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I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas if you celebrated it, and I wish you a smashing new year! There are lots of exciting things to come of which I will tell you more very soon but until then…
Since in the previous years I told you about English Epiphany or Twelfth Day celebrations, I thought I’d share the tradition of my side of the English channel with you today.
Like the Twelfth cake of which I wrote two years ago (see the post here), in my region we also have a cake, or tart with a hidden bean, coin or trinket.
It is called a ‘Three Kings Tart’ or ‘Driekoningentaart’, a puff pastry pie filled with the most satisfying almond filling which is when made well – addictive. If you find the bean or trinket in your piece of tart you are king for the day and the crown is all yours. To my regret I never found a bean in my piece of tart until two years ago. Oh the disappointment when I was a little girl, the frustration that it was always one of the adults who got the crown! I mean, they should have hidden it in my piece, shouldn’t they?? Traditionally the children would go out to sing from door to door for sweets and money, dressed up like the three kings.
We sadly haven’t got a traditional drink like the Lambswool (see that post here) which comes with the beautiful tradition of ‘wassailing’ which means to feast and run around the orchards to chase away evil spirits and wake up the trees.
I can’t tell you how much I adore this tart and the sight of bakery shop windows filled with ‘Galette Des Rois’ all topped with a festive golden paper crown. It reminds me of the stories I read about children gathering outside the bakery’s shop window to see the magnificent Twelfth Cakes over a century ago. The seasonal bakes that appear in bakeries always make my heart skip a beat. I walk passed Antwerp’s oldest bakery just to see the window display: the large speculoos figurines around Saint Nickolas, the chocolate eggs around Easter, the prune tarts when it’s Ash Wednesday and these terrific ‘Three Kings Tarts’ which the French and our French speaking Belgians call ‘Galette Des Rois’. In France the tarts are also known as Pithiviers, named after the town in the Loiret in the south of Paris, where they allegedly originated from.
This day we celebrate the arrival of the Three Wise Men, Three Kings or the ‘Magi’ visiting the newborn Jesus bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. With this occasion the celebrational 12 days of Christmas conclude. Although in Belgium and mostly around Antwerp we have an extra food celebration on monday which is called ‘lost monday’ (lundi perdu or verloren maanday). On this day you eat puff pastry sausage breads (rolls) and apple balls (apples wrapped in puff pastry). There are many explanations about why these items are eaten on the first monday after ‘Driekoningen’ (Three Kings day). Some say this was the day the dock workers went back to work and were treated to a pint in the cafés by the docks by their foremen or employers. The café landlords would serve spicy sausage rolls so the workers would drink more beer, earning them a fair penny. The sausage rolls would not cost the café landlord much because he would buy meat that could not be sold for whatever reason, and the pastry would be made from cheap ingredients, some say also old. Probably leftover from christmas and therefore unsaleable. This theory sounds very possible since the tradition remained strong in Antwerp where we have the port and a a lot – although fading rapidly – dockworkers cafés (pubs). Because the workers were treated to a pint and wouldn’t go back to work afterwards, the day was considered ‘lost’, therefore ‘lost monday’. Another theory is that ‘lost monday’ actually was the day when some city officials took their oath, calling it ‘oath monday’ or ‘verzworen maandag, lundi parjuré. In this case it also means that this was a lost day, a day on which there wasn’t any work done.
After ‘Lost monday’ I already start looking forward to the next food celebration, ‘lichtmis’ or ‘candlemass’ short for this mouthfull: ‘Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Feast of the Presentation of our Lord Jesus’. This catholic feast with pagan roots is celebrated on the 2nd of februari and this when we eat pancakes. The saying goes “On Candlemass no woman is too poor to heat her pan” – obviously it sounds better in Flemish (Er is geen vrouwtje nog zo arm, of ze maakt haar pannetje warm) and although you think it means that even though people didn’t have much, they would still bake pancakes. Funnily enough the reference to the hot pan in old Flemish has sexual connotations. So maybe this was considered the day abstinence ended, or there was no abstinence – who knows! Something to look into, more old books to buy.
