Full disclosure: I sat down to write this post the other night and I had nothing. The words just weren't coming. I believe the first thing I came up with was, "Oh, hello. I didn't see you come in."
Then it was, "This is my peach tart."
Then I settled on a picture-heavy post with a feeble introduction. Finally I scrubbed the whole thing. I told myself this blog could go downhill fast if I start pulling shit like that. My goal here was to give the people something nice to look at and something nice to read with every post, and if I couldn't do that, then I should wait until I could.
But I was concerned. Why was I struggling? Was it because I was rushed and zapped of creativity? Was it because, a measly 18 posts in, I've recognized a certain futility in this blog and become disillusioned by the whole thing? Or could it be that the peach tart, photogenic as it was, didn't offer much fodder for blog talk?
I won't leave you hanging: I think it was the first one. Because really, it was an exciting venture for us. My mom bought her first food processor for the occasion, and I bought my first springform pan. And I admit, I not long ago challenged the necessity of a food processor with a certain amount of scorn ("We don't need no stinking food processor" - I think that's how it went), and I do believe one can get by just fine without a springform pan. But! Well, but nothing. Kitchen tools are fun.
And I haven't lost purpose either. I just wasn't having fun the other night. Now I'm having fun. I have a cup of hot cocoa, and I have something to say.
|Vanilla wafers, almonds, and sugar: the stuff of the crust|
|Butter brings it together|
|Cream cheese, sour cream, sugar, and an egg make the filling|
|Bake for 15 and freeze for 15|
|Everyone held their breath as I unlatched the pan and slipped it off...|
Do you remember that Friends episode where Monica is catering a party at her parents' house and her mom has frozen lasagnas, just in case Monica screws something up? Well, we had my grandparents over for dinner and dessert (the tart), and my mom bought and made frozen cookies. Now this is misleading, because my mom didn't doubt me or the tart. She just wasn't sure if my grandpa would eat it. She's a lovely lady.
Let the record show, though, that grandpa chose the tart. And after he finished his first piece he informed me that the remaining cut was a bit uneven, and he would be glad to straighten it up by eating the unruly protrusion. Thanks, grandpa.
Crunchy crust, creamy filling, and juicy, slightly acidic fruit: it was le piece de resistance. And it had a story after all.