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.

Apricot Blackberry Tart with Rye Crust

Warning y'all, I'm in a Law & Order SVU k-hole. It comes after an abnormally demanding couple of days at my job and just before the onslaught of six straight 17-hour work days i.e., my organization's annual conference. I'm spending my last few hours of respite thinking about pie and cocktails and watching a ten-year-old sociopath terrorize a father played by Agent Cooper. Joey and I (but mostly I) had a bad habit of watching probably six episodes of SVU at a time until Joey moved to Argyle and left me here to watch SVU on my ownsome while feeding a fear of our basement (total serial killer hideout!).  

Well and so this tart. Joey successfully unleashed me from SVU's stranglehold last weekend when he came down to DC for a quick, two-night visit. We traipsed from one quadrant of DC to another, exclusively for gluttonous, double dinners and cocktails, and especially for ramen (at Toki Underground -- you have to go!) and for friends (they are the best!). And suddenly it was 2 a.m. on Saturday night when I realized that I hadn't baked the second of two of these tarts yet and that Joey was leaving at the crack of Sunday dawn. So we slept some, baked the tart, ate it, and kissed faretheewell until next time. But before Joey got on his train, he did declare this tart to be "it," and I think it almost worked magic in getting him to come back forever.

And anyway, this recipe makes two jammy, flaky, sweet, and tart tarts in what Kimberly Boyce calls a crust made “sweet and milky” by the use of rye flour. She recommends the tart dough for any fruit, particularly apricots and boysenberries together, and while my farmers market is woefully short on boysenberries, we have an abundance of blackberries and soon enough plums. Pears too. And I am officially hooked on Boyce’s palate. I mean, after her rhubarb tarts, whole-wheat chocolate chip cookies, iced oatmeal cookies, honey amaranth cookies, multigrain pear pancakes, quinoa cookies, and ginger peach muffins, I sorta already was. Definitely pick up a copy of her cookbook. It will blow your mind.

Apricot Blackberry Tart with Rye Crust                 

Adapted from Kim Boyce’s recipe for Apricot Boysenberry Tart

Makes two tarts

Boyce's recipe calls for homemade jam so I cut back the amount used since I was suspicious of how sweet commercial jam would be. I've noted below where my take strays from hers.

For rye dough
1 cup rye flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 ½ sticks cold unsalted butter
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
Ice water

1.  Sift the flours, sugar, and salt into a large bowl, dumping any grains that remain in the sifter back into the bowl. Cut the butter into half-inch pieces and add to the mixture. Rub the butter between your fingers to break it into smaller bits, until the butter ranges in size from hazelnuts to peas; work quickly!

2.  Add the vinegar and eight tablespoons of ice water to the mixture, using a rubber spatula or your hands to cut the liquid through the dry ingredients. The dough should come together as one shaggy lump. Squeeze it together to see if a ball forms, and if it’s too dry, add more water one tablespoon at a time until dough comes together. Pile the dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap, sprinkle with a few dots of water, wrap, and refrigerate for at least an hour or overnight.

3.   (This next bit is a tad technical, but folding and rolling the dough like this creates seriously flaky layers of pastry.) Unwrap the dough on a floured surface and pat it into square. Roll it out to a rectangle that’s roughly 8 ½ by 11 inches. The dough will be crumbly, but fear not! It will come together. For the first turn, fold the dough in thirds like a letter; the seam should be on the left. Rotate the dough so that the seam is at the top and parallel to your body, and roll out into an 8 ½ by 11 rectangle again. Fold and roll again, and repeat the process for a third, final time. Wrap the dough in plastic and chill for another hour.

For filling and finishing

1 ¼ cup apricot jam (suspecting sweetness, I cut this back to 1 cup total)

2 pounds ripe apricots

2 to 4 tablespoons sugar, depending on sweetness of fruit

1 ½ cups boysenberries (I used blackberries)

1 egg

¼ cup raw sugar

½ teaspoon cinnamon

1.  Cut the apricots in half, discard the pits, and toss the halves into a large bowl. Add the sugar and toss to coat. Gently stir 1/2 cup of jam into apricots; each piece of fruit should be lightly coated with jam.  In a separate bowl, toss the berries with another ¼ cup of jam, careful to keep the berries whole.

