Rustic Pear Tart — The Same File Maureen Gave Me

The Thursday showing did not happen. The house went under contract Wednesday afternoon before we got there -- the realtor called while I was at the clinic and I took the call in the med room and said "okay" twice and hung up. Sean said "okay" when I told him and that was the whole conversation. You cannot get attached to a house you have not walked through. I am telling myself this in the same voice I use with patients who are trying not to hope for something they cannot make happen by hoping for it. The voice is working about sixty percent.

Sean patched the ceiling in the kitchen this weekend -- the slow leak from the bathroom upstairs that has been an ongoing conversation with our landlord for six months. The landlord finally agreed to let us fix it and deduct it from rent, which Sean took as a personal commission. He was up on the stepladder Saturday morning with a putty knife and the specific Sean-expression he gets when he is doing a home improvement task that he does not fully have the skills for but is going to complete anyway because asking someone else would be a kind of defeat. The patch looks fine. I told him it looked fine. He said "of course it looks fine" in a voice that suggested he was relieved.

Liam is in a phase where he wants to know what everything is made of. Not in the science-curiosity way, in the inventory way. What is the couch made of. What is the plate made of. What is my sweater made of. I answered the first twenty and then started making things up. Wool from a specific sheep named Margaret. Glass from a factory in Ohio. Liam received each answer seriously, nodded, and moved to the next question. He may have believed me. He may have been testing me. I cannot always tell with him. He inherited his father's poker face and my sense of humor.

Nora turned nineteen months on Tuesday. I note this because the intervals have started to feel different -- the developmental reports are no longer "learned to sit up" milestones, they are personality markers. This week she began carrying a small notebook around the apartment and putting it down carefully when she wanted to do something else. Not throwing. Placing. She retrieves it later. She is curating her own object, which is a thing I did not know eighteen-month-olds did, and which I cannot stop watching.

The oncology floor this week was heavy. A Thursday admit I am not going to describe. I came home and sat in the car in the driveway for ten minutes. When I came in, Sean had dinner on the table and didn't ask. That is the marriage. You don't always ask. You just set a plate down.

Made apple-cheddar scones on Sunday morning, the recipe from Maureen's old Gourmet magazine from the nineties that she tore out and put in a file and handed to me when I moved out. Sharp cheddar, the Cortland apples from the farm stand on Route 3A, a little pepper. The dough is rough. You want it rough. Liam ate one and requested a second before finishing the first, which is the review system in this house.

The same file Maureen handed me when I moved out — the one with the scone recipe — has a few other dog-eared pages tucked behind it, and this tart is one of them. After a week where so much felt out of reach, there’s something steadying about a recipe that is intentionally rough around the edges: pears from the same farm stand on Route 3A, a crust you fold by hand, nothing that requires precision or promises. It asks very little of you, and it gives back something that looks like you meant it all along.

Rustic Pear Tart

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar, plus 2 tablespoons for filling
• 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
• 3 to 4 tablespoons ice water
• 3 medium ripe but firm pears (such as Bosc or Anjou), peeled, cored, and sliced 1/4-inch thick
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• 1 tablespoon cornstarch
• 1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
• 1 tablespoon turbinado or coarse sugar (for finishing)
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces (for dotting)

Instructions

1. Make the dough. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, 1 tablespoon granulated sugar, and salt. Add the cold butter cubes and work them in with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with some pea-sized pieces remaining. Add ice water one tablespoon at a time, stirring with a fork just until the dough comes together. It will look rough — that’s right. Flatten into a disk, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.
2. Prepare the filling. Toss the sliced pears with lemon juice, the remaining 2 tablespoons granulated sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cornstarch until evenly coated. Set aside.
3. Preheat and roll. Preheat oven to 400°F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. On a lightly floured surface, roll the chilled dough into a rough 12-inch circle, about 1/8-inch thick. Transfer to the prepared baking sheet.
4. Assemble the tart. Arrange the pear slices in the center of the dough, overlapping slightly, leaving a 2-inch border all around. Dot the pears with the small pieces of butter. Fold the border up and over the outer edge of the pears, pleating as you go. The edges should be rustic and uneven.
5. Finish and bake. Brush the folded crust with the beaten egg and sprinkle the turbinado sugar over the crust and lightly over the pears. Bake until the crust is deep golden and the pears are tender and caramelized at the edges, 38 to 42 minutes.
6. Cool and serve. Let the tart cool on the pan for at least 15 minutes before slicing. Serve warm or at room temperature, on its own or with a spoonful of creme fraiche.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 265 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 33g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 85mg