The Testamentary Tart

Dear Marjorie,

If you’re reading this, two things are true: (1) my brother is in a snit and (2) I am very, very dead. I don’t expect Sebastian to come around anytime soon, or at all for that matter, but I am most obliged to explain why I disinherited the entire family and left you, my grand-niece, a mere tart pan. You may be so confused by the decision that you are tempted to stop reading. I implore you, dear Marjorie, to read on for there is something you must do.

I need you to bake my spiced custard tart and deliver it as instructed hereinbelow. Time is short, for Sebastian is likely circling the wagons. Your grand-uncle is painfully predictable. I have never divulged my secret recipe to anyone, so consider this, along with the tart pan, a gift to you. I remember making this tart for you when you were a little girl. I loved how it made you smile and how the fruit stuck to your teeth.

Now, for the recipe. First, you must use my Parisian tart pan. This tart depends on employing a fluted pan with the slight ridges and fleur-de-lis pattern. Use neither ceramic nor glass—the pan must be my nonstick metal tart pan. Line the pan with pâte feuilletée inversée. You’ll have to go to Marcel’s to get it. If you use regular puff pastry, the tart will be a touch greasy.

Clean, rinse, and dry 3/4 cup of organic sun-dried Zante Black Corinth grapes. Sebastian always called them Zante currants, but Zante currants are really dried grapes from Zakynthos. Do not use currants. This recipe pairs well with Parisian currant wine from the late 1800s. Unfortunately, your aunt Justine drank the last bottle on her last bender—otherwise, I would have left you a tart pan, this recipe, and a fine bottle of French wine.

Cream eight tablespoons of cultured Normandy butter and one cup of organic golden caster sugar. Caster sugar has smaller crystals and creams more smoothly than cane sugar. The golden texture imbues the tart with a light toffee flair, which works best here. Sebastian despises toffee. Let him eat his insipid lemon drops. As for the butter, you won’t get the tang from sweet cream butter. You’ll need the extra butterfat to land the taste just right.

The next ingredient may be hard to come by, but trust me, it’s essential to the recipe. Obtain four pasture-raised heritage-breed duck eggs. Duck eggs make this tart all the lusher. The pasture-raised part is not strictly ethical; it is meant to inwardly defy Sebastian’s hatred of treating animals hyper-ethically. Sebastian does not torture animals, of course; he merely hunts them for sport and doubts they have souls. The heritage-breed requirement is, I concede, largely ceremonial. But ceremony matters, especially when one is ruining Sebastian’s week. Beat the eggs well with a copper whisk.

Near most heritage-breed duck farms, you’ll usually find grass-fed Jersey cow whole milk. If you can’t find it, be sure to ask Marcel. He usually knows who has the freshest low-temperature pasteurized, non-homogenized variety. Bring a half cup of the milk to a boil and gently stir in half of the beaten duck eggs. Milk can boil quickly and, if you aren’t careful, can spill over and cause a fire. That non-fat crap that Sebastian drinks isn’t as much of an offender, but whole milk can burn down the whole manor. Stir often until the mixture has curdled ever so slightly.

Boris knows where to find the bread. This recipe calls for one cup of hand-grated crumbs from a naturally leavened, long-fermented country sourdough boule made with organic heritage wheat. The sourdough crumbs bring a slight acidity to the mix. Using a crusty boule introduces a slight toasty irregularity to an otherwise uniform tart. Admittedly, the heritage wheat is just for spite. Sebastian loathes sourdough and would eat bleached white Wonder bread if given the option. Stir the grated bread into the milk mixture.

Next, remove the milk mixture from heat. Add it one spoonful at a time to the butter mixture so the butter doesn’t break or melt too aggressively. Once incorporated, stir gently with a silicone spatula using a figure eight motion. Remember those other two beaten duck eggs? Gently fold in and then stir the remaining beaten eggs.

For the final touches, splash a thimble of Armagnac and a touch of Sauternes. Armagnac is ever so much more rustic than brandy or Cognac. The Sauternes bring honey, apricot and a touch of botrytis to the mix—mysterious, delectable, and dangerous. Add one teaspoon of single-origin, steam-distilled Damask rosewater from hand-harvested Bulgarian Rosa damascena petals. There should be some in my boudoir, if not in the lazy Susan. Add a teaspoon of hand-grated Grenadian nutmeg, wild-harvested Sri Lankan Ceylon cinnamon, and single-origin Indonesian mace blades. These are in the spice rack above the Pacojet.

Gently pour the batter into the tart pan. Evenly scatter the Zante grapes on top, with no less than a half inch and no more than one inch between each grape.

Please bake the tart in my French Lacanche range. Marcel knows to have it preheated to 375 degrees by the time you finish preparing the tart. Bake for 30 minutes precisely.

Once the baking is complete, let the tart rest on the marble counter for one hour. Then, store it in the Liebherr for no more than three days.

At some point in all of this, Sebastian will likely want to know why you are in the kitchen. Boris will occupy him with turkey hunting, or, if in the off-season, cigar humidifying. But, eventually, and very soon after my death, Sebastian will call in Mr. Chetham, his attorney, to discuss filing a caveat and contesting the validity of my will, as if the two of them don’t already have enough money. He and Mr. Chetham will inevitably call you to the study and ask to see this very letter, which they know is none of their business.

In the study, they will ask you to sit across the room from them. When you arrive, carry the tart with you. The two of them will be so focused on the disinheritance that they won’t notice what’s in your hands. The two will exchange pleasantries with you and then get down to business. As Sebastian furrows his brow, rise calmly. Take three steps forward. Then run at him and smash the tart into his face as hard as your upbringing allows. Then, hand Mr. Chetham this letter.

Upon satisfactory completion of the tart’s delivery, as witnessed by Mr. Chetham and, ideally, embedded in Sebastian’s nostrils, I, being of sound mind and of testamentary disposition, by and through this holographic codicil, hereby amend my last will and testament to give, devise, and bequeath the remainder of my estate to you, my dear Marjorie, save and except one dollar to Sebastian, so he may buy himself a lemon drop.

Please take care of Marcel.

Toodles,

Aunt Flossie