2.  To shape dough, divide it in half and keep the second half in the fridge while you work. Roll your dough on a lightly floured surface into a 15-inch circle. Transfer the circle to the back of a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper.

3.  To assemble tart, smear ¼ cup of jam (I halved this and used two tablespoons) across the crust. Pile on half the apricots and half the blackberries, tucking berries into the nooks. Working from the edges, fold the crust into the center, pleating as needed; there should be about three inches of crust showing.  Using the same procedure, make the second tart.  Freeze both tarts for at least an hour.

4.  Meanwhile preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Whisk your egg with a splash of water until no streaks remain, and brush the tops of crusts with it.  Mix the cinnamon and sugar in a small bowl, and toss it generously and evenly over both tarts. Bake tarts for 60 to 70 minutes, rotating pan halfway through, until crust is deep golden brown and filling is bubbling. If you only want to make one, keep the second unbaked tart wrapped in the freezer for up to one month.

Blood Orange Tart with Salted Caramel

I remember thinking about marriage a lot before I turned 20. I suppose that it could have either been a Herculean feat or a total delusion since I was living in a half-naked co-op in Berkeley and I had a long-distance boyfriend at the time, but my obsessive plotting dissipated once I left for France and got knocked down a couple of life ladder rungs. I never regained the ideas that I had about marriage—though the handful of heteronormative design blogs that I read aren't doing much to help me form a realistic conception of healthy relationships—and until recently it didn't have a real place in my life. Now a few of my most favorite friends are married or planning weddings, and I find myself learning something about relationships each time I hear a new story or listen to a stranger give a toast to my friends.

And so this weekend found me celebrating the upcoming wedding of my dear friends Ruben and Joaquin, who are getting married in November as all of their adoring friends (what seems like thousands!) root them on in Dia de los Muertos style. I made three desserts for the evening, including this blood orange tart with salted caramel, and even though everyone seemed to love the food, it was totally forgettable compared to the toasts that had people blubbering and the dancing that ensued. I shouldn't sell this dessert short though: The tart is a great reprieve from and celebration of winter, and the bitter orange goes perfectly with the salted caramel. Please don't stick around long enough to see me turn that into a metaphor, just go make this and congratulate yourself for having so many friends with real and inspiring relationships. 

Blood Orange Tart with Salted Caramel Sauce

Adapted from Zoe Nathan via Lottie + Doof

Per L + D's suggestion, I used a different caramel than the one Nathan suggested, and I ultimately decided on a different crust recipe as well. I tried Nathan's crust when I made the tart early in the week, and my method may be at fault here, but I found it to be too dry and difficult to work with. When I made this again for the party, I swapped in my favorite all-butter crust recipe and upped the sugar to match the level that Nathan used. It was much more to my liking!

Blood Orange Tart

One-half recipe all-butter crust (recipe and directions over here!) with 2 TBSP total sugar

8 to 10 medium blood oranges, about 7 ounces each (I used 8)

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, thinly sliced

1 large egg yolk mixed with two tablespoons of water

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 tablespoon raw sugar for dusting the crust

1.  Once you've made your pastry and it has chilled in the fridge for 30 minutes, roll it out on a lightly floured surface into an 11-inch circle. Transfer the pastry to a sheet of parchment paper on the back of a cookie sheet and let chill while you prepare the oranges, or at least 15 minutes. The oranges actually took me exactly 45 minutes to prep, so you could put your crust in the fridge, start prepping the oranges, take a break to roll out the crust, then carry on with the recipe.

2.  Peel your oranges and keep them intact as much as possible. Using a very sharp knife, gently slice the pith off of the outsides of all. Pick your two most intact and beautifully colored oranges and slice them crosswise into thin rounds.  Set aside. Set up a sieve over a bowl and carefully segment your remaining oranges, slicing between the pith to extract just the pieces of fruit. You'll need a generous cup of slices. Gently shake the slices to remove excess juice; save the juice for a different use.

3.  Leaving a two-inch border of crust all around, arrange the orange segments on the pastry. Sprinkle two tablespoons of granulated sugar and sliced tablespoon of butter over the top. Fold edges of pastry over the fruit, pleating as you go and leaving most of the fruit uncovered. Use a pastry brush to spread egg wash on the crust, and sprinkle with the raw sugar. Finally, arrange the orange circles over the top and sprinkle with the remaining tablespoon of granulated sugar. Freeze tart for at least four hours, preferably overnight.