So lets look at this ‘Three Kings Tart’ and how you can make one yourself. May recipes suggest using almond essence, but if you know me a little you will know that if I can sneak apricot kernels into something – I will. Plus I hate artificial flavourings, I want the real deal because it is so much better. But if you can’t find apricot kernels (check organic shops, mostly online) you are allowed to use almond essence, but use a natural one – and organic if you can find it. I like Steenbergs but I’m in no way connected to them, I just like what they produce.
What do you need
I prefer my tart thin, but if you want a thicker one, just double the measurements below except for the rosewater.
- 100 g of ground blanched almonds
- 15 g apricot kernels, blanched
- 1 tsp of rosewater
- 100 g of soft (not runny) farmhouse butter (get the good stuff), cubed roughly
- 90 g of golden cane sugar
- 2 eggs
- 1 whole almond, bean or coin
- 1 egg yolk and 1 tsp of milk for eggwashing
- 2 sheets of puff pastry (or make it!)
Method
Place your ground almonds into the bowl of your food processor – knife in place. Crush the apricot kernels in a mortar adding the rosewater as soon as they start to release their oil (or chuck it in whenever it will work, don’t worry too much). Make sure you don’t have too many big bits, its very bitter. Put with the ground almonds.
Place the butter in the food processor and pulse 4 times, then add the sugar and finally the eggs one by one. Pulse until smooth. Now I like to let that mixture rest for about 10 to 20 minutes, especially when you are using store bought ground almonds (you did, didn’t you?) which have dried out most probably. Don’t put it too warm, but also definitely not in the fridge. That said, the mixture should not be too runny either, so if your butter was too soft, do put it in the fridge for a few minutes.
Preheat your oven to 180°C
Roll out the first sheet of puff pastry and spread the filling on top about 1 cm thick. Brush water around the edge to put the lid in place, place the next pastry sheet on top and cut around the filling leaving an edge of about 3 cm (see pictures) . Now crimp the edges with a sharp knife and your finger (careful there). Hide your bean, almond or coin in the filling.
Generously eggwash the pastry and then cut in a design.
Place in the middle of the preheated oven on a heated baking sheet, for 30-40 minutes.
Make sure the child at the table gets the bloody bean!
Until next time
x
Regula
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When I was a little girl my parents and I used to travel around Hungary in the summer. I can still remember the warm climate, and the little dresses I wore, many of which I have in a shoe box upstairs. What I also remember is the Bed and Breakfast, back then called ‘Zimmer frei’ in Hungary, which was run by an old couple. The woman looked a lot like my aunt and the man I can’t remember much. Their house was large for Hungary and by a main road, not far from a little restaurant by the river Danube where I always ate a very good omelette for supper.
Our time with the old couple was like staying with your grandparents, sure communication was complicated, they spoke a little German, so did my parents, and I as a four year old strangely enough spoke a good word of German too. They were loving people and love can be shown without the language barrier. Each day we entered our room, the old lady surprised us with a large stone bowl of the most plump cherries I have ever seen. As a child, and a picky eater, those cherries were some kind of heaven. Food I knew, and was so expensive at home that I could never really eat so many that my fingers would be stained in cherry juice.
And every day a bowl appeared, and every day we were greeted by the most loving smiles and gestures by these two wonderful people.
Two years after our last visit to the old couple’s Zimmer Frei we decided to do a detour and stay with them for a couple of nights. I requested it especially because I was eager to see my Hungarian grandparents as they had become to be for me. My parents too had never encountered such kindness and were eager to stay there again too.
So we drove to the rather large Hungarian house and as we parked the car I ran towards the door where the old lady – she must have been in her early seventies – was sitting in her chair.
But while I was running towards her the first thing I noticed was the anxious look in her eyes, and then the dress that she wore. As before she always wore granny clothes, now she was wearing a black embroidered dress with a deep decollete and very large earrings.
