Good morning, friends- care to take a little trip with me? One that starts with butter and flour, and meanders through strawberry fields bordered by chocolate woods, perhaps dusted with a little sugared snow? Come along then, we’ll be travelling photojournalist-style.

Wonderful, yes? Well, you’d think. Though I hate to admit it, every now and then my culinary instincts can lead me astray. I get so excited about an idea or recipe that I’m snapping photos and writing blog posts in my head before said dish is even out of the oven, so convinced am I of its imminent success.

These mini galettes sure tasted wonderful, though. The strawberry and ricotta filling was perfectly moist and not too sweet, and the touch of cocoa added a certain warmth and depth. It was the texture of the pastry which was off; adapted from this Smitten Kitchen recipe, the promised soft and flaky dough turned out more limp and soggy. It was heartbreaking to have these beauties fall apart in my hands, especially since pastry is usually one of my kitchen strengths.

Still, I believe this journey deserves a do-over, which is why I’m offering you an adapted recipe here. A bit more chocolate flavour, a lot less moisture and some tweaked instructions and I believe these galettes could be a winner. But a disclaimer: if they don’t work for you, forgive me. I’m still an amateur tour guide, after all.

• Chocolate, Strawberry and Ricotta Galettes
• crust adapted from Smitten Kitchen
• makes 4 x 5″ galettes
• For the pastry:
  1 1/4 cups flour
  3 Tbs. cocoa powder
  2 Tbs. sugar
  1/8 tsp. salt
  113g (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1cm cubes
  1/4 cup sour cream
  2 tsp. lemon juice
  2 Tbs. ice water
  
  For the filling:
  1/2 cup ricotta
  1 egg, divided
  1 Tbs. sugar
  zest of half a lemon
  2 cups washed, hulled and roughly chopped strawberries
  1 tsp. water
  icing sugar, for dusting
• 1. To make the pastry, mix together the flour, cocoa, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Add in the cubed butter and work together with a pastry cutter or your fingers, until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs.
  
  2. Whisk together the sour cream, lemon juice and ice water in a small bowl and pour 3/4 of it over the flour mixture. Mix together with a fork or wooden spoon until the mixture begins to come together; you may need to add more of the liquid, but do so drop by drop. Gather the pastry into a ball and wrap tightly in clingfilm; refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
  
  3. After an hour, remove the pastry from the fridge and divide it (using a scale, if you want to be exact) into four equal pieces. Wrap these individually in clingfilm and return to the fridge for another 30 minutes.
  
  4. Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F. To make the filling, mix together the ricotta, egg yolk, sugar and lemon zest in a small bowl.
  
  5. When they’ve re-chilled and the oven is hot, remove one of the pastry balls from the fridge. Roll out on a well-floured piece of parchment to a 7″ round and top with 1/4 of the ricotta mixture and 1/4 of the strawberries, leaving a 1″ border. Carefully pull up and fold the pastry around the top of the galette, then transfer the galette to a lined baking sheet. (If this is too difficult, you could trim down the parchment paper and move the whole thing to the tray.) Repeat with the other 3 pastry pieces.
  
  6. Mix the egg white with 1 tsp. of water and brush over the top of the pastry. Bake the galettes for about 30 minutes until the pastry is dry to the touch and the filling is bubbly. Cool completely on a wire rack before dusting with icing sugar and serving.

I have been dreaming about this quiche for a long time. So long that it was originally titled the Green Springtime Quiche, back when my mind first conceived of it in May. I daydreamed of a creamy filling packed full of green goodness, held together by a flaky butter pastry. Quiche is hardly a throw-together meal at the best of times, but I think you’ll agree that three months is a long time to wait, even for quiche.

Of course, if I’d made this back then, it wouldn’t contain this specific (and, if I can be so immodest, magical) combination of ingredients. No, this dish needed to come at a very specific time- that brief period when the tail end of broad bean season overlaps the beginning of the pea and green bean seasons. Only careful timing could bring about the emerald tart of my dreams.

