Ginger Lime Meringue Tartlets

For me as a kid, religion and spirituality were bundled up into one shiny package of bribery that was exchanged for Saturday-night sleepovers and friendship. Don’t want to get left out of Melissa’s slumber party? Go to church with her friends and family on Sunday, then. Haley’s family is going to steal her away early Sunday and leave you without a buddy at your own secular family’s waffle breakfast? Well, then agree to Sunday service with her—y’all have permission to attend the afternoon sacrament. I tried out Catholicism, regular ol’ Christianity, Wesleyan services, Judaism, and was invited to an at-home Muslim observance as well—with the latter two being more about inclusion and not about Sunday circumstances, obviously. Very little of it stuck.

A friend once commanded me to walk around her lawn for an hour chanting about my love for Jesus, and afterward declared me saved; an unwitting backyard baptism ensued when she let me skim down the waterslide into the pool. I dropped in on a half-pipe to impress one boy and got my first memorable PG kiss from another at a 24-hour youth group lock-in. And during the worst birthday party I ever had, the prettiest Christian girls staged a mutiny when a few of us other kids decided to play Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board; I emerged from the room to be confronted by a bunch of cross-armed 12-year-olds who had already called their parents to pick them up because we were “raising devil spirits.” All that to say that religion was a prime bartering chip in the social economy of my youth, and spirituality never even entered into it.

As an adult, I’m firmly, contentedly god-free, but I realized recently that I totally lack any sort of spirituality, which for me would equate to an intentional practice of acknowledging developments and contexts both within and beyond myself. I’ve mentioned before that the end of my 2013 really launched itself into the shitter, and the start to this year was slow and sticky, but sometime two weeks ago I was overwhelmed by a need to recognize the positive things happening around me too: job, projects, confidence, family, friends with whom to share these tarts. Life is squaring up a little, and it’ll be a lot easier to get into the habit of appreciation now as opposed to during the next downward cycle. So until I figure out a different way to do it, the kitchen is my meditation space, I bake with the intent to share, and if you're ever raising hell at a slumber party, please give me a call.

As for these tarts, gingery shortbread crust holds this dang-luscious ginger lime cream, adapted heavily from Tartine’s lemon cream, and atop is a cute li’l marshmallowy meringue mohawk. If you go the Swiss meringue route, there’s no need to torch or bake the meringue, which is excellent since exposing the cream filling to heat would be a real textural bummer. You could make one larger tart—seven or eight inches would be fine—but the fun part about the tartlets is doling them out to friends, especially the ones who let you stay home on Sunday. 

Ginger Lime Meringue Tartlets

Yield: four six-inch tartlets, or one shallow eight-inch tart

For the crust

1 cup AP flour

¼ cup granulated sugar

½ teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons (one stick) unsalted butter, melted

2 teaspoons vanilla

2 teaspoons freshly grated ginger

1.  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Mix all the dries in one bowl, add the butter, vanilla, and ginger, and mix with a fork until dough is evenly combined.

2. Divide evenly among your tartlet pans, press in and even crust, then bake for 20 to 25 minute until crust is golden brown. You can use pie weights held in foil if you’re worried about the crust shrinking, but I’ve never had that problem with this recipe.

For the ginger lime filling

½ cup lime juice

2 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons freshly grated ginger

1 egg yolk

3 whole eggs, large

½ cup sugar

Pinch salt

1 cup (2 sticks!) butter, unsalted, cut into tablespoons

2 teaspoons lime zest

1.  Pour water to a depth of about two inches into a saucepan, place over medium heat, and bring to a simmer. Combine the juice, whole eggs, yolk, ginger, sugar, and salt in a heatproof bowl that will rest securely in the rim of a saucepan over, not touching, the water. (Never let the egg yolks and sugar sit together for more than a moment without stirring; the sugar will cook the yolks and turn them granular.)

2.  Place the bowl over the saucepan and continue to whisk until the mixture becomes very thick and registers 180 degrees F on a thermometer—ten to 12 minutes. Remove the bowl from saucepan, mix in zest, and let base cool to 140 degrees F—about eight minutes—stirring from time to time to release the heat.