Anxious as she was, but really happy to see us, she told my parents that she would love it if we would stay but that she was no longer a Zimmer Frei since her husband had died the year before.
I wondered what the young girls were doing there if she wasn’t offering lodgings anymore, and somehow, while she was showing us to our room and I saw how the house had changed and lost all its granny appeal, I knew. I knew without without having the knowledge of years.
Heartbroken and realising that there might not be a bowl of cherries in our room each day, and hurt by the uncomfortable anxious look in my Hungarian grandma’s eyes we said we’d go for dinner and then come back to decide if we would stay.
The granny had tears in her eyes, and I felt like she was holding on to the summers and the bowls of cherries as much as I was doing. But those times were gone. The light had gone out in the rather large Hungarian house. It was replaced by sorrow, regret, and a need for survival.
So we ate an omelette at the restaurant by the river, and my parents gave me the choice on whether to stay at the granny’s house. Too young to understand what was happening at the house, but old enough to feel there was something wrong, I told them that I felt that it wasn’t right for us to stay there.
So we drove back to the granny’s house, and said our goodbyes, granny still trying to convince us we were so very welcome. But I was feeling so very sad. I could not understand what had happened and somehow I knew that by staying we would not only make her happy, we would also maker her very sad.
She had made her choice, and there would be no more bowls of cherries.
I hope she was at peace at the end of her life, so very long ago.
In her memory I have prepared this cherry tart, inspired by 18th century tarts, some of which you’ll find in my upcoming book. It’s a perfect tart to make when you have leftover sponge cake, that way you don’t need to bake a cake especially. The tart has a pleasant texture, though not like the tarts you are probably used to. Let me know if you’ve tried it!
x R
Cherry tart with curstard and sponge cake
What you need
Shortcrust pastry
- 180 g white flour
- 100g cold butter
- 20 g icing sugar
- tiny pinch salt
- 1 egg yolk
- 1 tbsp of cold water
Custard
- 250 ml cream
- 3 egg yolks
- a blade of mace
- a stick of cinnamon
- 1tbsp of raw cane sugar
Filling
- Sponge cake, preferably stale
- 2 tbsp of brandy (optional)
- a punnet of cherries
- 2 tbsp of unsalted butter – or bone marrow
- 22-24 sized pie pan or plate
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Those who follow my instagram already know that I have been working on my very own book the last few months. (There is even a # hash tag on it to follow some of the process, I know, how very modern of me.) It is a scary yet exciting journey, one with occasional bumps in the road and one with smooth pathways. I thought it would be easy, I couldn’t be more wrong.
I am fortunate that my publisher was super excited about me to design the book myself and photograph it, which isn’t a given thing. They gave me the freedom to come up with a concept no matter how crazy it sounded. They wanted the book to be ‘totally me’. This was always something that was made up in my mind. If the book would be designed by someone else and photographed by someone else, it would not be my book. I would not want that book. This isn’t a narcissistic urge to just get ‘a‘ book out there, this is an artistic project for me. I have been a graphic designer my whole professional life, I have done numerous layouts for books, booklets and magazines. Not being allowed to design and layout my own book would just feel completely and utterly wrong. But of course, this means doing the work of 3 maybe 4 people all on my very own…
I will have to turn down future jobs to get be able to do this big book project but the book will by no means pay enough so I can pay my bills. All the money from the advance, the layout work and the photography will go to the actual creating of this book. But although I would have liked to at least have some tiny profit, I am also very happy that the subject of my book wasn’t chosen for me, and that I can really do what I want. I have had other offers from publishers, who had the subject of my book already decided for me, of course I had to turn them down. As I said, this is not just ‘a‘ book.
Because of the significance of this project, I often freeze and can’t write or cook or photograph. Being a creative creature means you constantly doubt your work, and push yourself and push and push. I ask myself constantly, is this perfect enough. In every word and image I put an enormous effort, the story I tell needs to be right, it needs to transport you. I am not shooting a book, I am creating images that will hopefully whisk you away to my imaginary English cottage with limestone walls and a cream colored coal fired Aga stove. I want you to smell the slightly burnt toast that has the flavour unmatched by any toaster because it has been toasted on that oh so coveted AGA coal fire.