It’s funny how easily us market shoppers can become slaves to the seasons. My parents recently went on holiday and while they had a great time, my Mum was terrified that fava bean season in Eastern Ontario would come and go while they were away. To everyone’s immense relief (that’s only a little sarcastic) she caught the last weekend, and spent several days podding, skinning and freezing 14 pounds of fava beans.

Unlike my Mum, I don’t have a deep-freeze, so it’s even more important for me to work with the seasons. If I don’t enjoy a certain vegetable while it’s there, I’ve got to wait a whole year until it comes around again. This fear, perhaps more than even a liking for certain things, is what keeps my diet varied.

So, while for the most part I try to stay away from bossy behaviour on this blog, I really must implore you to make this quiche now. Yes, it will work fine with frozen produce later in the year, but there’s something incomparable about a meal that’s so fleetingly available. Like a snapshot of time, right on your table.

• Green Summertime Quiche
• makes one 10″ quiche; serves 6 with a salad or side
• For the pastry:
  1 1/4 cups plain flour
  1/2 tsp. salt
  113g (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, cut into 1cm cubes and very cold
  1/4 – 1/3 cup ice cold water
  
  For the filling:
  1/2 cup shelled peas (or frozen and defrosted)
  1/2 cup shelled and skinned broad beans (or frozen and defrosted)
  1/2 cup chopped green beans, in 2cm pieces (or frozen and defrosted)
  2 eggs
  200ml double cream
  1/3 cup grated parmesan
  4 spring onions, finely chopped
  2 Tbs. finely chopped parsley
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
• 1. To make the pastry, mix the flour and salt together in a large bowl. Using your fingers or a pastry cutter, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs, but with some visible pea-sized pieces of butter remaining.
  
  2. Drizzle in about 1/4 cup of the ice water, and mix it into the flour with a fork or dough whisk. Work until it just comes together, but no more (you may need to add a bit more water, but do so a teaspoon at a time).
  
  3. Gather up the pastry and wrap it tightly in clingfilm; place in the fridge for at least 30 minutes, or up to 3 days.
  
  4. When ready to use, remove the dough from the fridge and roll out on a lightly floured surface. Gently lift into a 10″ tart tin and press into the corners, being careful not to “stretch” the dough too much. Trim off the excess, prick the bottom and sides a few times with a fork, and put the unbaked tart tin into the freezer for 30 minutes.
  
  5. Just before you’re ready to bake the pastry, preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F. Line the frozen pastry with parchment paper, and fill with baking beans or uncooked rice. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove the beans/paper and cook for a further 7 minutes to dry out the bottom. Remove the case from the oven and set aside to cool.
  
  6. While the pastry is cooling, prepare the filling. Bring a small pot of water to the boil and simmer the peas, broad beans and green beans for 2-3 minutes, until they’re bright green and have lost their raw texture. Rinse in cold water, drain and set aside.
  
  7. Whisk together the eggs, cream and parmesan in a large bowl. Add the chopped spring onions and parsley, and salt and pepper to taste, before folding in the cooled vegetables.
  
  8. Scrape the quiche filling into the pastry case and return to the oven. Bake for approximately 30 minutes, until set in the centre and lightly golden in places. Let the quiche cool before serving; it it equally good warm or at room temperature.
• Note: This amount of pastry will also fill a 11″ tart tin. To adjust the filling, simply add 1 egg and another 100ml of cream, leaving the other amounts the same.

Several years ago, I went on holiday with my family to the furthest reaches of Cornwall. We stayed in a 200-year-old farmhouse just steps from the sea, rode around on open-topped buses, trekked the coastal path for hours on end, and discovered cultural and archaeological gems at every turn. What else? Oh yeah- we ate.

There were home-cooked breakfasts of poached eggs and toast, pub lunches and innumerable cream teas. But one meal in particular stands out in my memory: the day we bought two Cornish pasties at a little shop in St. Ives, took them back to our farmhouse and made a meal of them, accompanied by braised cabbage and a salad. We only needed two pasties for four people, because these things were huge. Filled with a traditional mix of potatoes, swede and onions, they were also very, very good.