3.  When the base is cool, pour it into a countertop blender. With the blender running, add the butter one tablespoon at a time, blending after each addition until incorporated before adding the next piece. The cream will be pale yellow and thick. Taste, and add more zest or ginger if you want to. Pour into tartlet shells and proceed with meringue.

For the Swiss meringue

2 eggs whites

1/3 cup granulated sugar

Pinch salt

1.  Bring a small saucepan of water to a simmer (I used the same pan from  the lime cream process), and over it, in the bowl of your KitchenAid mixer, whisk eggs whites, sugar, salt until mixture is very warm to the touch, about five minutes.

2.  Remove from heat, and whip to stiff peaks using the whisk attachment. Dollop tarts with meringue in whatever shape you like—I’m working on my quenelles—and refrigerate until filling is set, about two hours. Carefully unmold, and serve! Tartlets will keep for about three days in the fridge.

Chocolate Hazelnut Meringue Icebox Cake (The Beast)

Yo, you know I love a good icebox cake. They are one of the best ways to celebrate: leave whipped cream sandwiched between cake or cookie layers in the fridge for long enough, and it becomes a thick buttery frosting (without the butter!). This meringue cake, nicknamed “The Beast” by its creator for the challenge of cutting it, is definitely better off from some refrigerator timeout. After an overnight stint in the icebox, the meringue and cream meld and stabilize, but there is no loss of crunch, texture, or flavor like you might expect; plus, it’s really not that tough to cut after a proper cooling. Better said: take this baby for a spin!

But don’t get the wrong idea about me and Valentine’s Day. This cake, while surely befitting a sweetheart, did not come about in an homage to today. There ain’t a single thing that’s disagreeable about romance (give me more romance!), but I relish the blogging community much for its commitment to creativity, and that all seems to disappear in the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day. All of my favorite DIY sites are suddenly posting links to mass-produced “him and her” gifts to purchase, and whether it’s an effort to monetize or a need to keep up with What The People Want, the buy-it-now attitude behind Valentine’s Day is counter to these sites’ everyday goals. Maybe we can all find some relief and inspiration in food blogs today instead: they often emphasize creativity and taking risks—both elements of a real romantic gesture, no?

Getting back to what’s really important here: this cake is totally delicious and totally nuts. You will love it, and it will love you right back without asking for a single thing.

Chocolate Hazelnut Meringue Icebox Cake
Adapted from Daniel Jasso for Food & Wine

A few notes: if you're short on space or nervous about cutting into this cake, consider making a bunch of two-inch cookies instead of eight-inch layers. You could stack two cookies with cream in the middle and on top, and they'd be single-serving. Either way, this is definitely a dessert to make the day before you intend to eat it. The meringue takes several hours to bake and cool, and then the whole thing goes into the fridge. The recipe counsels us to cut with a serrated knife, but I found the nicest slices came about after I stabbed straight through the top of the cake with a butcher knife.

I didn't change much here: just reduced the amounts of sugar and chocolate ever so slightly. Is that sacrilege? The original calls for six ounces of each chocolate, but that seemed just a bit too rich for my family. The final product certainly didn't suffer!

7 ounces hazelnuts (about 1 1/2 cups)
6 large egg whites, at room temperature
Pinch of salt
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar (original calls for 1 1/2)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
5 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped fine
5 ounces bittersweet chocolate, melted and cooled
3 cups heavy cream
1/4 cup powdered sugar
Chocolate shavings for garnish

1.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and line two very large or three regular baking sheets with parchment paper. Trace three eight-inch circles across the parchment. (I had to use three medium sheets, so one circle on each sheet.)

2.  Spread the hazelnuts on a baking sheet or in a pie pan and toast for 12 to 14 minutes, until browned. Close hot hazelnuts into a non-terry-cloth towel, allow to steam for five or so minutes, then rub to remove the skins; don’t worry if some of the skins are still on. Chop the nuts fairly small, but don’t powder them.. Lower the oven temperature to 225 degrees F.

