One hallmark of our son's tantrums is what we call the "Lovey! NO!" phenomenon. This is where Gabe begs for something--his lovey, or a cup of water, let's say--and then when we give it to him, he cries "No, no, no!". This can go on for quite some time, with him convincingly demanding something that he very well may want, only to just as vehemently refuse when we offer it to him. Yesterday, we went through several iterations of "Lovey! NO!", with the object of simultaneous desire and disgust shifting every ten minutes or so: diaper change, water, Lovey, getting up on the couch, dinner (which he calls "lunch"), Lovey again, and so on.
I find that after some time attempting to manage this, it becomes clear that I must give in and ride the tantrum out along with Gabe. Typically, having abandoned my futile attempts to appease him, I feel my face take on a stony expression, as if I'm transported to some other place. I imagine that similar skills are required during meditation, say, or interrogation. This is one of those times when it's important to remember the Buddhist teaching of impermanence. The knowledge that "this too shall pass" has gotten me through many a rough spot in my short parenting career.
Maybe it's fitting, then, that the day was redeemed after all by a visit to the farmer's market. Pleasures are impermanent, too, be they parental, agricultural, or culinary. When the tantrum, storm-like, blew over, the three of us (baby, toddler, mom) trekked out to the market that convenes on Tuesday afternoons just a few blocks from our building. The goods spread before us on folding tables, the muted light of an early summer evening bringing out their full color. Strawberries, arugula, basil, cucumbers, chives, and lettuces lay in appealing little heaps and piles, but more irresistible than any of these delicacies were the cherries. I have always loved cherries. Like a good avocado, a ripe cherry demands immediate, passionate attention.
Our little caravan (Gabe in the stroller, baby on my chest, and I the sherpa) headed back home with a quart of precious, ephemeral sweet-tart gems. Gabe, who had refused most of his dinner earlier in the evening, took an interest in the cherries. I hoisted him back up into his high chair and watched him get all juicy, popping cherry bites until I finally had to hide them in the cabinet to keep him from eating the whole quart. He then proceeded to devour the pasta he had earlier rejected. Few things make me happier than seeing my little man enjoying healthy food. All that bluster from the tantrum had passed, a happy equilibrium taking its place. Things were looking up for this day.
One evening several weeks ago, Steve came home and asked me, as he always does, about our day. (Good day? bad day? somewhere in between?) I surprised us both when I answered, "Every day is a good day." Whoa. This was a revelation, even to me, and I said it. This is not the type of thing you would have heard me say five years ago, or even one year ago. But right now it is true. I think what I meant, and what continues to amaze me, is that I don't have a chance to dwell on the low moments. And not for lack of them. There are tantrums and other kinds of asocial behavior to deal with every day, many times a day. It's just that it's hard to hold a grudge with a toddler. Despite the tantrums, despite the frequent and messy refusal of food I've carefully prepared, despite the short naps and the sore back, at evening's final reckoning the accumulated joy far outweighs the moments of despair.
Not only did Gabe recover his spirits and eat his dinner last night, but he also learned a new word: "cheh-wee." And I found a new recipe. After a quick scouring of my cookbooks, I decided to entrust my loot to Patricia Wells, whose At Home in Provence has supplied me with two other favorite recipes (a lemon tart and a ricotta cheesecake, both delicious). Now I have a third to thank her for. The tart was fun to make and a sinful pleasure to consume. We ate it for dessert, nibbled on it at breakfast, and sneaked small slices here and there in the afternoon. (Well, okay, the latter deed was performed by me alone, since Steve was at work.)
Sadly, just like ripe cherries and tantrums, desserts, too, are impermanent.
And yet...there's still some cream left over in the fridge, and I stashed the remains of my ground almonds in the freezer, and Patricia Wells seems to like cherries as much as I do, because she has several other recipes she'd like for me to try.
Chance I'll be back at the farmers market next week, hoping to procure more cherries before their season ends: 100%.
*
Cherry-Almond Tart
from Patricia Wells' At Home in Provence
Tarts look impressive but are not difficult to make. You do need a tart pan, which has a removable bottom for easy cutting and serving. (Nine-inch is good for most recipes, including this one.) If you like to bake, this is a nice and inexpensive item to have in your kitchen. I especially like Wells' tart recipes because she uses a pat-in-the-pan crust. (My success rate with crusts that require rolling out is sadly low.) Pitting the cherries does take some time, but it is a fun and juicy affair. You can buy a special pitter at kitchen supply stores, but I just used the side of a chef's knife to smash each cherry (the way you would for an olive), and then I removed the pit with my fingers. This probably took me ten minutes. The recipe also calls for blanched, ground almonds. I saved a step by buying a little bag of pre-blanched, slivered almonds, which I then whirred in the coffee grinder for a few seconds. One more note: kirsch is a cherry liqueur that I've seen in numerous recipes over the years and thought about buying but always put off. I finally purchased a small bottle for $6.99, and I look forward to being able to make all of those other yummy-sounding desserts I passed up before now. Serving suggestions: This is delicious with vanilla ice cream. It's also quite nice the next day, served cold from the refrigerator.
PASTRY
1 stick (8 tbsp) unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for buttering the tart pan
1/2 cup sugar
A pinch of fine sea salt
1/8 tsp almond extract
1/8 tsp vanilla extract
2 tbsp finely ground blanched almonds
1 1/4 cups plus 1 tbsp all-purpose flour
FILLING
5 tbsp heavy cream
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 tsp almond extract
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 cup sugar
1 tbsp all-purpose flour
2 tbsp finely ground blanched almonds
1 tbsp kirsch
4 tbsp finely ground blanched almonds
1 pound fresh cherries, pitted
Confectioners' sugar, for garnish (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350. Generously butter the bottom and sides of the tart pan.
In a medium bowl, combine the butter, sugar, salt, almond and vanilla extracts, and ground almonds. Stir to blend. Gradually incorporate enough flour to form a smooth dough. Gather the dough into a ball and place it into the center of the tart pan. Starting from the middle, press the dough out and up the sides of the pan. It's okay if the dough is very thin; just aim for a fairly even thickness all around. Put the pan in center of the oven, and bake until the dough is just lightly brown and slightly puffy, about ten minutes. Take it out of the oven and set it aside to cool, leaving the oven on.
While the dough is baking, make the filling. Combine the cream, egg, and almond and vanilla extracts in a small bowl, whisking to blend. Stir in the sugar, flour, ground almonds, and kirsch.
Sprinkle two tablespoons of ground almonds on top of the prebaked crust (to prevent it from becoming soggy). Arrange the cherries in a single layer on top of the almonds. Pour the filling over the cherries, and then sprinkle with the remaining two tablespoons of almonds. Bake in the center of the oven for about 45 minutes, until the filling is set and the crust is golden brown. Cool on a rack. For a pretty presentation, sprinkle with confectioners' sugar just before serving.
*
P.S. Check out FoodieTots' Local Potluck Tuesday to find more ways to enjoy early summer's bounty!
0 comments:
Post a Comment