Not to dangle a carrot in front of you or anything, but these are not those pasties. Nope, I’m pretty sure I’d be in trouble with the Cornish Pasty Association if I tried to pass these babies off as the genuine article. The pastry is wrong, the filling is wrong; basically they’re all wrong. But like their Cornish cousins, they’re also very, very good.

Another example of feeling suddenly compelled to make something, I woke up the other day with pasties on the brain. The idea for the curried parsnip filling came while I was rooting around (har, har) in the vegetable crisper for inspiration. Parsnips, potatoes, onion and spices make for an exotic yet strangely appropriate take on this British treat (our national dish is curry, after all). A little added cheese and parsley makes the whole thing sing.

The pastry here is a little different from my usual, all-butter recipe. While tradition dictates the use of lard, I opted for a different tack. Just a touch of crème fraîche keeps this dough pliable and easy to work with, a bonus when you’re rolling, filling and crimping again and again.

While they don’t exactly bring to mind days by the sea or hours spent walking the moors, these pasties certainly helped keep the February chill at bay. If you’re in need of a few bites of escapism on these dull days, I highly recommend them.

• Curried Parsnip and Potato Pasties
• makes 8 pasties
• For the pastry
  220g plain flour
  1/4 tsp. salt
  110g unsalted butter, cut into 1cm cubes
  1/4 cup crème fraîche
  1/4 cup ice-cold water
  
  For the filling
  1 Tbs. olive oil
  1 Tbs. butter
  1 onion, chopped
  1 clove garlic, minced
  1 Tbs. curry powder
  1 tsp. cumin seeds
  1 large potato, peeled and cut into 1.5cm chunks
  2 medium parsnips, peeled and cut into 1.5cm chunks
  1 cup grated cheddar cheese
  1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
  sea salt and black pepper, to taste
• 1. Firstly, make the pastry. Mix together the flour and salt in a large bowl, and work in the butter using your fingers or a pastry cutter. Don’t overwork; the mixture should resemble coarse breadcrumbs, with some larger, pea-sized pieces of butter remaining.
  
  2. Mix the crème fraîche and water in a small bowl, and add it gradually to the flour mixture, so that it comes together into a dough. (You will need at least half, and possibly all, of the crème fraîche/water mixture.) Stir using a fork or a dough whisk until the dough comes together; gather up into a ball, wrap in clingfilm and place in the fridge for at least one hour.
  
  3. Meanwhile, get on with the filling. Heat the olive oil and butter in a large, nonstick pan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until soft and translucent, about 5-8 minutes. Then add the garlic, curry powder and cumin seeds and cook, stirring frequently, for another two minutes.
  
  4. Add the potatoes and parsnips to the pan and stir to coat them well. Throw in a generous splash of water (about 1/2 cup), cover, and simmer the mixture over low heat. Keep checking the pan, stirring gently and adding more water so that the mixture doesn’t stick. After 20-25 minutes, check that the veg are tender and remove from heat.
  
  5. When the vegetables have cooled a little, mix in the cheese and parsley, and season to taste. Continue to cool the mixture while you prepare the pasties.
  
  6. Take the dough out of the fridge and turn out onto a generously floured surface. Roll out to a thickness of 3mm and cut into circles, using pastry cutters or plates as a guide. It’s up to you what size you make the pasties; I got eight pasties using 6.5″ circles of dough, but you could make fewer larger ones, or more mini-pasties.
  
  7. Fill one half of your pastry circles with the filling, ensuring there is a 1.5cm space around the edge. Using your finger and some tepid water, dampen this edge so that the dough will stick together. Fold the unfilled half over the filling and press the edges together; at this point, you can either crimp the edges together (prettier), or press down on them with the tines of a fork (easier). Stab the top of each pasty a couple of times with a fork, then place on a parchment-lined baking sheet. You can bake the pasties now, or keep them, on the baking sheet and covered in clingfilm, in the fridge for several hours. You can also freeze them, wrapped individually in tin foil.
  
  8. When you’re ready, bake the pasties for 20-25 minutes at 200°C/400°F, until golden brown. (If cooking from frozen, they will need 5-10 minutes more).