3.  In the bowl of a standing electric mixer fitted with the whisk, beat the egg whites with the salt at medium-high speed until soft peaks form. Gradually beat in the granulated sugar at high speed until stiff and glossy. Beat in the vanilla and almond extracts. Fold in the hazelnuts and chocolate chips. Pour the melted chocolate down the side of the bowl and gently fold in until the meringue is lightly marbled.

4.  Divide the meringue evenly between the three drawn circles; spread evenly. Bake for two hours and 30 minutes, until crisp; rotate the pans halfway through baking. Turn off the oven, prop oven door open, and let the meringues cool completely. (I propped a wooden spoon against the “light-on” switch to keep it off and the door open.)

5.  In the bowl of the standing mixer, beat the cream with the confectioners' sugar until firm. Remove the cooled meringues from the parchment paper. Spread the whipped cream between the layers and stack them. Refrigerate or freeze the cake overnight. Cut into wedges and serve at room temperature. Garnish with chocolate shavings before serving.

Jumbleberry Pavlova

One of the greatest families around had an enormous backyard party at our house last week. With the parents celebrating an anniversary, a sister back from the Peace Corps in Panama, and other sisters having graduated various levels of school, the time was nigh for a big ol’ summer party, replete with its own Pinterest planning board (and cute squabbles to the tune of, “Didn’t you consult the Pinterest board?!”). The Doughertys are the first family I met in DC since they’re that of one of my oldest and finest pals around, Bobbie, and we first crossed ways four years ago when the parents lent us their minivan to do yard sale and Craigslist runs to furnish our new and very empty Petworth group house. Many pizza nights, family concerts, dinners, and parties later, and I’m not quite up to the level of being an honorary Dougherty sister, who are the very coolest of them all, but I fancy myself a sort of honorary very distant type of cousin—good enough.

Dessert at the front, veggie kabobs at the back. Reverse food mullet.

So it was over MadLibs and keg beer that all the Doughertys got together last week. The backyard was filled to the brim with beautiful handmade decorations, a giant white and yellow circus tent, and tons of flowers, pitchers of lemonade, puzzles, and of course good pals from all over. Bobbie and Richie manned the DJ booth, Matt made a giant platter of the most delicious homemade Carolina BBQ, family slaw recipes abounded, and we played a totally dizzying and nearly nauseating game of around-the-world micropong on a circular table while someone beat the stuffing out of a pinata. To top it off, Bobbie’s family commandeered Emily and I to bake for the party, and while it wasn’t quite a Tarts by Tarts last hurrah, it was really nice to be in the kitchen together working on recipes again. Emily whipped up a chocolate-peanut butter-pretzel tart (!!!), a bourbon peach pecan pie, lime tarts, and a passion fruit pie with mile-high meringue. I baked some weird but good frozen key lime bars, a five-layer salted caramel pecan cake, and this here jumbleberry pavlova, which was my favorite of the things I made. This time of year, it’s refreshing to have a recipe that doesn’t require baking or freezing the fruit, letting the height of summer berries shine on their own. Plus, all of the elements can be made ahead, which leaves you more time to spend dancing and playing Taboo with some of the best folks around while scheming permanent points of entry into their family.

Jumbleberry Pavlova

Adapted from GourmetLive

Tweaked this to make the curd much tangier, the meringue slightly larger and less sweet, and of course upped the berries. It's summer y'all: get 'em while you can. This is also gluten-free. Yahoo! 

For meringue:
1 cup superfine granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
4 large egg whites at room temperature (3 is fine if you don't want to break a fourth egg)
3 tablespoons cold water
1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar

For filling:
½ cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
⅛ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
⅓ cup fresh lemon juice
½ stick unsalted butter
3 large egg yolks
1 tablespoon grated lemon
¼ cup whipped cream (recipe below)

For assembly:
1 cup heavy cream
5 cups mixed berries (I used blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries)

1.  Make meringue: Preheat oven to 300 degrees F with rack in middle. Trace an eight-inch circle on a sheet of parchment paper (I traced one of my removable tart pan bottoms). Turn parchment over and put on a baking sheet.

2.  Whisk together superfine sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. Beat whites with a pinch of salt using a stand mixer at medium speed until they hold soft peaks. Add water and beat until whites again hold soft peaks.

