing.

I can’t claim that this cake was entirely spontaneous though, being inspired by one I sampled a few weeks ago at the Books for Cooks test kitchen in Notting Hill. Simply called “Buttermilk Cake”, it was a tender, single-layered dream of a thing, piled high with fresh strawberries atop a thick layer of what I assume was crème patisserie.

The addition of semolina may or may not have been my own idea. With such a vague moniker as “Buttermilk Cake” I couldn’t be sure that the Books for Cooks cake contained any, but there was a pleasing gritty texture to it, which my spidey sense (ok, my mouth) attributed to the Italian grain. Whether or not there was any is completely irrelevent, of course: I knew I was onto something with the thought.  

As the idea ruminated further in my mind, I decided to throw some lemon zest in the mix, too. Growing up, my favourite cake was a lemon and buttermilk bundt, and I love the classic flavour combination. (Unfortunately, my mum never makes this cake anymore, being obsessed with cooked fruit desserts.) To stand up to these additions, I was after a specific kind of recipe. A light, fluffy buttermilk cake wouldn’t do; I needed something a bit stronger. Several Google searches later I settled on Rose Levy Berenbaum‘s Country Buttermilk Cake. Made with four egg yolks, it’s similar to a pound cake, but (thankfully) more light-handed with the butter.  

The cake baked up perfectly, and the strawberries did their job nicely, too. The only disappointment here was in the middle. I’d never made crème patisserie before, so was perhaps a bit naive, but I hadn’t expected it to be so runny, and I panicked a bit when it started to drip down the sides of the cake. My mistake might have been using this recipe from The Kitchn, which doesn’t contain cornstarch, though having no previous experience with this, I can’t be sure. 

I haven’t included a recipe for crème patisserie below, but the lack of it shouldn’t affect the success of this. Use your own recipe if you have a good one (and feel free to send it to me!), or experiment with other toppings. A not-too-sweet buttercream would work here, or some stiffly whipped cream, or a simple dusting of icing sugar over the berries. 

This cake is sweet and dense rather than heavy, with a lovely tang from the buttermilk and lemon zest. The strawberries and crème patisserie (though runny) perfectly balance the cake and keep things interesting. The only problem with this dessert is that, well- I’ve made it before. Sure, that time it was a tart, not a cake, and yes, it had a successful mascarpone filling instead of a failed crème patisserie topping, but there’s no denying the facts: I’m in a strawberry-driven dessert slump. 

So let’s strike a deal. Let me off just this once, and I promise: there will be no more strawberry-topped cakes, pies, tarts or similar. At least until next year.

• Lemon and Semolina Buttermilk Cake with Fresh Strawberries
• adapted from Rose Levy Beranbaumv‘s Buttermilk Country Cake
• 4 large egg yolks
  2/3 cup buttermilk
  zest of one lemon 
  1 tsp. vanilla
  1 1/2 cups plain flour
  1/2 cup semolina 
  1 cup sugar
  1 Tbs. baking powder
  1/2 tsp. fine salt
  8 Tbs. (or 4oz, or 113g) unsalted butter, softened
  2 cups washed, trimmed and chopped strawberries 
• 1. Preheat your oven to 175°C/350°F. Whisk together the egg yolks, lemon zest, buttermilk and vanilla in a small jug and set aside. 
  
  2. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, semolina, sugar, baking powder and salt. Add the softened butter, and using a hand beater or your fingers, work into the flour until the entire mixture represents fine breadcrumbs (it should be quite uniform).
  
  3. Pour in the wet ingredients, and either beat gently or mix with a spoon until just combined.
  
  4. Pour batter into a 9″ buttered and floured cake pan, preferably with a removable bottom. Bake for 30-35 minutes until golden on top. Cool completely, first in the pan and then on a wire rack, before continuing. 
  
  5. When you’re ready to continue, transfer the cake to a serving plate. Thickly ice the top only with crème patisserie, buttercream icing or whipped cream, if using. Arrange the strawberries as artfully or un-artfully as you like over the top, and serve.

Those of you who follow my Sunday shopping posts will know that I’ve been buying a lot of strawberries lately. I can never resist them at the market- all plump and red and juicy, mocking me with their deliciousness. Well ok, maybe they’re not mocking me, exactly, but it does seem that they have some particular hold over me. And a little fruit personification never hurt anyone, right?

Right. I’ve been using these strawberries in a variety of ways: as jam in danishes, stewed with dumplings, in my morning smoothie. It occurred to me the other day, though, that I’m always mushing, stewing or otherwise deforming my lovely strawberries, and, you know, why? So I decided that the next batch from the market were not to be touched by heat, nor potato masher, nor blender. These berries would be pure, fresh and as nature intended them to be.