I always like Sunday lunch to be an event. Even if it’s just Andrew and me, I tend not to turn to leftovers at this particular time of the week. Instead, it’s a time for experimenting with new recipes, often elaborate multi-step ventures. For lack of a better word, I like my Sunday midday meal to be “fancy”.

This isn’t a hangover from my childhood; weekend lunches in my family are a non-starter at best. It was a mug of soup from the freezer or some toast from the breadbox, and my sister and I were pretty much left to fend for ourselves. (After we’d reached an appropriately independent age, of course- it’s not like our parents neglected to feed their babies.) Perhaps my predilection for involved weekend lunches is some sort of post-adulthood rebellion.

As those lunches go, a vegetable quiche/tart is certainly one of the most involved. There’s the pastry, the veg, the filling, the blind baking and the actual baking- definitely one to sink your cooking teeth into. I made just such a tart last weekend, after being inspired by my sister’s Pumpkin, Spinach and Goat’s Cheese Tart.

Wanting to keep the essence of that pie while still making the recipe my own, I made some (not insignificant) changes. The first was to use an all-butter pastry, because I’ve gotta tell you, I just don’t hold with that shortening nonsense. Bland, flavourless and just plain gross – at what cost flakiness, I ask you?

Since I’ve promised not to cook with pumpkin anymore (at least not for another year) I used butternut squash, an old favourite of mine. Greens came in the form of Russian kale, my new favourite addition to soups and stir-fries. Surprisingly for me, I didn’t have any cheese, save a bit of leftover cream cheese, in the house at all. I opted to mix this into the egg and cream mixture, which gave the tart a subtle cheesy taste.

So was all this “involvement” worth it? Oh, yes. One of the best things about flexing your culinary muscles on the weekend is reaping the benefits all week long- this baby here made many a delicious lunch, I can assure you.

• Squash and Kale Tart
• adapted from Let Her Bake Cake
• makes one 10″ tart
• Pastry Tart Case
  1 1/4 cups plain flour
  1/2 tsp. salt
  113g (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, cut into 1cm cubes and very cold
  1/4 – 1/3 cup ice cold water
  
  Filling
  1 small butternut squash
  75g Russian kale, stems discarded and leaves chopped roughly
  2 eggs
  200ml double cream
  1/2 cup cream cheese
  1/3 cup grated parmesan
  salt and pepper, to taste
• 1. To make the pastry, mix the flour and salt together in a large bowl. Using your fingers or a pastry cutter, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs, but with some visible pea-sized pieces of butter remaining.
  
  2. Drizzle in about 1/4 cup of the ice water, and mix it into the flour with a fork or dough whisk. Work until it just comes together, but no more (you may need to add a bit more water, but do so a teaspoon at a time).
  
  3. Gather up the pastry and wrap it tightly in clingfilm; place in the fridge for at least 30 minutes, or up to 3 days.
  
  4. When ready to use, remove the dough from the fridge and roll out on a lightly floured surface. Gently lift into a 10″ tart tin and press into the corners, being careful not to “stretch” the dough too much. Trim off the excess, prick the bottom and sides a few times with a fork, and put the unbaked tart tin into the freezer for 30 minutes.
  
  5. Just before you’re ready to bake the pastry, preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F. Line the frozen pastry with parchment paper, and fill with baking beans or uncooked rice. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove the beans/paper and cook for a further 7 minutes to dry out the bottom. Set the tart case aside to cool- it can be wrapped in clingfilm and frozen at this point, as well.
  
  6. To prepare the butternut squash, preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F. Cut the squash in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds with a spoon and brush the insides lightly with olive oil. Place the cut halves facing down on a baking sheet and bake for 30-35 minutes, until tender to the point of a knife. Allow to cool before peeling off the skin and chopping the squash into 1″ cubes.
  
  7. For the kale, bring a small pot of water to the boil and add the kale. Cook for about 7 minutes, until tender to your liking. Drain the kale and “squeeze” it dry using some paper towels or a clean tea towel.
  