3.  Increase speed to medium-high and beat in sugar mixture one tablespoon at a time. After all sugar has been added, beat one minute more. Add vinegar and beat at high speed until meringue is glossy and holds very stiff peaks, about five minutes.

4.  Gently spread meringue inside circle on parchment, making edge of meringue slightly higher so that lower center can hold the curd and fruit. Bake for 45 minutes, or until meringue has developed a light golden crust all around. Turn oven off and prop door open slightly with a wooden spoon. Cool meringue in oven for one hour.

5. Make lemon curd: While meringue bakes, stir together sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a two-quart heavy saucepan, then add lemon juice and butter. Whisking, bring mixture to a simmer over medium-high heat, then continue to simmer, whisking constantly, for one minute. Turn off heat. Lightly beat yolks in a small bowl and whisk a quarter-cup lemon mixture into the small bowl, then whisk yolk mixture back into saucepan. Turn heat to low and cook, whisking constantly, until curd is thickened, about two minutes (do not let boil). Transfer to a bowl, whisk in zest, press a piece of parchment to surface, and allow to chill in fridge while meringue bakes.

6.  Assemble: Using a spatula, gently remove meringue from cookie sheet and place it on your serving plate--a big one works best as this tends to serve up a bit messy. Beat heavy cream  with a pinch of granulated sugar until it just holds medium peaks, then fold one quarter-cup beaten cream into curd to lighten it. Spoon lemon curd into the dent in the meringue meringue and mound berries on top. Serve remaining whipped cream on the side.

Do ahead: Curd can be made several days ahead of serving, and meringue can be made, wrapped in plastic, and frozen, up to two days ahead. To use, just unwrap meringue layer and leave it on counter for an hour or two to bring it back to room temperature.

Me and Emily, keeping it real summery

Lemon Verbena Meringue Tartlets

My cousin Ethan is getting married on a summer camp outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania tomorrow. Ethan and I, and all the cousins, spent many magical summers together as kids thanks to my parents' house in Maine and the proximity of the cousins' former home in Vermont. We spent hours upon hours traipsing through the fishing camp next door (now a town recreation center), raiding the supply shop for candy and making up rude rhymes about the campers, one particularly cruel one which was directed at a guy we nicknamed Rambo and his rabbit, and that ultimately resulted in our grandmother forcing us to go next door with bowed heads and apologize. We honed our acorn whistles, perfected matching bird calls, and practiced shimmying over the dividing fences as we made up enemies and allies in our ongoing imagined battle for control of the lakefront (and candy store). One time Ethan and I were running through the forest, barefoot, and we slipped on a large dead fish with a black worm crawling out of its eaten eyeball. Another time we braved a sloshing lake storm in a rubber raft together with his little sister and my same-age cousin Lydia, all the while screaming made-up sea songs into the wind without any parental supervision. All of the cousins excelled at making up songs, and my aunt's dogs especially were the brunt of many of them. Ethan and I haven't seen each other in about eight years, Lydia maybe five, and Jacob close to a decade.

And so my sister came down to DC last night to drive up to Scranton with me. My parents and both aunts will be there, and Joey is coming too, and we've packed up the cards and Bananagrams in anticipation of a rainy, cabin-spent weekend, punctuated, of course, with long-overdue reunions and a wedding. Certainly there won't be any Rambos or battle cries, but I'm very much looking forward to the inevitable rekindling of cousin spirit that was so prominent in my kid-dom. 

Oh and so these tartlets have nothing to do with any of this, except that I made them last night when I had a spare two hours before my sister and I went out dancing. It's a tart, tart lemon verbena tart (did you read that? very tart), with a marshmallowy billowy topping that I love. I worried that the verbena would get lost in the lemon, and maybe it does just ever so slightly, but I still think I can taste the herbalness and definitely recommend that you try it if you've got verbena on hand. Half as much lemon balm might be nice too, or a few springs of lemon thyme if you're into it. Happy weekend, all!

