![]() ![]() This tart looks fancy enough for company, but the ease of preparation means you can whip it up for you and the family any day. Rustic Glazed Peach and Mascarpone Tart with Oatcake Crust Like the peaches of my childhood, this one is worth waiting for. I made a batch of Gena’s Strawberry Vanilla Pudding (upped the strawberries just a bit) and spread it over the base for another amazing treat. You could also bake the base on its own and then top with your choice of chilled topping (or just a pile of unadorned sliced peaches, without the mascarpone). The oatmeal base contributes a breakfast vibe (and that’s how I’ve enjoyed this several times–especially now that dessert-for-breakfast is actually sanctioned by weight loss researchers!), but topped with the silky mascarpone and glazed peaches, the tart would be equally comfortable on a dessert table. My idea was to create something rustic, easy to prepare, and utterly delicious. I’d been playing with this tart recipe for a while when I read about the Gastropost “mission” to create a recipe with peaches, and things just fell into place. Lucky for me, organic never disappoints!Īlthough I still don’t cook with peaches all that often, I’ve regained that childhood love of them. After seeing the HH slurp his way through more than one firm, juicy globe, I had to give them another try. In summertime, the box contained peaches. Luckily, my attitude changed once again after the HH and I discovered organic delivery boxes (CSAs) and began receiving a bounty of fresh, organic produce every week. From then on, I couldn’t help but associate peaches with rear ends (not the most appetizing image, as you can imagine). In fact, RB spent an inordinate amount of time relating to me, in minute detail, how Nabokov described Lolita’s posterior, plump and soft and rounded with a dimple down the middle like a. RB was fascinated by the man’s linguistic dexterity (he grew up in a multi-lingual household and spoke several languages) and his ability to play with language much the way toddlers play with Lego. ![]() You see, RB is the one who first introduced me to Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. Well, if I’m honest, it wasn’t just the poor quality store-bought produce my classmate, RB, played a role in my peach aversion as well. The peaches from conventional grocery stores turned me off that stone fruit for decades. Of course, the local supermarket in Windsor couldn’t compare to the farmer’s market back in Montreal as a result, I wasn’t prepared for the trauma of biting into a powdery, insipid and colorless peach with insides like a raw potato. When I finally moved into my first apartment on my own, one of the first things I bought when summer arrived was a bag of peaches. Peaches were a treat, and one well worth waiting for. I adored the soft, slightly gelatinous texture, the not-too-sweet tartness of a perfectly ripe peach, the astonishing color of the fleshy insides. Perfect, downy, never-fail-to-squirt-juice-all-over-your-mouth-and-chin peaches. Every summer during my childhood, my sisters and I would wait impatiently for the appearance of certain foods that weren’t available the rest of the year: cherries (still a love affair there) watermelon (nobody could cut it like my Dad–one sharp thwack! on top, and the thing practically fell open in slices) corn on the cob (worth getting corn skin stuck in your teeth) or peaches. ![]()
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