4.  Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Bake tart on the back of the cookie sheet directly from the freezer for one hour and 15 minutes, until the crust is deep brown and the fruit is bubbling. You may want to put some foil on the rack below the tart to catch any drips. Allow to cool on cookie sheet for a half-hour, then remove to a cooling rack and allow to cool completely. Meanwhile, make the caramel!

Deep Dark Salted Caramel

1 cup granulated sugar

6 tablespoons salted butter (or unsalted + 1/4 teaspoon sea salt), cut into one-inch pieces

1/2 cup heavy whipping cream

1.  Pour the sugar into a three-quart pot set over medium-high heat and allow the sugar to melt, whisking occasionally to ensure even cooking. Once sugar is melted, continue to cook until it turns a deep copper color (I like to push caramel to the edge of burnt; go lighter if you don't). With the heat still on, add the butter and whisk like crazy, then whisk in the cream until you have a smooth sauce. Turn the heat off and enjoy! Leftovers will keep in the fridge for awhile!

Summertime Strawberry Mascarpone Tart with Chocolate Cookie Crust

This has been a dreamy-as-fuck summer.  I was feeling a little snarky when I started writing this, as recent experiences with aggressive basil-plant death, terrible things happening to a hazelnut-cardamom-tartlet experiment, and a traveling Joey and faraway Molly had left me feeling a little crotchety, but then I remembered how I recently learned that the Potomac is home to four-foot long water snakes and probably water moccasins too (awesome), and that if someone hollers at you to shout the name of a state capital when you're swinging off a tree, you might possibly shout back "Maryland!" but no one will hold it against you. 

Multiply that by a bunch of seriously good-times trips to Maine, Seattle, Portland, and Richmond and a perpetual marathon of beer, bikes, and dance parties, and well, it's no wonder I've totally been cheating on this blog with summertime and instant ramen. Let me make it up to us though: This recipe is shamefully easy and it's practically no-bake! It's a take on last year's nectarine tart (You should click that. I use the phrase "fickle produce mistress."), adapted since the strawberries in Maine are baby jewels of awesome. If you're like me and have been completely underusing your farmers' market's supply of berries and stone fruit this summer, then this is an excellent recipe for getting back into the rhythm of fruity dessert accountability (for you and me both); it would be equally and possibly more awesome with gingersnap crust and blackberries drizzled with honey on top. Get yr summer on. 

Strawberry Mascarpone Tart 

Adapted from SmittenKitchen

Crust
About 3 1/2 cups of crushed chocolate cookies
7 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted 

2 tablespoons brown sugar, or more, if you prefer a sweeter crust

Filling
1 8-ounce container mascarpone cheese
6 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
1/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon grated lemon peel
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Topping
1 quart of the tiniest strawberries around, with their tops cut off
1/4 cup strawberry jam, warmed (I skipped this, it felt cheap)

For crust: Preheat oven to 350°F. Finely grind cookies and sugar in food processor. Add melted butter and pulse on and off until crumbs are evenly moistened. Press mixture over bottom and up sides of 10-inch-diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Bake crust until color darkens, pressing sides with back of spoon if beginning to slide, about eight minutes. Cool completely.

For filling: Beat first six ingredients in medium bowl until smooth.  You can make this ahead and keep refrigerated for up to one day, or proceed and spread filling in prepared crust. Cover loosely and refrigerate at least two hours and up to one day.

For topping:  Place hulled strawberries bottom up across your filling. Alternatively, you can cut the berries into thin slices and fan them across the top. Brush with jam if you're using. Serve, or cover loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate for up to six hours. (We actually had leftovers for about two days and they kept okay, but the crust gets soggy and the fruit degrades after about a day, so this is definitely best if eaten in the same day.)

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Butter: Rustic Blueberry Cornmeal Tart

I don't know that I've ever given the Fourth of July its due.  Maybe it's because I gave in to the misguided undergraduate angst at my university, or confused orginality with being anti-patriotism, or maybe I just totally feared incurable dorkdom, but for the majority of my post-adolescent years (few though there are), I have celebrated Fourth of July among friends with comical irony and among family with only hesitant sincerity.  How so very trite of me!  And with so much pie and sparklers to be had?  I'm glad I finally got a clue.

