From Paris to Eternity
🍋 The Frigid, the Sour, and the Immortal
🍒 Give me balmy weather, deep sunlight and strappy dresses any day over this coziness obsession with turtle necks, and winter cheer, and fairy lights. As the gray returns to France, and I hide inside my unsightly winter coat, I’ll be on the hunt for stimulants that will cure my seasonal grumpiness and remind me that the world is still full of music and scent and flavor. Day trips to the ballet and museums will help, and so will a daily dose of pâtisserie. But I’ll mostly be revivified by the little offerings that nature will unleash to remind me that, indeed, spring will be here in a mere five months. I can already envision my giddiness at the sight of the first winter crocuses in January. 🌷 And citrus season in Europe, already in full gear, will revivify my deep need for riotous color and zingy freshness amongst the taupes, and slates, and rusts of the visual landscape. Key limes, and pink grapefruits, and blood oranges will see me through the next few months.
Anton Chekhov, writing from the deepest gray and cold imaginable in the civilized world, repeatedly stressed the heavy weight of deep winter. During Russian literary season (many years ago) I would skip AP English class more than usual — I loved the writers, but, as ever, with my head in the clouds, I so longed to be carried away to the tropics, or the desert, or the jungle. I wanted Gabriel García Márquez and Tennesee Williams, not snow and ice and hail. 🌸 My daydreams, as ever, guided my every step, and excessive thoughts of the frigid cold and the desperate need to find a heat source didn’t sit well with me on paper or in real life.
I still detest the cold, and can only slightly agree with Chekhov when he insisted that “people do not realize whether it is winter or summer when they are happy.”
Perhaps I am an utterly miserable human being as in the dead of winter I still struggle to find whole-hearted joy. Call it Seasonal Affective Disorder, winter-phobia, or grumpiness: I have to exert myself to feel gleeful when the sun hardly makes an appearance and the collective central heating in my building remains at an un-toasty 68F degrees. 🥶 And, no, this isn’t Muscovite cold, it’s Parisian cold with its perpetual gray skies and a balmy 35F degrees outside. Intolerable for melodramatics like myself who in Michelin-man puffy coats and sun-deprived skin start to imagine that they are, indeed, characters in a Chekhov novel.
In the citrus the antidote will be found (and a space heater, as well). On a day when I very ungracefully slip and fall on the icy sidewalks, it is the clouds of scent from peeling an oroblanco grapefruit after dinner that will soothe my rage. When the stench of a neighbor’s sulfurous cabbage dish permeates the entire floor in my apartment building, it is the raucous orange hue of the clementine that will lift my mood and spark visions of blue skies and monarch butterflies. 🦋 🍋
Some kind of miracle that citrus is a winter crop. A colorful, fragrant wink from the gods to keep the faith amongst the dog-pee-drenched Slurpee snow on the sidewalk, or the 18th day in a row of thick cloud cover. A reminder that rebirth is our destiny, and that in the torpor of general dormancy brews an explosion of life itching to come out. In town, juicy fruits arrive from Italy or Morocco – just in time to give us a little hope that the party will return to our days.
Walking down the Rue de Sevres, not far from the Grande Épicerie, I come across the citrus specialist l’Agrumiste: the boutique of bergamot lemons and “buddha hands” citrons. Citrus caviar and pink lemons. Kaffir limes and oroblanco grapefruit. 🍊 Such lyrical titles for fruit – perhaps invented by some marketing think tank, but I like to imagine a poet with her head in the clouds deciphering the titles of each varietal after feasting on juice and pulp, and even some rind. L’Agrumiste sells from its own orchards in Morocco, where they grow over 250 citrus varieties that supply this elegant little shop with delightful specimens.
