By I listed 9 new properties this week — each one a different story, a different kitchen, a different family waiting to happen. The spring market is alive with the particular energy of people who have decided this is the year they change their address and their life.
Sunday dinner at Mama's was the usual controlled chaos. Mama made pastitsio and it was, as always, extraordinary. The table held fourteen people. The arguments held more opinions than the chairs held bodies. This is how Greek families communicate: loudly, with food, over each other.
The bakery smelled like honey this morning when I stopped by. That smell — warm honey and butter and the faint yeast of dough rising — is the smell of my childhood and my mother and my father and every Sunday morning of my life. Some smells are time machines. The bakery is mine.
I made tiropita — cheese pie, feta and ricotta and egg in phyllo, baked until golden. Simpler than spanakopita, rich in its own way. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and the Gulf breeze and I thought: this is what survives. Not the money or the stress or the arguments about phyllo. The food survives. The recipes survive. The love baked into every dish survives.
The house was quiet this evening. I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and the remains of dinner and I thought about all the tables I have sat at — Mama's table in Tarpon Springs, the table in the South Tampa house I lost, the table in the apartment where I started over, this table where I have fed my children for years. Every table is a different chapter. The food connects them all.
I had already made the tiropita, and it was good — it always is — but later that week, when the house was quiet again and the Gulf breeze was still coming through the window, I found myself reaching for something that felt like the same spirit: pastry, something golden, something that asks very little of you and gives back more than it should. The Tomato Tart I made that Thursday was exactly that. Simple layers, honest ingredients, the kind of thing that sits on a table and looks like you tried harder than you did — which is, honestly, the best compliment a recipe can earn.
Tomato Tart
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 sheet refrigerated pie crust (or homemade, rolled to fit a 9-inch tart pan)
- 1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
- 3–4 medium ripe tomatoes, sliced 1/4 inch thick
- 1/2 cup mayonnaise
- 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
- 2 tablespoons fresh basil, thinly sliced (plus more for garnish)
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
Instructions
- Prepare the crust. Preheat oven to 375°F. Press the pie crust into a 9-inch tart pan or pie dish. Prick the bottom all over with a fork, then blind-bake for 10 minutes until just set. Remove and let cool slightly.
- Drain the tomatoes. Lay the tomato slices on a paper-towel-lined baking sheet. Sprinkle lightly with salt and let them sit for 10 minutes, then pat dry. This step prevents a soggy crust — don’t skip it.
- Build the cheese base. Sprinkle 3/4 cup of the mozzarella evenly across the bottom of the par-baked crust.
- Mix the topping. In a small bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, Parmesan, remaining 3/4 cup mozzarella, basil, garlic, salt, and pepper until combined.
- Layer the tart. Arrange the dried tomato slices over the cheese layer in a single, slightly overlapping layer. Dollop the mayonnaise-cheese mixture over the tomatoes and spread gently. Drizzle with olive oil and add red pepper flakes if using.
- Bake. Bake at 375°F for 30–35 minutes, until the top is golden and bubbling and the crust is deep golden brown. Check at 25 minutes — ovens vary.
- Rest and serve. Let the tart rest for 10 minutes before slicing. Garnish with fresh basil. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 320 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 480mg