Lemon Verbena Tartlets

Makes six four-inch tartlets

For tart dough
Adapted from Dorie Greenspan, via Smitten Kitchen
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
½ cup powdered sugar
¼ teaspoon fine-grain salt
9 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter
1 large egg

For curd
½ cup granulated sugar
20 lemon verbena leaves, about two inches long each
6 tablespoons cornstarch
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup cold water
½ cup fresh-squeezed lemon juice
3 egg yolks, whisked (save the whites!)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1½ cups boiling water
2 teaspoon fresh lemon zest

For meringue
4 large egg whites
1 cup white sugar, pref. very fine

1. Make tart dough:  cube butter into one-inch pieces and chill in freezer while you ready everything else. In the bowl of a food processor, mix flour, sugar, and salt. Sprinkle butter over top, and pulse about 10 to 15 times until butter is between the size of peas and oatmeal. Use a fork to break up egg in a small bowl, and pour a bit at a time through the feed tube, pulsing once after each addition. When the egg is all in, pulse the dough for ten seconds at a time until it comes together. Right before you get to this point, the mixer will change sounds and essentially start grumbling at you. Dump dough onto sheet of plastic wrap, gently knead together, and chill for at least one hour.

2. Divide the dough into six pieces, and roll out one by one into a six-inch circle. Line each of your tartlet pans with the dough, even out the tops, prick crust all over with a fork, and freeze lined pans for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 375 degrees F. When tartlet dough has chilled, line each pan with a buttered sheet of foil, sticking it firmly to the bottom and sides to help prevent shrinkage. Place the pans on a cookie sheet and bake for 20 to 25 minutes until crust is lightly browned. Proceed with curd and meringue.

3.  Make curd:  chop verbena leaves and grind them into the sugar using the back of a wooden spoon or a pestle in a large bowl; this helps release the oils and flavor. Wipe out bowl. Add sugar, leaves, cornstarch, and salt to a heavy two- to three-quart saucepan. Gradually blend in cold water and lemon juice until smooth. Whisk in the three egg yolks until thoroughly combined, then add the butter. Slowly add the boiling water, stirring all the while, then bring mixture to a full boil over medium-low heat, stirring gently. Once curd begins to thicken, reduce heat and simmer for one minute. Remove from heat, strain curd into the bowl you smashed the leaves in, then stir in the zest. Pour filling into baked tart shells, and cover with foil to trap the heat.

4.  Make meringue: preheat oven to broil and place rack in upper third of oven. Place egg whites and sugar in the heatproof bowl of a stand mixer set over, but not touching, simmering water. Cook, whisking, until mixture is warm to the touch, about three to five minutes (will depend on how cold your egg whites were to begin). Transfer mixture to an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, and mix on high until stiff peaks form.

5.  Spoon meringue over the tartlets, anchoring to crust around the edges; swirl it decoratively with the back of a spoon if you want. With tartlets on the cookie sheet still, broil until meringue is golden, about three or four minutes depending on your oven. Rotate the pan halfway through so that thebabes at the back don’t get more color than the ones in the front. Allow tartlets to set for about an hour, then pop in the fridge to cool and/or store. They will keep for two to three days in the fridge!

Lemon Meringue Pie

Round one

During my trip to North Carolina last week, someone in the family casually mentioned that “everyone has a go-to recipe.” My anxious, anal-retentive brain immediately searched the archives to discover what my go-to recipe might be, but I came up blank until I realized I was staring the answer right in its lemony face.

Billowy, marshmallowy toppping

Lemon meringue pie is the first pie that I ever baked from scratch since it has always been the most-demanded pie at all of our family functions—this pie is probably more often at my parents’ dinner table than I am. This Thanksgiving, my mom shuffled (grudgingly) down the stairs at 7:00 a.m. to double check “one last thing” for me as I prepared the meringue, and she couldn’t help but protest that she was mad not to be getting a lemon meringue pie in San Diego that day. And now, everyone might be a little screwed since my sister didn’t get one in Pittsburgh, and the pie was the easy favorite at my new other family’s Thanksgiving, but they might not get one next year. The good news for me (and soon to be you) though, is that having this pie recipe up my sleeve means I have a portable tradition—no matter where I am for what holiday, this pie always represents good food and good family.


Recipe and a photo after the jump!