What I am about to tell you is not easy to confess. I'm not proud of this. I don't think it's funny. In fact I swore Ben to complete secrecy. But then I realized that true healing will never come if I keep it all bottled up inside.
The Mission: Barefoot Contessa's French Apple Tart
Made to accompany a perfect dinner for two of French Bistro Steaks with Provencal Herb Butter and Baked Sweet Potato "Fries," Ina Garten's French Apple Tart seemed easy enough to tackle. Especially when I read her cheat note to use frozen puff pastry in a pinch rather than make your own dough. I was sold.
I rolled out the pastry and trimmed it just as instructed to just the right size, and stowed the dough away until I was ready to pop it in the piping hot oven. Peeled 4 gorgeous Granny Smith apples, discarded the cores and sliced them to perfection. Then the fun began: assembling this impressive dessert with the sweet diagonal crescents sprinkled in a flurry of glistening snowy, sugar. I dotted my lovely confection with butter and even thought to myself, what could go wrong? I began to fantasize I could actually be finally conquering my demons.
But just then Ben came in and started watching, which is never good for my self-confidence. I love my husband but he has the most irritating quality about him. He can do almost anything well. Once the dessert was in the oven and I began preparation for the rest of the meal I said as much to Ben and asked him to leave when suddenly a sound came from the oven. Generally speaking I like anything I'm cooking to be somewhat quiet. Ben opened the oven and we watched the now melted dots of butter flow like the mighty Mississippi off the flat, edgeless cookie sheet (as was used in Ina's picture) and cascade onto the bottom heating coil. Deflated but intent to succeed I reached for the tart just as Ben said, "and now we have a fire."
While Matty jumped up and down that he wanted to see and I promptly removed him from the situation, the Eagle Scout calmly requested baking soda. As oatmeal, peanuts and marshmallows went flying from the pantry as I searched, we were fortunate the fire piddled out on it's own before even the smoke detector could detect a problem. But there it was. I was branded. The one who caught the kitchen on fire.
Fortunately after a joint effort, and a bit of pride swallowing on my behalf, the tart was in fact saved and delightful at the end of an otherwise perfect meal, and somewhat stressful evening.
My French Apple Tart Lesson: When dotting any pastry with butter, best to use a cookie sheet that will catch the melted butter. Even if the chef herself used a flat one. And always know where the baking soda is.
The Mission: Barefoot Contessa's French Apple Tart
Made to accompany a perfect dinner for two of French Bistro Steaks with Provencal Herb Butter and Baked Sweet Potato "Fries," Ina Garten's French Apple Tart seemed easy enough to tackle. Especially when I read her cheat note to use frozen puff pastry in a pinch rather than make your own dough. I was sold.
I rolled out the pastry and trimmed it just as instructed to just the right size, and stowed the dough away until I was ready to pop it in the piping hot oven. Peeled 4 gorgeous Granny Smith apples, discarded the cores and sliced them to perfection. Then the fun began: assembling this impressive dessert with the sweet diagonal crescents sprinkled in a flurry of glistening snowy, sugar. I dotted my lovely confection with butter and even thought to myself, what could go wrong? I began to fantasize I could actually be finally conquering my demons.
But just then Ben came in and started watching, which is never good for my self-confidence. I love my husband but he has the most irritating quality about him. He can do almost anything well. Once the dessert was in the oven and I began preparation for the rest of the meal I said as much to Ben and asked him to leave when suddenly a sound came from the oven. Generally speaking I like anything I'm cooking to be somewhat quiet. Ben opened the oven and we watched the now melted dots of butter flow like the mighty Mississippi off the flat, edgeless cookie sheet (as was used in Ina's picture) and cascade onto the bottom heating coil. Deflated but intent to succeed I reached for the tart just as Ben said, "and now we have a fire."
While Matty jumped up and down that he wanted to see and I promptly removed him from the situation, the Eagle Scout calmly requested baking soda. As oatmeal, peanuts and marshmallows went flying from the pantry as I searched, we were fortunate the fire piddled out on it's own before even the smoke detector could detect a problem. But there it was. I was branded. The one who caught the kitchen on fire.
Fortunately after a joint effort, and a bit of pride swallowing on my behalf, the tart was in fact saved and delightful at the end of an otherwise perfect meal, and somewhat stressful evening.
My French Apple Tart Lesson: When dotting any pastry with butter, best to use a cookie sheet that will catch the melted butter. Even if the chef herself used a flat one. And always know where the baking soda is.
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