Rhubarb Custard Tart

Many of my favorite vegetables are technically fruits. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, and bell peppers all fall under that category. Botanically, the defining feature between fruit and vegetables are seeds—if it has seeds, it's a fruit; if it doesn't, it's a vegetable. In some ways, I feel like I should be ashamed. Under these strict rules, I'm certain I'll never meet my daily required serving of actual vegetables.

There are only so many carrot sticks one person can eat.

Rhubarb, however, is just the opposite. Though it's treated as a fruit in cooking and baking, it is technically a vegetable. Imagine that. Rhubarb grows from the ground on stalks, similar to celery, and sprouts poisonous leaves (which are only fatally poisonous if you decide to eat a few pounds of them). If it wasn't for all of the sugar needed to balance out rhubarb's tart flavor, I could have had a surefire way to get my vegetables eaten.

Perhaps someday I'll find a way to make dessert fall squarely into the healthier food groups...

I often feel rhubarb is an understated flavor. Given the chance to stand alone, it can be magnificently bold and tart all at once (a flavor profile I've truly grown to love). More often than not, however, rhubarb is paired with berries (particularly strawberries) in pies and desserts. While I do enjoy these combinations, every so often I feel like rhubarb should be given the chance to stand on its own. To gain a little independence and prove that it has what it takes to cook up a good dessert.

That is exactly the spirit in which these rhubarb custard tarts were created.

These Rhubarb Custard Tarts combine rhubarb, cardamom, and orange into a treat perfect for light lunches and sweet breakfasts. A whole wheat cardamom crust encases orange poached rhubarb with a sweet egg custard. The true star of the show, however, is the rhubarb orange syrup drizzled on top (it's simply a reduction of the liquid the rhubarb was poached in, but there is so much flavor). I enjoyed this tart both warm from the oven and chilled from the refrigerator as leftovers the next day.

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Blackberry Goat Cheese Tart

I was on a flight from Minneapolis back to my hometown after a week long escape to the ocean. I've flown dozens of times over the last few years, heading from here to there over land and sea for various reasons. I love the ease of freedom of flight—the rush of the take-off and the release of landing. This particular flight, however, was different.

It started off conventionally; I boarded the small plane and, after we took flight, ordered an orange juice and settled into a good book. The sun had already set and the interior of the plane glowed softly from the irregular pattern of lights blushing overhead. Midway through the short flight, the captain quietly mentioned we may be running into a bit of turbulence, but not to worry as we would still be arriving on time.

The seatbelt sign lit up above me. The stewardess hurried up and down the aisle gathering the last of the empty cups and napkins before the commotion began, assuring everyone that everything was all right, but could we please raise our trays and place our seats upright just in case. I set my book aside and looked out the window, spotting a small light here or there on the prairie below.

The plane shook softly. After a short pause, it shook once more. The turbulence had begun. I had flown in light turbulence before and it was nothing to fear. However, unbeknownst to the passengers, we were flying headlong into a vicious lightning storm.

Staring out the small window, I noticed the lights on the plane's wings were being echoed sharply by the sky. It took a few moments to realize the lights were not reflections from the constant blink of the wing's lights, but were the result of lightning streaking across the sky. The plane's soft, infrequent agitations quickly took a turn for the worse. The plane suddenly shook violently. I was lifted into the air from the force and my seatbelt dug into lap.

The plane jarred sharply to the left and to the right. The lightning created strobe lights in the interior of the plane, alternatively bathing everyone in bright light and darkness. I braced myself against the seat in front of me, sparing a glance out to the other passengers. As the plane plummeted another few feet, the same thought appeared to collectively cross our faces.

Am I going to die?

The plane grew quiet, as if we had all held in our breaths and had nothing left to spare. A few rows in front of me, a mother was the only one to break the silence as she tried to comfort her young son (Do you remember that time when...). I listened to her weave a story, straining to hear her over the unsettling noise of the luggage moving around overhead. I noticed the older couple across from me also listening to her speak; I doubt she realized she was reassuring more than just her son with her words.