Other awesome things about the Fourth of July include going to Belgrade Lakes, Maine with my family every year and generally hamming it up while also fishing, grilling, eating lobster, perusing antique stores, wearing matching plaid button-downs, getting daily homemade old-fashioned donuts from the general store, and of course, lounging on the dock with slices of pie on our bellies and beers in our hands.  Last year, my dad decapitated a two-inch long spider with a seven-inch long hunting knife, and my mom and I went canoeing on Sundays to go to the farmers' market and bring home berries and breakfast.  Granted, these things don't all occur on the Fourth, but I'm grateful for the occasion and the excuse to get together with my favorite people and eat butter as a family. 

Rustic Blueberry Cornmeal Tarts

Adapted from The Craft of Baking by Karen Demasco
Since I was so into the strawberry rhubarb tarts from a few weeks back, I tried to swap some corn flour into this crust recipe. The results were good, if slightly too tender, but I so love the flavor of corn that I had to try it. The original and my adaptation are provided below.

For the crust
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 tablespoons buttermilk (or make your own:  add 1/2 teaspoon white vinegar to 2 tablespoons of milk, stir, and allow to curdle for ten minutes)
1/4 + 1/8 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 cup finely ground corn meal
3/4 cups all-purpose flour*
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 egg for brushing the crust

*If you'd like, use 1/4 cup corn flour and 1/2 cup all-purpose flour instead.

For the filling
3 cups fresh blueberries (or a 15 oz. package of frozen**)
1/3 cup sugar
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 to 2 tablespoons Turbinando sugar

**If using frozen berries, mix the berries, sugar, flour, and lemon juice in a bowl and allow to come to room temperature. This will help improve the flavors and allow the juices to thicken. Also add a second tablespoon of flour since frozen berries tend to have more juice than fresh.

1.  In a large bowl, rub the butter and sugar between your fingers until it's evenly blended. Or, as Demasco suggests, use a KitchenAid with the paddle attachment for 30 seconds.  Add the buttermilk and vanilla, scraping down sides and mixing with a rubber spatula.

2.  In a small bowl, whisk corn meal, all-purpose flour, corn flour (if you're using it), and salt. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture, blending with your rubber spatula until well combined. Try not to over-stir. Flatten dough into a disk, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least an hour, or overnight.

3.  On a lightly flour sheet of parchment paper, roll chilled dough out into an 11-inch circle. Slice parchment with dough onto a cookie sheet and let rechill in the refrigerator for at least five minutes while you prepare the filling.

4.  Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. In a medium bowl, toss berries, sugar, flour and lemon juice. Remove rechilled dough from fridge and mound berries in the center, leaving a four-inch border all the way around. Gently fold the edges of the dough up and over toward the berries, pleating for an even look, or folding casually for a rustic look. Work quickly, especially if your kitchen is hot, lest the crust become hard to work with. Slide tray back into the fridge for 20 minutes.

5. Whip the egg in a bowl until whites are fully incorporated. Once tart has chilled, brush the crust with the egg wash and then sprinkle Turbinando sugar over the crusts (and filling too if you wish). Bake for 40 minutes in the center of the oven, rotating once halfway through. Tart crust will be golden brown when finished baking. Remove to a cooling rack and serve warm or at room temperature with whipped cream, ice cream, or creme fraiche. Since corn is fragile, this tart is best eaten the same day.

Rustic Rhubarb Tarts

Two weeks ago, I took my first foray down to Wolf Trap National Park in Virginia to see Prairie Home Companion (and Gillian Welch!) with some near and dear friends. While I've only been to a handful of outdoor performance spaces (and never to The Gorge), I can say with some confidence that Wolf Trap is remarkable, especially when it's blazing sunshine and you've just come from an indoor picnic and possibly maybe a beer-chugging session. We watched the radio show (what a concept!) in the Filene Center, which is ten stories of dizzying carpentry set in the middle of an expanse of lawn for picnickers.  Our troupe had planned to picnic along with everyone else, but when thunderstorms (that never materialized) threatened to close in, we relocated to Tory and Joey's house to potluck, drink (Dogfish Head Immort Ale), and of course, eat dessert.

