My dad is visiting for a month from Shanghai. He works there, mom and I live here. We picked him up from the airport Saturday night, drove home, mom made a feast and by the time the dishes were cleaned, the table wiped down, it was still 8pm. My dad’s eyes were red and he was fighting to keep them open, it was 9 in the morning in China. So to help out, we took him to a popular dessert café in Richmond Hill, teeming with shrieking teenagers and lovey dovey couples.
When the waiter set down our order of tiramisu ice cream on top of Bailey’s cheesecake and waffles with fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream, my dad’s face brightened instantly, he dug in and couldn’t stop raving how fantastically enormous the portions were, how perfectly smooth the ice cream was on his tongue, and how it didn’t melt right away so he could fully enjoy both plates at once. He had forgotten about his jet lag and proceeded to finish the cake, nearly licking the plate clean.
When the waiter set down our order of tiramisu ice cream on top of Bailey’s cheesecake and waffles with fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream, my dad’s face brightened instantly, he dug in and couldn’t stop raving how fantastically enormous the portions were, how perfectly smooth the ice cream was on his tongue, and how it didn’t melt right away so he could fully enjoy both plates at once. He had forgotten about his jet lag and proceeded to finish the cake, nearly licking the plate clean.
I inherited my dad’s insatiable sweet tooth. Throughout the day, my mind doesn’t shut up about sugar. I’ve fantasized about meyer lemons since reading about them everywhere. They’re hard to find here, but when I stumbled on them in a grocery store, I skipped straight to the cashier and immediately searched for recipes to use their intoxicating properties. They smell unlike any other lemon I’ve used, more floral with a sweeter juice. I first used them in a pound cake, grating the zest into the thick batter and even diced up lemon skin, throwing it into the mixing bowl to make the most of my purchase. The cake was a little dry and though it smelled like a lemon garden as it rose in the oven, it wasn’t special enough.
Nonetheless, I still had four lemons left. I love tart crust; a crumbly cookie texture with a sweet, creamy filling always makes my day. I’m not a fan of making them however, tart crust requires patience, patience and more patience, something I strive to have one day. I get restless molding it evenly into the pan. The dough can be finicky, uncooperative, a plain nuisance. I’m bored just writing about it.
And yet, tarts rank at the top of my favourite things to eat. Savoury or sweet, I like them all. This meyer lemon tart is extremely lemony, there’s plenty of lemon juice and zest, so much that the lemon curd darkens to a nearly golden complexion. But next time, I’d separate the pulp from the juice to yield a smoother lemon curd, a crucial step that made the other lemon tart so satiny and irresistible. This crust is easy to work with unlike other recipes I’ve come across. I later found this useful article that I’ll definitely refer to in my next tart-making-escapade.
Still jet lagged, my dad ate the few remaining pieces of the tart after dinner, standing up, with a mug of tea in hand. He fell asleep on the couch thirty minutes later, his head bowed down, loud snores in rhythmic timing, a reminder of how good it feels to see my dad again.
Recipe here!
