So I made the stupid marzipan tarts at Christmas. There was too much whining going on when I said I was planning to drop them. But I cheated.
These tarts, as you may recall, are finicky time-consuming but really tasty little things. Tiny tarts in a mini pastry shell with a cake-like multi-coloured filling and almond flavoured icing. I’ve slaved away on these things for the past twenty or so years. No more, I said.
I went to the grocery store and bought the pastry shells. Mini tarts, it promised on the package. Except that they weren’t quite so mini. I made the tarts on Christmas Eve morning with help from Ma-ma who had come for the holidays. I figured that since she was responsible for establishing the tart tradition, even though she claims she was just following orders, she could assist.
Together we made the batter and filled the tart shells. She decided to really fill the shells. Wanted to use up the batter. Wanted to get it over with. So the tarts came out looking like cupcakes. Even more so once they were iced.
Strangely, the tarts didn’t get eaten. It could be because eating one was the equivalent of eating four of the original version. Really, really sweet. Or it could be because they looked kind of intimidating. Imagine a giant cupcake with neon pink and green icing. Or a little deep dish pie. With neon pink and green icing.
But they taste as good as always. And so it’s worked out. I’ve eaten all the tarts.