  8. To prepare the filling, whisk together the eggs, cream, cream cheese, parmesan, salt and pepper in a large jug.
  
  9. Next, put everything together: dot the squash over the bottom of the tart case and “fill in the gaps” with the cooked kale. Pour the egg mixture over everything, but be careful not to let it overflow. Bake tart in a 180°C/350°F oven for 30-35 minutes, until tart is browned on top and springy to the touch. Cool slightly before serving.

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.

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.   

   

This morning’s breakfast, made with the leftover danish pastry dough.  Otherwise known as perfection.

• Pain au chocolat
• makes 6
• 1/2 batch danish pastry dough
  100g dark chocolate, chopped finely
  Egg Glaze
  1 egg
  2 Tbs. milk 
• 1. Roll out dough to a large rectangle, 30cm x 45cm, and cut into six 15cm squares.
  
  2. Sprinkle one sixth of the chopped chocolate down the centre of each piece of dough. Fold in thirds, seal the ends and place folded side-down on a baking sheet.
  
  3. Allow to rise for about 1 hour. Preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F. Whisk the egg and milk to form a glaze.
  
  4. Brush the glaze over the tops of the pain au chocolat. Bake for 15-20 minutes until golden. Cool for 10 minutes before serving. 

I’m well aware that “danishi” isn’t really the plural of danish. But it’s my blog, and I’ll use my Eleisms as and when l please. (It’s a good thing I don’t talk about large mammals here very often, or we’d get into the whole moose/meese thing. I’m quite passionate about that.) Danishi is a term my friend MH and I coined during university, when the only acceptable reason for going to a lecture at the ungodly hour of 8am was the promise of a cup of coffee and a sweet treat from Tim Horton‘s.

First year, this was easy; we’d simply grab our breakfast at any of the on-campus kiosks on the dash to class. During second year, we’d meet before school on our way to campus. Whoever got to the big Tim Horton’s on the corner of Yonge and College first was responsible for procuring breakfast: two medium double-doubles and two breakfast items. Usually bagels, but once a week, a strawberry cream-cheese danish was in order. Even in later years when we lived together, the breakfast routine remained the same. As long as there were lectures on the state of textile manufacturing in the far east, there would be danishi. 

I don’t think there was anything particularly delicious about these danishes, but we definitely enjoyed our weekly treat. It didn’t occur to me until years later, when I’d moved across an ocean from campus, MH and Tim Horton’s, that I could attempt to make these danishes myself. In fact, this was only the second time I’ve made danish pastry.

The recipe for the pastry comes from from How to be a Domestic Goddess by Nigella Lawson. Nigella can somehow manage to take the intimidation factor out of anything, so I felt quite confident attempting these for the first time last autumn. I made ricotta cheese danishes as well as some homemade pain au chocolat, both of which turned out well. So I felt reasonably confident when I set out to recreate my beloved Strawberry Cream Cheese Danish. 

I made two fillings for these danishes: a cheese filling, and a strawberry jam. The cheese filling is just a basic combination of cream cheese, egg, sugar and a bit of lemon zest. The jam is one of those quick-cooking refrigerator jams, with no added pectin, sugar thermometer or frightening canning process. It couldn’t be quicker to make, and leftovers can be stored in any clean, airtight container in the fridge for up to 2 weeks. 

As for the danish shapes themselves, I went a bit crazy here. I found this great resource at Joe Pastry, and tried nearly every shape that I could. Andrew thought the whole thing was a bit over the top and called me a crazy old lady, professing to actually be frightened of the bear-claw one. (Yes, that’s a bear claw with eight toes.)

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), danishes tend not to like me very much, and conspire to rebel in my oven. No matter how carefully I shape, seal and slash the shapes pre-baking, it all goes pear-shaped once I close the door. Neat little packages open up, filling spills out, and once symmetrical shapes are now sad and lopsided. 

Still, the proof is in the eating, right? The pastry turned out crispy and light, with a deliciously buttery flavour. The strawberry flavour was strong in these, and overpowered the cream cheese slightly. That’s easily remedied, though; next time I’d just use more cheese filling and less strawberry in each danish. Andrew liked these so much, he said he’d even eat the bear claw. They didn’t quite have that Tim Horton’s charm that I was after, but at least I can eat these on the couch and not in a freezing lecture theatre. 

