Pear Tarte Tatin

In search of the perfect tarte tatin

I love tarts in general - there's something about that combination of the soft, creamy filling and the crisp tart shell that is utterly irresistible. One of the most famous of tarts, of course, is tarte tatin, the upside-down apple tart that was created by accident at the Hotel Tatin in Lamotte-Beuvron by Stéphanie and Caroline Tatin. Unlike most tarts, you caramelise the fruits (usually apples) first and leave them at the bottom of the pan. You then put the pastry on top of the fruits and bake it like that in the oven. You take the tart out and invert it to serve so that it's fruits up, pastry down.

This method of preparation is meant to avoid a soggy pastry because the pastry is placed on top of rather than beneath the fruits. After years of continuous frustration, whether at home or at restaurant, I am convinced that it is a myth. The baking process extracts so much juice from the fruits that, more often than not, the juice drowns the hard-won pastry into a sad, soggy mess when you invert the tart, and all your naive hopes for a crisp tart are ruthlessly crushed. Apples tend to be more forgiving, but with a juicy fruit like pears or peaches, you're almost guaranteed that your finished tart will be swamped with fruit juices. It's in moments like this that I curse myself for bothering to put a pastry crust there in the first place. Incidentally, I used to have two friends in London who, believe or not, preferred a swamped, soggy pastry (and croissants) to a dry, crisp one. I am gratified to know that one of them has repented and changed his mind since then.

Despite these pitfalls, I was convinced that there must be ways one could undertake to preserve the glory of a tarte tatin with beautifully caramelised fruits and divinely crisp pastry. Water is the sworn enemy of a proper tarte tatin, I have tried various ways to eliminate it as far as I can. Here's how I go about it.

Beautifully fragrant pears from Xinjiang, China (庫爾勒香梨) that have a crunchy texture perfect for baking, but they're also extremely juicy. If you use a 'normal' pear, make sure they're under-ripe.

Thanksgiving 2012

It's holiday time! I went to two friends' houses for thanksgiving this year. It was a busy schedule for a holiday, but one that's filled with laughter, joy and lots and lots of food. I'm thankful that I didn't have to do any savoury cooking and could just show up and be fed - how much better could it get?

Wednesday 21nd November

Arrived at Mark and Jaewon's house in Frankfort, Kentucky with Tim, Hitomi, Assaf, Noa and their cute little baby Mickey.

Mark, the victim of our thanksgiving dinner. He'll be slaving in the next two days.

Assaf and his 18-month-old baby Mickey.

Tim and Hitomi.

We just pottered about while everyone else was busy!

Poached pears with honey 蜂蜜燉梨

The weather here in Cincinnati got really cold all of a sudden a while ago, so I thought this year we basically skipped autumn and plunged right into winter instead. Thankfully, this week has been warmer again, and as I saw cascades of golden trees on the road, I was reminded that fall is with us.

Incidentally, I'm much more used to saying 'autumn' than 'fall', but I do like the poetic imagery of the word 'fall' since it really encapsulates what's so special about this season. In fact, like 'spring', 'summer' and 'winter', 'fall' is of true Anglo-Saxon origin. It originated in English as early as the 16th century - that was before America was born, and it is in America that this old Anglo-Saxon term lingered on. In England, the word 'autumn' (from the French word automne) gained prominence from the 18th century onwards and the word 'fall' eventually became archaic and was no longer in common use. I heard that in some villages in Dorset or Somerset the word 'fall' is still used to denote autumn, but I never heard it first-hand during my two years in Somerset.

I digress. Whether you say autumn or fall, it is probably most people's favourite season of the year. The weather is as ideal as it can get; trees put on an amazing glow; and it's harvest season. In Chinese thinking, the dryness that makes autumn such a pleasant season also means that our bodies have a tendency to dry out. Not just dehydration as such, but dryness in our skin, lips, our nostrils, throat and eyes. It is the season when Chinese medicine recommends food that 'clears the heart and nourishes the lungs' (清心潤肺): bird's nests, aloe vera, almonds, lilly bulbs (百合), dried figs, gingko (銀杏), snow ear (雪耳), goji berries (枸杞), etc. Many of these would sound exotic to non-Chinese people, but pears and honey are two ingredients that I find incredibly 'autumnal' and they don't raise eyebrows among Westerners.

Would you have thought that these are pears? They look incredibly like strawberries do they not?