The orchards are located near the possible site of the ancient mythological Garden of the Hesperides where the Nymphs of the Evening frolicked as protectors of the sunset, and marriages, and the beauty of the night. 🌛 🌞 The lovely demi-goddesses had beautiful names: Scarlet, Brightness, and Sunset Glow. Their task, mandated by Hera (goddess of marriage and family, and one of Zeus’ wives), was to care for the tree with the “golden apples” whose fruits brought eternal life. The fruit were said to glow, giving dusk it’s golden hue.
Except for a little mishap in which a stolen apple resulted in the Trojan War, the nymphs did a fairly good job guarding the fruit from those who had their eye on immortality. If only us earthlings could find gainful employment prancing around gardens, honoring and protecting the precious offerings from the heavens. If only our official job descriptions read: “Protector of wedding nights, sunsets, and eternal life.” If only our KPI’s were measured by our capacity to prance and dance under the moonlight, and joyously sing to the orchard fruit.
Rather than apples, the grammarian Athenaeus clarified in the second century CE, the fruit were more likely citrons. It was actually the divine citrus of winter that brought eternal life! 🍋 The cedrate. Citrus medica. The citron -- the parent fruit of all modern citrus varietals with a thick rind and deeply aromatic zest. 🍋
In that hallowed grove in Morocco, L’Agrumiste cultivates what may likely be the mythical golden apple: the rare Luminciana Citron. At the shop on Rue de Sevres my heart races when I see the giant lemon-like fruit (sometimes bigger than a very large mango, and up to 12 inches in height). I fervently want to believe that the nymphs actually dance and sing around the orchard. That this fruit is infused with the aura of Scarlet and Sunset Glow. That I will receive a holy sacrament when Luminciana touches my lips after I alchemize it into candied fruit.
Such a magnificent specimen with the thickest of piths, and an oily rind that perfumes my canvas shopping bag. While it will transform into a candied citron in my kitchenette, I can’t help but follow the shop assistant’s suggestion to take a bite from the Luminciana and enjoy it like an apple. 🐍 🍎 She’s not a cunning serpent, but a lovely young woman who convinces me to break with a taboo and take of this fruit of immortality. Instead of eternal damnation, I am consumed by a form of rapture. Am I taking of the bodies of the gods? Or am I just overwhelmed by the pungent minty-ness that tingles on my tongue for several blocks as I walk back to the apartment?
Luminciana rejuvenates my senses, but she is awfully expensive. I only take two home (22 euros!), and quickly realize that the citrus stimulants of the season will have to come from orchards a bit less legendary. A bit less grandiose.
The supermarket provides plenty of beauties to brighten the drab days of the season. I fill the pretty bowl on my dining table with oranges and limes, probably from a mass-production orchard somewhere in Spain where the fruit is not so mythical, but delectable nonetheless. I want to show it to every neighbor, to every perplexed friend on video-call who wonders how a bowl of fruit could produce such manic enthusiasm. I want to peel every tangerine, and let the mist of oil sprinkle my face like summer rain. I feverishly long to whiff fresh ruby pomelos at every corner of the city.
Like a mad obsessive, a collection of citrus essential oils will take over my vanity this winter. Cointreau will find its way into my recipes and cocktails. Mandarins will sit at the bottom of my handbag wherever I go so I can sniff the fruit like a junkie when in absolute need of a euphoric hit. If Chekhov was correct, every key lime, every tangelo will inform my days and brighten my mood so that winter will be a time of bliss. So will many slices of sweet citrus pies. ☀️
It is Julia Richardson, in her fabulous cookbook Vintage Cakes, who first introduced me to the term “hasty bakes.” Such validation I felt when pandowdies, and sheet cakes, and buckles, and crisps greeted me in this gorgeous archive of old American fare. 🍰 I wasn’t alone in loving the not-so-pretty, but oh-so-delicious baking that takes place everyday in kitchens in Portland, or Duluth, or Fresno.