The plane became a wooden roller coaster, jerking the passengers back and forth and up and down. Though many chose to shut the screens to their windows to block out the lighting, I left mine open along with a few others for the same reason—to make sure the ground stayed where it should. Minutes stretched to hours and I grew nauseous, as my stomach flip flopped from the motion of the plane and the dark thoughts running through my head. The older woman across from me began to pray, folding her hands over the handle on the seat in front of her as she bowed her head.

Was I ready to die?

The ground swelled up quickly to the meet the plane and it took me a moment to realize we were landing instead of crashing. As we hit the runway at a frightening speed, my head flew forward, smashing into the seat in front of me. It was clear we were going too fast. The captain slammed on the brakes, but we skidded along the wet pavement like a car who had lost control on a sheet of ice. After a few long and terrifying moments, the plane jerked to a full stop.

We were safe.

Only after the seatbelt light flickered off, did the passengers let out the collective breath we had been holding. The woman beside me shakily told her husband she would be dead before she set foot on another plane again. My legs shook violently beneath me as I dared to stand. I met my mother in baggage and hugged her tightly, unable to express exactly what I had been through and neither wanting to. To this day, I have never been happier to set foot on solid ground.

The flight often crosses my mind. I later learned I had spent an hour and fifteen minutes being jostled back and forth, both from the plane and from my thoughts. It was the first time I had truly feared for my life—the first time I had anticipated the possibility of my death. While I am not afraid to fly the skies again, the unexpected flight will certainly stay with me, if only to remind me of the rush of gratitude and relief that comes with knowing I am safe.

This Blackberry Goat Cheese Tart borders the line between savory and sweet. The goat cheese and sour cream filling, sweetened with honey, bakes up and settles like a cheesecake in the basil infused tart crust. Once cooled, the tart is topped with fresh, ripe blackberries and drizzled with warm honey. Perhaps unexpected, the complex flavors of blackberry and basil contrast elegantly against the strong flavor of the goat cheese. This tart has served me both as a dessert and weeknight dinner. This tart is certainly one to impress.

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Butternut Squash & Spinach Tart

The winter blues have set in. Though it has been a mild winter, it has done nothing to alleviate my yearly winter woes. I'm never certain for the reason. Perhaps I lack a good dose of vitamin D or maybe I've simply been too sedentary for too long. Whatever the reason may be, the results are always the same. My dark summer tan has faded, turning my skin fair and transparent. I've gained a few pounds from indulging in my favorite comfort foods. Maybe the worst of all, the only time I spend outside is to run from my car to the house not more than twice a day.

Oh, how the winter blues have set in.

I've spent the last few days brooding, giving in to my jaded mood because fighting it just takes too much energy. I'm not proud of these foul inclinations, where I shirk responsibilities and snap at anyone who dares to come close. I've been lying around, finding myself curled up next to a book or television remote. I've eaten the pantry clean, a feat of which no one should be proud. I've avoided sending emails, baking, or taking photographs for fear I should spread the mood to you.

Even so, my blues always reaches the point where enough is finally enough.

This morning I awoke to a warm winter sun streaming through the windowpanes, the diffuse light brightening my world and giving a spark of light to my dark mood. I ate a grapefruit, giving myself a little vitamin C with a side of TLC. I took a shower to wash away the matted hair and days spent in sweatpants and thick sweaters. Then, I did something I haven't done in a long time. I left the house.

The cure to the winter gloom, thankfully, is never too far away.

This Butternut Squash & Spinach Tart is so fresh and vibrant it can breathe hope into the worst of winter blues. Spinach, roasted butternut squash, and half a pound of Gruyere cheese come together to create a hearty, colorful meal. The sweet squash contrasts beautifully against the salty cheese, with the rich buttery crust rounding out the flavors. This tart makes for a perfect Sunday meal, when you have a few moments to prepare it. Ever adaptable, pumpkin may be substituted for the squash and your favorite hard, melting cheese could be used in place of the Gruyere.

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