• Cream Cheese Filling 
• makes enough for 12 danishes
• 100g cream cheese
  1 egg yolk
  2 Tbs. caster sugar
  2 tsp. plain flour
  2 tsp. lemon zest 
• 1. Gently whisk together all ingredients in a small bowl. Refridgerate until ready to use. 

• Strawberry Jam Filling 
• makes enough for 12 danishes
• 1 1/2 cups hulled and chopped strawberries
  1/3 cup caster sugar
  1 tsp. lemon juice
• 1. Combine all ingredients in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium-high heat. Using the back of a wooden spoon or a potato masher, press down on the strawberries so they become mush. 
  
  2. Let the mixture boil for 4-5 minutes, then remove from heat to cool. 

• Danish Pastry Dough
• makes 12; to be made in two batches of 6 
• from How to be a Domestic Goddess by Nigella Lawson
• Dough
  60ml warm water 
  125ml milk
  1 egg
  350g plain flour
  7g (1 packet) instant yeast
  1 tsp. salt
  25g caster sugar
  250g unsalted butter
• Egg Glaze
  1 egg
  2 Tbs. milk 
• 1. Mix together the water, milk and egg in a jug and set aside. In a large bowl, blend the flour, yeast, salt and sugar. 
  
  2. Cut the butter into 1cm cubes. Add to bowl with the flour mixture and, using a pastry cutter or your fingers, cut in the butter until most of the flour mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Do not blend in all the butter though, you should have some slightly larger pieces of about 1cm left. (You could also do this step using a food processor.)
  
  3. Pour in the wet ingredients and fold the mixture together with a spatula. It will be very wet and sticky at this stage, but don’t worry too much about it. Cover the bowl with clingfilm and place in the fridge for at least 8 hours, or up to 4 days.
  
  4. When you’re ready to make your pastry, turn the dough out onto a generously floured surface and roll into a square about 50cm x 50cm. (You may need a great deal of extra flour during this stage.)
  
  5. Fold the square into thirds, as you would with a business letter. Roll out folded dough into another 50cm x 50cm square, and repeat this step twice, for a total of 3 folds and rolls.
  
  6. When you’ve rolled it out for last time, fold the dough in thirds and cut it into two sections. Wrap each piece tightly in clingfilm and put in the fridge for 30 minutes. 
  
  7. To make the danishes, take out one section of dough and roll into a large rectangle of about 30cm x 45cm. Slice it in half lengthwise, and then in thirds crosswise, so you have 6 more-or-less square sections.   
  
  8. At this point, there are many different ways to fill/shape your danishes. (I used the photos and info here to try a whole bunch of different shapes.) Whichever shape you choose, you’re aiming for about 2-3 teaspoons of filling per danish, divided between the two types however you like. Some shapes can take more filling than others, so use your judgement.  
  
  9. Arrange the danishes on a baking sheet and leave, loosely covered with clingfilm, to rise for about an hour and a half. They will double in size and be puffy. About 30 minutes before they’re ready to be baked, preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F, and prepare the egg glaze by whisking the egg and milk together.  
  
  10. Brush the danishes lightly with the egg glaze, and bake in oven for about 15 minutes, until puffy and golden brown. Remove to a wire rack to cool. 
  
  Note: You can now repeat with the other half of the dough (still in the fridge), or save it for another day. Dough can be refrigerated for a total of four days, and frozen for up to a month.

I don’t think I ever had cheesecake until I was a teenager. At least, I don’t remember having it before then. Growing up, dessert was a rare occurrence. My parents were fond of the classic “Why don’t you have a piece of fruit?” line. Well, a piece of fruit is all fine and well, but what I wanted as I child was dessert, and I hope you’ll forgive me the assertion that eating something after dinner doesn’t make it dessert.