In Paris, haute pâtisserie, with its extreme inclination toward perfect physical form, lures hungry pilgrims from all over the globe. Of course macarons and éclairs are a delight, but my heart rests in the hasty when it comes to dessert. I could care less about the appearance of a slice of my Blue Hawaii pie splattered on a pretty serving dish. It’s completely divine with its pineapple, and blueberry, and lovely touch of lime. 🍍
Knowing that today an entire squad of American bakers will be making delicious uneven shapes of chocolate chip cookies and runny apple pies, I am completely comfortable with preparing the most imperfect tart (certainly by Parisian standards) that will brighten my winter with the citrus fruits of the season. While the Luminciana is a luxury specimen, Persian or key limes are perfectly accessible to us earthlings. My tart, hasty and uncouth as can be (by Parisian standards), will be perfumed with the zest of limes and ground ginger. A slice of zingy brightness when everything is slate, and pewter, and gray in the world.
Winter is long and dreary, especially for those of us who reject its offerings from the very first sign of pumpkin-spice latte season in September. It will be the 20th of March before some of us will celebrate winter, knowing we only have to do it for a few hours with the reassurance that tulips and bumble bees will soon start making the rounds in our local parks and balconies and gardens. Citrus will start to dwindle during spring, and will likely be the only thing I will miss from the winter dread. I will buy dozens of lemons and feverishly squeeze them to freeze their winter juices for summer salads. I will eat little bits of candied Luminciana with its complex, bitter flavor profile to challenge and revivify my senses — and daily. I will reminisce over all the beautiful, fragrant, sweet winter baking that brought euphoric joy during the gray: pink grapefruit-Aperol pie, blood orange-meringue tarte, and Blue Hawai’i crumble. Winter baking will get me through this dark season, and so will knowing that millions of us around the world will be enlivened by sniffing lemon and lime zest with abandon in our kitchens as we count the days to the sun’s return. May winter baking (and cooking) bring glee to your days. And may you have someone in your life with whom to share your zesty, restless spirit and delicious winter pleasures. Bon Appétit. 🌸
Lime-Ginger Tart
Ingredients:
For the crust:
1.5 cups of flour
1/2 cup, plus one tablespoon of powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon of fine salt
1/2 cup, plus one tablespoon of very cold butter
The yolk of one egg
For the filling:
1 small can of sweetened condensed milk, partially skimmed (typically comes in 14 ounce cans)
4 egg yolks
2 teaspoons of finely grated lime zest
1 teaspoon of freshly grated ginger, or 1/2 teaspoon of dried ginger
3/4 cup of fresh lime juice (use key limes, if available, but Persian limes will work beautifully here) — this may require 10 limes or more
Method:
Prepare the crust:
Cut the butter into 1/2 inch cubes. Spread on a plate, and freeze until very cold.
Mix the flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl.
Work the butter into the flour mixture using the tips of your fingers. The butter should not get warm. Continue until dough resembles very coarse sand.
Add the egg yolk and lightly mix with a fork until the dough is homogeneous. It should not get warm! 😊
Press the dough into a tart pan with a removable bottom. I used a 14 x 4.3 inch tart pan. You could use a 12-inch round tart pan.
Use very gentle fingers to press the dough evenly across the bottom and sides of tin (1/4 inch thickness, approximately).
Let the pan rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.
Prepare the filling:
Preheat the oven to 350F degrees.
Combine the condensed milk, lime juice, lime zest, ginger and egg yolks in a bowl, and beat with an electric mixer for 2 minutes.
When the crust is well chilled, pour in the lime mixture.
Place the tart in the oven and bake for 25-30 minutes. Be careful not to let the tart brown too much… it’s crucial to keep an eye on it during baking, as every oven is different. The tart should be slightly soft in the center.
Let the tart rest for one hour at room temperature. Then refrigerate for at least two hours.
Ready to serve and enjoy!
Muy bueno. Es interesante cómo el gusto cambio con el clima; y cómo el olor de una fruta, y el sabor de un pie cambian el mood en una temporada tan fria y gris. La comida le da color a la vida.