Memories Found in a Puckery Lemon Tart

This past Mother's Day brought forth a flood of memories of the women in my family, many of whom have passed on but who left indelible impressions. Some are as sharp as the high heels my mother loved to wear, others as soft as the pastel-colored housedresses my father's mother wore. Many, for me—as I'm sure will come as a surprise to no one—involved food: my maternal grandmother's rhubarb sauce that my grandfather heaped sugar on; the batches of cabbage rolls that my dad's family called "hoblich," an invariable feature at any gathering; my own mother's love of fruit desserts and pies.

My mother in party mode.

The one dessert that she adored but never felt that she mastered, at least according to her exacting standards—my Kentucky-raised friend Kathryn would interject "bless her heart" here—was lemon meringue pie. I recall many of these cloud-topped confections parading through my young life, but for my mom there was always a meringue that pulled away from the crust, even if only a little, or it bore too many overly browned curlicues on its tips, or the curd was too sweet or too tart.

No matter how many compliments were showered on her efforts, she'd turn them away by pointing out its shortcomings or by saying, "Oh, you should try my friend Eleanor's, she makes the best lemon meringue." In other words, it was a fraught topic for her.

A simple lemon tart to love.

I, on the other hand, was more than happy to gobble up any and all "mistakes," major or minor. If the smooth lemony curd made the back of my tongue tingle, all the better. If its sweetness cut the lemon's tang, I can't remember minding. Ditto with any meringue issues.

These recollections came rushing back recently when Dave was experimenting with a lemon tart recipe from Cook's Illustrated, following on the heels of his apple galette epiphany. The curd is smooth and has just the right tang of lemon, the crust is short and not-too-sweet, and a dollop of whipped cream obviates any potential meringue traumas.

I think my mother would approve.

Lemon Olive Oil Tart

Adapted from Cook's Illustrated

For the crust:

1 1/2 cups (7 1/2 oz.) flour

5 Tbsp. (2 1/4 oz.) sugar

1/2 tsp. kosher salt

1/2 c. olive oil

2 Tbsp. water

For the filling:

1 c. (7 oz.) sugar

2 Tbsp. flour

1/4 tsp. kosher salt

3 eggs plus 3 yolks

1 Tbsp. grated lemon zest plus 1/2 cup juice (approx. 3 lemons)

1/4 c. olive oil

Make sure that all your metal equipment—saucepan, strainer and whisk—is nonreactive, or the filling may have a metallic flavor.

For the crust: Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350°. Whisk flour, sugar and salt together in bowl. Add oil and water and stir until uniform dough forms. Using your hands, crumble three-quarters of dough over bottom of 9-inch tart pan with removable bottom. Press dough to even thickness in bottom of pan. Crumble remaining dough and scatter evenly around edge of pan, then press crumbled dough into fluted sides of pan. Press dough to even thickness. Place pan on rimmed baking sheet and bake until crust is deep golden brown and firm to touch, 30 to 35 minutes, rotating pan halfway through baking.

For the filling: About 5 minutes before crust is finished baking, whisk sugar, flour and salt in medium saucepan until combined. Whisk in eggs and yolks until no streaks of egg remain. Whisk in lemon zest and juice. Cook over medium-low heat, whisking constantly and scraping corners of saucepan, until mixture thickens slightly and registers 160°, 5 to 8 minutes.

Off the heat, whisk in oil until incorporated. Strain curd through fine-mesh strainer set over bowl. Pour curd into warm tart shell.

Bake until filling is set and barely jiggles when pan is shaken, 8 to 12 minutes. Let tart cool completely on wire rack, at least 2 hours. Remove outer metal ring of tart pan. Slide thin metal spatula between tart and pan bottom, then carefully slide tart onto serving platter. Cut tart into wedges, wiping knife clean between cuts if necessary, and serve. (Leftovers can be wrapped loosely in plastic wrap and refrigerated for up to 3 days.)

Meyer Lemon Relish Makes Cauliflower Sing

I adore Meyer lemons and try to use them as much as possible when they're in season. This year I made preserved lemons, the better to enjoy them long after they've disappeared from store shelves. Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food chops them into a relish that he can serve with grilled fish or mix with any number of blanched vegetables and salad greens. Thanks, Jim! 

It wasn't that long ago (okay, maybe it was 20 years) that the only way to get a Meyer lemon was knowing someone in California with a tree in their backyard. The citrus, thought to be a cross of lemon and tangerine, actually arrived from Asia in the early 1900s. Less acidic and puckery than the common Lisbon and Eureka lemons, Meyers also have thin, aromatic skins and a lovely fragrance.

Cauliflower with Meyer Lemon Relish

This relish, a twist on the traditional Italian herb sauce called gremolata, comes from an Alice Waters recipe for slow-roasted salmon in the 1999 Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook. It's good with fish and almost everything else.

Drop a whole head of cauliflower into a pot of salted boiling water; pull it out after 3 minutes and let cool. Make the relish by cutting a Meyer lemon into quarters lengthwise, slicing the central white core from each quarter and removing the seeds. Then chop the lemon finely. [Preserved Meyer lemons, chopped as indicated, would be fabulous, too.]

Combine the chopped lemon with a finely chopped shallot, a quarter cup or so of chopped flat-leaf parsley, about a tablespoon of chopped chives, a tablespoon of Katz sparkling wine vinegar, a pinch of salt and a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Let this sit for a few minutes while you chop the cauliflower (use the core, too; just chop it into smaller pieces). Toss the cauliflower with the relish, add more salt and a little black pepper and drizzle with more olive oil. Serve cold or at room temperature.

