I understand that mûre can mean many things. It is the fruit you see above, but can also mean mature. Or ripe. I’m not sure which one is more eloquent in English, but suppose it depends on the thing to which you are referring. I think I heard a woman once described as mûre, which could sound nice if the girl has grown up well but perhaps less so if she is already mature? In any event, the best fruits are always served mûrs. Perhaps not the best, but the mûres you see above were really not so bad, quite mûres.
Hello from Geneva, by the way, my home for the next few months. It is not so hot here as it was there – thank God for that – and the food is darned good. But my photography is still bad. Taken against that always gorgeous offset of hot asphalt with the wonder of an iPhone, the picture shows how hot it was, I hope? It was very hot. I like it here. And I’m trying to improve my French.
But back there, the tart sat on the kitchen counter next to a broken window while M and I talked. Fortunately, there were no bugs. It got all melty, though, and we ate it anyway. Still tasty, but a fridge might be nice for those of us who are air con averse (or entirely deficient). I do not plan to be making so many curd-type tarts these days, being of the latter category and in command of only a very small fridge.
I also do not recommend making this tart on any day other than a Saturday. On Sunday you will feel as though you’ve lost your last day before the week begins, ever tragically, anew. But Saturday you can take it to some friends in late afternoon, eat it in lieu of supper, and call it a night before the sun has even set. The dog days of summer need not be so bad. If it is a Sunday, however, perhaps make only the lime curd, a different version of the crust, scoop some ice cream (maybe basil?) and then strawberries on top of that. The time may well be ripe, if not mature. read more…
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