When I freeze, it is the moment when I am in doubt. Doubt is your enemy.
You must not forget, I started my own business as a freelance photographer/graphic designer/writer in januari, which means I am not surrounded by colleagues anymore, I work alone, and often I will be abroad, alone in my B&B. There’s no ‘can we have a chat about the concept or designs’ like in the advertising agency I worked at. I have to ask myself if it is right, I have to be objective and not let my heart get too much involved in it.
Which is hard, because I am a very passionate person. There is hardly any grey in me, it is either good or bad. There is no ‘this will do’ in my book – literally and figuratively speaking.
I am writing about this because I know a few people in our little online food lovers community who are also working on a book or book proposal. Sometimes to read someone else saying it is not a walk in the park, helps you to be okay with it, if one a day you wake up and are overtaken by the fear this great project brings with it.
It happens to us all.
But also because I need your help, I need people who would like to be involved and test a recipe for me, or more if you’re up to it. Eternal gratitude to my recipe testers so please get in touch if you want to get cooking for me – my email is on my contact page.
But on to that tart you see here, this is a sweet cheese curd tart with lemon. It is one of the recipes you just develop by accident, while trying to make something else you come up with an equally scrumptious dish.
Sweetened cheese curds have been used as a sweet treat on its own and in tarts for centuries, early recipes like this are the very first ancestors of the cheesecake we know today. Because I have used lard in the pastry, the tart has a sweet yet also savoury hint which is perfect for the likes of me who do not enjoy a very sweet treat.
What do you need (makes two 14 cm tarts)
Best is to start the day before you want to bake these tarts
pastry
- 250g plain flour
- 75 g butter
- 50 g lard
- 0,5 tsp baking powder
- 30 g sugar
- 1 egg yolk
- baking paper for blind baking
filling
- 300g cheese curds
- 2 eggs
- 100 g sugar
- 25 g melted butter
- 1 tsp of orange blossom water
- the zest of 1 lemon
Cheese curds
- 3l full fat preferably raw milk
- 2 tsp salt
- 2 tsp rennet (find it online)
- 4 tsp buttermilk or lemon juice
- a cheese cloth
To make the cheese curds
heat 3 liters of full fat preferably raw milk to exactly 37 degrees Celcius.
add salt, rennet – you can buy it online and I used vegetarian and add buttermilk or lemon juice, butter milk works best
stir and leave to stand for 15 minutes – 30 minutes until the milk has separated from the whey. When the milk has separated from the whey, transfer the curdled milk to a bowl covered in cheese cloth. Drain the curds, leave them to hang for 3-5 hours
You might have some left after making the tarts, the cheese is good on its own, I like to salt it slightly and use in salads
The pastry
Mix the butter and lard into the flour with a round bladed knife, do this until you get a mixture that looks like breadcrumbs, add sugar and the egg yolk and bring the dough together. Be careful not to overwork the dough or it will get too chewy, place in the fridge to become firm. You can do this the day before too.
The filling
Put the curds into a clean bowl and tear them apart in smaller pieces, add the eggs, sugar, melted butter, orange blossom water and the lemon zest and leave to stand while you roll out your pastry.
Preheat your oven to 180°C
Roll out your pastry and place it in your tart tins, trim the edges and prick the bottom of the tart with a fork
Place baking paper over the pastry (make a round shape by folding the paper, so it fits better) and place baking beans or rice on top. Pop in the middle of the oven for 30 minutes or until golden in color
When the tart casings are ready, pour the curd mixture into each tart and pop in the oven until they bubble up nicely and become nice and yellow in color.
Serve as you will, I decorated mine with violets for this occasion.
Good with a glass of Whisky or Rum.
You might also enjoy
The tarts at Tudor court
Further reading
How writing a book is different than a blog / David Lebovitz on Dianne Jacob’s website
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