No. To me, dessert should be sweet, indulgent and preferably of the baked variety. Bonus points if there’s chocolate or ice cream involved. Needless to say, my youthful explanations fell on deaf ears, and when my Mum did decide to bake something for an after-dinner treat, it was usually a pie, crisp or crumble. What other children might have found acceptable I took as a personal affront to my beliefs, as well an underhanded attempt at being “healthy”. To this day I have an aversion for any dessert containing cooked fruit.

As a teenager, though, I learned that there was plenty dessert to be found outside the walls of my home. And real dessert, too- not simply fruit in the guise of something delicious. It was at this point in my life, if I remember correctly, that I discovered cheesecake.

The discovery came about in the Byward market area of downtown Ottawa, at a small cafe called Memories. During high school, I used to go there on summer evenings with my friend Fiona. We’d sit, on the patio if it was warm, or else at our favourite table in the window, sipping tea and eating cheesecake. This place made the best flavours, and I was instantly smitten. My favourite was the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake, though I also had a soft spot for the chocolate-and-caramel Turtles incarnation.

In later years, we abandoned Memories for Oh So Good a few streets over (better music, cooler crowd, and a palm-reader on Thursday nights). Despite our new hangout’s superior selection of desserts, I never strayed far from my cheesecake love. I hear both establishments have gone downhill in terms of food and service, but in my mind, cheesecake will always remind me of balmy evenings in the Byward Market, being young and bored and free to have whatever dessert I felt like, thankyouverymuch.  

Despite this long-harboured love of the dessert, I admit that I don’t have much experience making it. I think the idea of the water bath, required to achieve the perfect creamy texture, just intimidates me too much. Years ago, my sister and I did tackle this Nigella Lawson recipe with good results, but there’s something reassuring about baking in your parents’ house, with your baking-centric sister in the driver’s seat. Would I attempt this alone in my London kitchen? Never. 

So when I came across this recipe in Tessa Kiros’ book Falling Cloudberries, it seemed like fate. Not only is this tart baked sans water bath, but it’s Italian in origin (always a bonus, as far as I’m concerned) and uses ricotta, a current obsession of mine. The flavours, a mixture of dark chocolate in the crust and light citrus in the filling, seemed perfect. 

So, did it match up to my memories of cheesecakes past? Well, yes and no. The ricotta makes this a very light tart, less rich and not as creamy as the versions I wolfed down in my youth. Once I got past that, I found it lovely- light, flavourful, sophisticated. It’s good served at room temperature the day it’s made, but I think it improves in the fridge, and tastes even better a day or two after.

• Ricotta Tart with Chocolate Crust
• adapted from Falling Cloudberries by Tessa Kiros
• serves 8
• 100g butter, slightly softened
  85g caster sugar
  150g plain (all-purpose) flour
  30g cocoa powder
  1 egg, beaten
• 2 eggs, beaten
  90g caster sugar
  500g ricotta cheese
  1 tsp. orange zest
  1 Tbs. lemon juice
  1 Tbs. orange juice
• 1. For the pastry, beat the butter and sugar together until pale and creamy. Sift in the flour and cocoa and beat until just combined. Add the egg and beat until smooth and uniform. (The pastry will be very soft, but shouldn’t be too wet- add more flour if you feel that it is.) Gather up into a ball, wrap in clingfilm and refrigerate for about an hour. 
  
  2. Preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F. Roll out your pastry on a lightly floured surface until about 1/4″ thick, or large enough to line an 9″ loose-bottomed (or springform) cake pan. Gently drape the pastry over your rolling pin and place into the pan, allowing it to relax into the corners. If it tears, don’t worry- the softness of this pastry makes it very forgiving. Just patch it with some more dough.
  
  3.  Line the pastry with parchment paper, fill with baking beans or uncooked rice, and blind-bake for about 20 minutes. Remove the beans and paper and bake for another 5 minutes to dry the base. Set the tart case aside to cool.
• 4. For the filling, whisk together the eggs and sugar until thick and creamy. Add the ricotta and whisk for another minute, until combined. Mix in the orange zest and juices, and scrape the filling into the tart case.
  
  5. Bake for about 30-40 minutes, until the filling is set and the top golden in places. This tart is best when allowed to cool to room temperature, or else chilled in the fridge.