Lemon Blueberry Tart

Liam's first Thanksgiving. He sat in his own high chair at the table for the first time at a real meal, pulled up to the edge like a colleague, and participated in Thanksgiving by eating sweet potato from a spoon provided by whichever grandmother happened to be nearest. There were two grandmothers. They took turns. He accepted from both with equal courtesy.

We were at my parents' in Dorchester again. My mother made the turkey and the sweet potato casserole with the marshmallows, my father made his Brussels sprouts that he insists no one likes and everyone eats, Sean brought a bottle of Jameson as the Fitzgerald family contributes every year, and I made two pies—apple and pumpkin—because I couldn't decide and November gives you permission to make two pies.

After dinner I sat on the floor and put Liam between my knees and he leaned back against me and watched the adults talk with the calm of someone who's been in the world eight months and has come to a preliminary peace with most of it. My father watched this from his chair and said nothing for a while and then said to Sean: "He's easy." Sean said "He knows he's loved." My father nodded like that was the logical conclusion.

Eight months old. The first year is moving faster than I was warned it would and I was warned explicitly and specifically. I know it'll be gone before I can photograph all of it. I photograph it anyway. Thanksgiving, pie on the counter, Liam between my knees looking at the room with November eyes. The first of everything. I'm trying to be present for every first. I mostly am.

That Thanksgiving I made two pies and didn’t apologize for it, and if I’m honest, the spirit behind that decision—the November gives you permission logic—is the same spirit behind this lemon blueberry tart. It’s the kind of thing you put on the counter next to the turkey dishes and the Jameson and the Brussels sprouts no one admits they love, and it just glows there, doing its job. Liam won’t remember this one, but I will—the first year I started baking things just because the table deserved them.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar, plus extra for dusting
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 egg yolk
2 tablespoons ice water
3 large eggs
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice (about 3–4 lemons)
1 tablespoon lemon zest
1/3 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cups fresh blueberries

Instructions

Make the crust. In a food processor or large bowl, combine flour, powdered sugar, and salt. Add cold butter and work it in until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Mix in the egg yolk and ice water one tablespoon at a time until the dough just comes together. Form into a disk, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Pre-bake the shell. Preheat oven to 375°F. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough to 1/8-inch thickness and press into a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Trim the edges. Line with parchment and fill with pie weights or dried beans. Bake 15 minutes, then remove weights and bake another 8–10 minutes until lightly golden. Let cool slightly.
Mix the filling. Reduce oven temperature to 325°F. In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, granulated sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, and heavy cream until smooth and fully combined.
Fill and bake. Pour the lemon filling into the cooled tart shell. Scatter blueberries evenly across the top—they will settle slightly as it bakes. Bake 25–30 minutes until the filling is just set with a slight wobble in the center.
Cool and serve. Allow the tart to cool completely at room temperature, then refrigerate for at least 1 hour before slicing. Dust with powdered sugar just before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lemon Blueberry Tart — The First of Everything, Including Pie on the Counter