My obsession with Kim Boyce's new cookbook still hasn't relented, so when I finally got to the farmers market early enough to pick and choose my produce, her corn flour rhubarb tarts became the obvious choice for a Saturday baking endeavor.  While I've managed to acquire some obscure flours for her recipes, I still can't find the dried hibiscus flowers this one calls for, so I altered the rhubarb compote and made it with strawberries instead. Call me boring, but this dessert is anything but, and while the free-form pastry dough can be slightly troubling on a sweltering day, this is still a simple, beautiful, spring or summer tart.

Rustic (Strawberry) Rhubarb Tarts

Adapted from Kim Boyce's Good to the Grain:  Baking with Whole-Grain Flours

Her full recipe makes ten tarts.  I made the full pastry recipe, but only made six tarts, and cut the compote recipe in half because I didn't purchase enough rhubarb.  From the leftover pastry, I made ten thumbprint cookies dolloped with the remaining compote.  The tarts cook for 35 minutes, and  my cookies were finished after 18.  You can follow what I did, or scale back the pastry by half, or better yet, pick up a copy of Kim's book and get her original recipe. 

For the pastry (full recipe)

1 cup corn flour (I used Bob's Red Mill)

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup fine cornmeal 

1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 teaspoon Kosher salt

1 stick (four ounces) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons heavy cream

2 egg yolks

1.  Combine dry ingredients in a food processor.  Add the butter and process in short pulses, until mixture resembles coarse corn meal.  Add the heavy cream and egg yolks, and pulse until combined.  Don't overmix here; the dough will look crumbly, but it will come together when kneaded.  You can also do this all by hand, just by rubbing the butter into the flour with your fingertips until it reaches that same corn meal consistency.

2.  Divide the dough into ten equal pieces.  Lightly flour a work surface and, using the heel of your hand, flatten a piece of dough into a rough circle.  Continue flattening until it's approximately five inches in diameter (or, I found, even a little larger).  Try to work quickly so that the dough doesn't get too soft.  For a more elegant edge, Boyce recommends flattening the outer edge with your fingertips, making it thinner than the rest.

3.  Spoon three tablespoons of the strawberry rhubarb compote (recipe below) into the center of the dough (Boyce calls for four tablespoons, but based on advice from SmittenKitchen and my own observations, I went with three).  Fold the dough into the center of the tart and up, to make a ruffled edge; continue all the way around until you've achieved your rustic aesthetic. Slide a bench scraper or metal spatula under the pastry and place on a parchment-covered cookie sheet.  Continue with the rest of the dough.  Freeze the tarts for at least an hour, or up to two weeks if wrapped tightly in plastic.

4.  In an oven preheated to 375 degrees Fahrenheit, bake the tarts, still frozen, for about 35 minutes or until the edges are golden and the compote is bubbling and thick.  Serve warm or at room temperature.  The tarts keep in an airtight container for up to two days (but they probably won't last that long). 

For the Strawberry Rhubarb Compote (half recipe)

Again, Boyce makes Rhubarb Hibiscus compote. I'm still trying to get my hands on some hibiscus flowers, which I bet are fully excellent (Lottie and Doof says so too).

1 pound strawberries, rinsed and hulled

1 pound rhubarb stalks, de-leafed

3/4 cup dark brown sugar, packed 

1 teaspoon fresh lemon zest + 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1.  Rinse rhubarb stalks and trim very ends.  Cut in half lengthwise and cut stalks on the diagonal into 3/4-inch pieces (You should have about 3 cups).   Cut the strawberries lengthwise into quarters (You should have about 3 cups).

2.  Leaving three-quarters cup of the rhubarb aside, combine rhubarb and brown sugar in a heavy-bottomed pot.  Add the sugar, lemon juice, and lemon zest, and turn the heat to medium low.  Cook, covered, for 15 minutes until the rhubarb has released its juices and your kitchen smells awesome.  Add the strawberries, increase heat to medium, and cook, uncovered now, for another 15 to 20 minutes, or until the compote is fairly thick and a metal spoon leaves a trail at the bottom of the pan.  Watch the mixture closely so it doesn't burn.

3.  Remove from heat, toss in the remaining rhubarb.  Spread compote on a cold plate or baking pan and allow to cool and thicken for about a half hour, then proceed with filling the tarts. Remaining compote keeps covered in the fridge for about a week, and is awesome mixed into yogurt, ricotta, or on toast.