Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume.
~ Jean de Boufflers
Back in 2006 when I was at uni, a talented baking boy, Dan, lived next door to me. He lived on copious amounts of jelly planes and white bread, and churned out all sorts of weird & wonderful in his kitchen – things like dessert dumplings, irresistible and always rather surprising.
One day, he made something really charming for one of our habitual neighbourly potluck dinner gatherings… “it’s milk tart,” he said. I still remember it. It bore a very slight resemblance to custard… only it was a hundred thousand times better.
My eyes saw a pie dish which contained what appeared to be a silky milk pudding dusted with sugar and cinnamon. What came to my mouth was an even better surprise – a bit of crumbly pastry and… a cluster of spiced sweet whispers which brought to mind: Babies’ milk. Comfort food. Sweetness. All things bright and heavenly. I think I might have floated off the couch in that moment… I can’t remember now. I told him how much I admired it; I must’ve made his ears fall off his face by the time I finished my ode to his milk tart.
One night a few weeks later, he came up to my flat and gave me a whole milk tart; just randomly, for fun. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve EVER received in my whole life. I’ll always remember it. (And yes, I did share it… What do you think I am, greedy?!)
I thought of him tonight while I attempted Tessa Kiros’ version of milk tart…
#17 Milk Tart – Page 252
So here we are, egg whites whisked, pastry made, cinnamon sprinkled. I made a silly mistake with including unnecessary sheets of baking paper in between the layers of my milk tart – it’s a little too tedious to elaborate on that now, but let’s just say I won’t be rushing through cooking without reading the recipe properly again!
Haven’t tasted it yet, still full from dinner and hideously tired from a long and busy day at work. Goodnight!