Light and Lemony

Bare branches, dark grey skies and buckets of rain may mark this season in the Northwest, but they can't hold a candle to some of the delights to be found in local markets. I've already mentioned the abundance of crabby goodness creeping (sideways) out of the sea and onto local tables, and now it looks like there's an avalanche of yellow, puckery globes piling up in the produce aisle and cascading from friends' greenhouses.

Meyer lemons, those natives of China that are thought to be a cross between true lemons and mandarin oranges, have been perfuming the air since they appeared as blossoms on the little tree at my brother's wine shop, and this year he's harvested a bumper crop off of it. I'm planning on making preserved lemons with a batch I bought at the market, but last night, in need of a side dish to go with roast chicken and with lemons dancing in my head, I decided a lemon risotto might just hit the spot.

This recipe is a conglomeration from several sources, but the one departure is the addition of an egg yolk added at the very last minute, courtesy of sensuous kitchen mistress Nigella Lawson. It adds a glossy, creamy quality that suffuses this lemony dish with another level of richness, and may become a regular addition to other creamy risottos.

Meyer Lemon Risotto

2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 yellow onion, chopped fine or 2 shallots, minced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 c. arborio rice
1/2 c. dry white wine
5 c. chicken stock, heated
1/2 c. Meyer lemon juice (regular lemons can be used, as well, or substitute chopped preserved lemons instead of the juice and the zest)
2 tsp. lemon zest (approx. 2 lemons)
1 egg yolk
1/2 c. parmesan, plus additional for garnish
Parsley, finely chopped, for garnish

Heat butter and oil in medium saucepan over medium heat, then add onion and garlic and sauté until golden, 2-3 minutes. Add rice and stir to combine, approx. 30 seconds. Add white wine and stir until absorbed, then start adding chicken stock a cup at a time until slightly al dente. Remove from heat and add lemon juice, lemon zest, egg yolk and parmesan all at once and stir rapidly to combine. Garnish with parsley and serve immediately with additional parmesan for sprinkling.

Note: If making this in the microwave (I know…total heresy, but it works great), heat oil and butter for 1 min. on high, then add onion and garlic and heat 2 min. on high. Stir in rice to coat and heat on high 1 minute. Stir in wine and stock, cook for 10 min. on high, then pull out of microwave, stir, replace in microwave and cook an additional 10 minutes, watching to make sure it doesn't dry out (there should still be liquid at the top). Remove from microwave, quickly stir in lemon juice, lemon zest, egg yolk and parmesan and serve, garnished with chopped parsley. You may need to play with the timing a little, since each microwave is different, but seriously, this is an easy way to make risotto, especially if you've got company. And they'll never know you cheated.

Tart Tart, Tang Tang.

As stated previously, I am a sucker for a good recipe and, if it features one of my favorite ingredients in an easy and delicious-sounding new form, there's a good likelihood that it'll end up in the "Gotta Try This" folder. When the Dining section of the New York Times ran an article a few months ago on lemons, they had me hooked. And since I'd recently purchased a non-stick tart pan, the description of the Lemon Confit Shortbread Tart made it a cut-it-out-right-now item even if everyone hadn't yet read the paper (sorry, honey...).

This one was particularly appealing to my lemon-loving self because the filling is no creamy compromise to less lemon-centric souls, but simply thinly sliced rind-and-all lemons with a touch of sugar, boiled down and sandwiched between two lightly lemon-scented crusts. It's enough to make even the most ardent lemon supporter's back teeth sing and it's incredibly good, especially served with fresh Hood strawberries and a dollop of Mio Gelato's Italian cream. Like the farro salad, it's going to be appearing with regularity on our summer table.

My friend Mary Fishback of Bread & Ink Cafe and the founding dessert maven behind Rimsky-Korsakoffee House made it with clementines and said it totally rocks, so come up with your own variation and let us know how it turns out. You (and your guests this summer) will be knocked out!

Lemon Confit Shortbread Tart
Originally from the New York Times Dining section

For the crust:
3 c. flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 lb. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into 1" pieces
1 1/4 c. sugar, divided
1 large egg
1/8 to 1/4 tsp. almond extract, or to taste
2 Tbsp. lemon juice

For the confit:
8 Meyer lemons, preferably thin-skinned and seedless, but regular organic lemons will work
3/4 c. sugar
2 Tbsp. water

For the crust, combine flour, salt, butter and 1 cup sugar in a bowl.  Mix with your fingers until it forms flaky crumbs and lumps. Mix in egg, almond extract and lemon juice. Continue to mix until it clumps; it may seem very dry at first. Shape into a ball, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to 1 day ahead of baking.

For the confit, slice off and discard ends of lemons. Slice 5 crosswise, peel and all, as thinly as possible. Remove any seeds and place in a bowl. Peel skin, including white pith, from remaining 3 lemons, then slice thinly crosswise and add to bowl. Add 3/4 cup sugar and 2 tablespoons water. Toss and let sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes or up to 2 hours.

Place lemon slices and their juice in a saucepan, and bring to a boil.  Cook down until lemons are candied and small amount of liquid in pan is sticky and syrupy, about 15 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and let cool.

To bake, preheat oven to 350°. Divide dough in half and form each half into a ball. Roll out one ball on a floured surface until large enough to fit into a 9-inch round tart pan. Dough will be crumbly (more shortbread than pie crust); if it falls apart, press it back together. Spoon Confit over crust, spreading evenly. Roll out second ball of dough and place on top, sealing edges but making sure no crust overlaps the rim or tart will be difficult to remove later.

Bake until edges of tart are lightly golden, about 35 minutes, then sprinkle top with remaining ¼ cup sugar.  Return to oven for about 10 more minutes; edges should be lightly golden and crust cooked through but not browned.  Serve warm or cooled.