[Honey Cheese Tart with Candied Orange Peel]

This golden tart rounds out the selection of desserts I served at my birthday party. The birthday cake itself had to be chocolate of course, and I wanted to bake a second dessert that would complement it in terms of taste, shape, color and texture.

I felt that a cheesecake of sorts would be just the thing, and I was inspired by a recipe I found in one of my grandmother’s magazines : the recipe was for a fresh cheese tart with raisins, and it sounded wonderfully straightforward, so I jotted down the basic instructions.

Over the next couple of weeks the recipe took on a life of its own in my head, shedding the raisins for candied orange rind (which I adore and have large supplies of, in part because of an accidental double purchase at G.Detou), replacing half the sugar with honey (to lend more depth to the taste), and using homemade pie dough in place of store-bought (a non-negotiable term for desserts in my humble opinion, unless terribly pressed for time and/or energy).

The result was a surprising and complex mix of flavors, which worked beautifully together. The texture was also very pleasant, as the filling and dough sort of blended into one another, forming a gradual progression from crumbly shell to moist, fresh cheese, and the chewy little bolts of orange taste. I received many a compliment about it, and a lot of my friends came to me with an intrigued look on their face, asking what was in it that made it so interesting and tasty.

And this tart also found, as I had hoped, its rightful place in the dessert bonanza, between the lighter rhubarb compote and the richer chocolate cake, alongside Marie-Laure and Ludo’s fruit salad and Sabrina’s mini carrot cakes.

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[Rhubarb Compote with Pink Champagne Cookies]

This was a last-minute addition to the dessert buffet for my birthday party. I was at the grocery store minding my own business, when a beautiful bunch of rhubarb, all slender stalks and pink cheeks, called out mischievously : “Rhubarb season doesn’t last forever, you know!” I turned around in surprise, looked at the other shoppers, but they were just filling their carts as usual, absorbedly studying the produce stalls.

I took a few tentative steps towards the rhubarb, picked it up, and reflected that it was, indeed, a fleeting thing, and that such an attractive bunch could not possibly be passed up on. Besides, my dessert selection would certainly benefit from something fruity, would it not? I put the rhubarb in my basket. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I could swear it winked at me.

I decided to oven-bake the rhubarb, as is my favored method of preparation, and had the idea of combining it with a package of Biscuits Roses de Reims I had on hand. Those crispy little cookies, pink and rectangular with a dusting of confectioner’s sugar, are a specialty from Reims, the largest city in the region of Champagne. A simple mix of eggs, sugar and flour colored with crimson, their particularity is to be baked twice, allowing them to stay whole even when moist. This makes the delicate Biscuit Rose de Reims the ideal dipping companion of a cup of Champagne, and the perfect biscuit to use in a charlotte, in place of the classic ladyfingers.

I didn’t want to make a real charlotte though (which implies fruit and some form of cookie, but also custard or fromage blanc), as it should normally sit in the fridge for a bit, while the flavors develop and the filling settles, and I didn’t have that kind of time.

So I went for something simpler, lining the serving bowl with biscuits roses before I spooned in the rhubarb compote. It made for a pretty sight, with that pink sun ray pattern, and it worked very well tastewise, too : the rhubarb was its usual, delightful self, and its acidulated flavor was beautifully complemented by the subtly sweet cookies. There was also a nice textural effect, as the bottom halves of the cookies were imbued with the rhubarb juices and thus softened, while the top halves remained delicately crispy. I’m sure leftovers would have been great the next day, had any of it survived the night…

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It has been very hot around here lately.

I am not complaining, as I actually like the peculiar atmosphere heatwaves create — blazing sun, closed shutters, quiet afternoons, glistening faces — and it happens seldom enough in Paris for me to welcome the meteorological oddity.

Not to mention the opportunity to wear tank tops and strappy sandals.

To ward off dehydration, I have been making batch after batch of this no-sugar, mint-infused lemonade. (Citronnade à la menthe, if you’re practicing your French.)

It is simple as can be — in this heat, who has the energy for anything elaborate? — and it is a delightfully refreshing beverage to tinkle your ice cubes in.

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[Bacon and Cantal Cheese Clafoutis]

Clafoutis is originally a fruit dessert from the Limousin, a region roughly in the center of France (and yes, I checked, as I am direly geographically challenged).

Let me go ahead and open a parenthesis here. Limousin is renowned in part for its cattle breed, a milk-chocolate cow called la vache limousine, a rather unimaginative but quite sensible name. I’m sure you’ll be as fascinated as I was to learn that this cow is fed, of all things, on topinambours — topinambour meaning Jerusalem artichoke, and being a French word I particularly favor, as should you. It is this diet, in addition to its favorable genetic characteristics, that explains the superior taste and quality of la vache limousine.

Back to the clafoutis (alternately spelled without the “s”) : it is the epitome of the grandmotherly dessert, and involves baking fruit (most typically cherries, but also plums, apricots, and pretty much any fruit) in a batter made of eggs, milk, sugar and flour. Some recipes also include butter, cream or oil. As a side note, true Clafoutis aux Cerises fans claim that it is much, much tastier if you leave the cherry stones in : the cherry juice will not leak into the batter, and the cherries will have more flavor if they cook with their little heart. It just makes the eating slightly less convenient (be sure to warn your guests!), but the best dishes are often the ones you have to fight for.

Have you noticed this trend lately, which consists in composing a savory dish in the style of a dessert, and naming the dish after that dessert? Amazing how instantly appetizing and tempting it makes the dish : salmon crumble, tomato tarte tatin, mushroom muffin, herb financier, goat cheese charlotte, eggplant mille-feuille, my broccoli and cornmeal upside down cake… And here, this bacon and cantal clafoutis!

I had long wanted to reproduce a similar dish I had had at the restaurant “Le Réconfort”, where I was dining one night with my friend Sophie. I decided to put it on my birthday party menu, and made up the recipe based on a couple other savory clafoutis recipes I had in my files. Next time I may double the recipe or at least 150% it, but below is what I used exactly.

The result looked very appetizing, slightly puffy with a thin golden crust on top. I served it at room temperature (it did deflate a bit upon cooling down), cut in one-inch squares. I liked it very much, with its rich texture and flavorful bite, all fluffy batter, cheese bits and crunchy pieces of bacon. Judging by the speed at which it disappeared, I probably wasn’t the only one.

Of course, if you look at it with cold, objective eyes, you could say that this is really a crustless quiche, but I believe in the magic of words, and a clafoutis will always taste better than a simple quiche, no?

[Le Réconfort – 37 rue de Poitou – 75003 Paris – 01 49 96 09 60]

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