Of course, that idea lasted about ten minutes before I got bored. Aside from the fact that I actually like cooking, having a food blog has made me immediately wary of any too-simple recipe. You know the kind: mix a pint of chopped strawberries with the juice of half a lemon, a teaspoon of sugar and toss to coat. Serve with cream. Delicious, yes (I actually grew up on this dessert), but blog-worthy? No. I’ve got readers to impress, people! (Not that many, but still.)

The solution presented itself while I was flipping though the Jamie’s Italy book I borrowed from my local library last week (check Kitchlit tomorrow for a review). I saw a recipe for Torta di more (blackberry tart), and felt that this was it: the fruit left fresh and raw, but the tart base suitably fancy. I’m not sure if nature in fact did intend strawberries to be nestled into a creamy bed of liqueur-scented mascarpone atop a sweet butter pastry crust, but if it didn’t, it should have. 

Besides subbing strawberries for the blackberries, I made a few minor alterations to Jamie’s recipe. I didn’t have any of the grappa he calls for, but felt that I could do better than that, anyway. Instead I reached for a bottle of Southern Comfort, the fruity whiskey-like liqueur that we keep around in the summer. (I think a splash of Pimm’s would be good, too.) As for the tart case, I merely simplified it a bit, leaving out the lemon zest and vanilla, and reducing the sugar. 

The original recipe was for an 11″ tart. As I only have a 9″ tin, I used the excess dough to line several muffin cups, making a bunch of cute mini-tarts, as well. The great thing about this recipe is that it’s infinitely adaptable- make several smaller tarts of a whole slew of individual ones, use different fruit, vary the liqueur in the filling- the possibilities are endless. I’m already thinking about how delicious a chocolate mascarpone filling would be…

Ok, ignore me. Clearly I have issues. Just go make this, you won’t be sorry you did!

• Strawberry Mascarpone Tart
• adapted from this recipe by Jamie Oliver
• makes one 11″ tart (or one 9″ tart plus 5 mini-tarts)
• Sweet Tart Case
  270g plain flour
  85g icing sugar
  pinch salt
  125g cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1cm cubes
  1 egg
  2 Tbs. cold milk 
• Tart Filling
  300g mascarpone
  80ml single cream
  2 Tbs. sugar
  1/2 tsp. vanilla
  1 Tbs. Southern Comfort, Pimm’s, or other spice-and-fruit flavoured liqueur
  300g fresh strawberries, washed, trimmed and cut into large chunks
• 1. To make the pastry, mix the flour, icing sugar and salt together in a large bowl. Using your fingers (or a food processor) work in the pieces of butter until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Work quickly and don’t overblend- you want some pieces of butter still visible. 
  
  2. In a small bowl, whisk the egg and cold milk with a fork until combined. Pour over the flour mixture and, with a spoon or your hands, mix together until uniform. Don’t overwork at this point- it may still be crumbly, but that’s okay. Gather dough quickly into a ball, wrap in clingfilm and place in the fridge for half an hour. 
  
  3. When you’re ready to make your tart case, coat the tin(s) with a bit of butter and remove the dough from the fridge. Roll out to a thickness of about 1/4″, using a floured rolling pin on a lightly floured surface. Gently lift the dough and press into the tin, trimming the excess from the top. If you have a lot of excess, you can roll it out again, cut into smaller rounds (by hand or with a 3 1/2″ pastry cutter), and use it to line some muffin cups, to make some smaller tarts. 
  
  4. Line your tart cases with parchment paper and fill them with baking beans or uncooked rice. Place into the freezer for about an hour. (I use the fridge as my freezer isn’t big enough for a tart case!)
  
  5. About 20 minutes before you’re ready to bake your tart case(s), preheat your oven to 180ºC/350ºF. Bake for 10 minutes with the parchment paper, and a further 5 without. Set aside to cool, first in the tin and then (carefully!) on a cooling rack. 
  
  6. To make the filling, mix the mascarpone, cream, sugar, vanilla and liqueur together in a large bowl or jug. Test the consistancy- it should be thick and creamy, but spreadable. If it seems too thick to spread nicely in the tart case, add some cold milk, bit by bit, until you’re happy with the texture. 
  
  7. When the tart cases are completely cooled, transfer them to serving plates. There isn’t much rhyme or reason to the filling of these: just pour in the mascarpone mixture, spread it around so it reaches the case edge, and scatter/arrange the strawberries on top, as artfully or rustically as you like. Keeps in the fridge until you’re ready to eat it, but best served within a few hours, and polished off within 24.