Rustic Grape Tart

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It feels as if I’m caught in a storm right now, papers flying everywhere, head quite the mess. I told myself I’d buckle down 110% (those same words!) today, and yet, I feel a strong sense of guilt as I look over all my past recipe posts, the embodiment of one of my main passions in life. It’s funny because I actually read an excellent article on procrastination in the papers today; and yet, I don’t see this as a form of such a term, but more so a physical and mental extension of what I love wholeheartedly. It’s small things like the juxtaposition of fruit and custard cream which to be are akin to that of life and love, or books and work, or friends and family.

This grape tart, as you can see above, is not perfect. The shell has shrunk, the grapes aren’t all luscious and plump, but it is through these imperfections that I am willing to share what I’ve learnt to bolster your own attempt in the kitchen. The shrunken shell is my fault really, because I failed to spread the baking beans evenly during the blind baking process. That, together with the fact that I sort of wanted the whole rustic appeal of pseudo-slipshod work. Hey, it’s a tart!

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The pastry is abominably crisp, the sort which shatters and melts in your mouth real quick. And I have only recently discovered just how darn easy pastry cream is to make, and I used a simple recipe which yields a smooth and decadent texture and flavour. I attempted to keep cooking the cream until it was thick, and thus hold itself better in the fridge, or when cut through with a knife during serving. If possible, use fresh, thick grapes, which I unfortunately didn’t have on hand at that point in time (hence the tiny little blobs you see pictured!) Since I was trying out my new fluted rectangular tart tin, I was forced to leave out a significant amount of crust, but it would also be perfect in a round 9-inch pie tin.

Rustic Grape Tart

Ingredients

For shortcrust pastry:

157g all-purpose flour

125g cold, unsalted butter, cut into cubes

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon sugar

2-3 tablespoons water

For pastry cream:

355ml whole milk (around 1.5 U.S. cups)

2 egg yolks

68g white castor sugar

1 tablespoon cornstarch

1/2 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

optional: zest of half a lemon and a splash or brandy/cognac

For the topping:

around 100g of grapes, cut in half (or you can cut as you fill the top, after pouring in the pastry cream)

2-3 tablespoons grape/apricot jam, warmed in the microwave for a minute or so

Make the pastry. It’s extremely versatile and can be used for things like quiches and other sweet or savoury tarts as well. My mum uses it all the time for her savoury wild mushroom and blue cheese quiche. Anyways. Freeze the cubed butter for at least a half hour. If you’re using a food processor, combine flour, salt and sugar, and pulse to mix. Add the butter and pulse around 6-8 times until the mixture resembles a course meal with pea-sized pieces of butter. Add the iced water, 1 tablespoon at a time, pulsing until the mixture just begins to clump together. The dough should hold together when pinched lightly. If you’re just using your good old hands and a bowl, rub the cold butter into the flour mix, rubbing across the knuckles, and quickly, so the heat doesn’t melt the butter at a faster rate. Continue until you get the aforementioned result. Remove dough from machine/bowl and place on a clean work surface. Shape into a disk and wrap with cling film. Refrigerate for at least an hour, and up to 2 days (so you can make this way ahead of time, hoorah).

When ready to use, remove the disc and leave on the counter for around 10 minutes, just to soften a little. Roll out on a lightly floured surface with a rolling pin, according to the size of the tart tin you are using. For my own rectangular one, I rolled it out to around 9×11 inches, around 1/8-inches thick, so there could be sufficient dough hanging over the edges. Press the dough into your tin (no need to grease) and press down so it reaches all the corners and sides. Trim the edge, leaving about 1/2 an inch excess from the edges. Put the crust in the fridge for around 10 minutes and preheat the oven to 177C (350F). Line the chilled crust with parchment/wax paper and fill with pie weights. Bake for 20 minutes in the oven. Remove to cool for a few minutes. Remove the weights, poke the bottom with little holes and return to oven for another 10 minutes. Cool completely before adding any filling.

During the baking time, make the custard. In other words, the most fun part! In a saucepan, medium or large, over medium heat, warm the whole milk until it comes to a simmer. Whilst waiting for that, whisk the eggs, sugar, cornstarch, optional alcohol and lemon zest, flour and vanilla in a bowl. Whisk a little of the hot milk into the egg mixture, and then slowly, very slowly, whisk the slightly tempered egg mixture into the rest of the milk, constantly stirring. Continue to stir for around 3-5 minutes, until the mixture thickens and you have what rightly resembled a luscious, thick custard. It will be a fine, pale yellow, which leaves a slightly slimy trace when you sneak a lick off the back of your wooden spoon. Remove from the heat and let it cool for around half an hour.

Once cool, spread the custard onto the pie shell. Cut up your grapes and assemble them, cut-side down, onto the cream. It will take a while, yes, but it’s absolutely worth it in the end. Place your gorgeous little tart in the fridge, and cover with plastic wrap. Just before serving, warm some jam in a saucepan over light heat or in the microwave for a few minutes. Brush over little butts of grapes, remove from the tin and prepare yourself for a light and slightly unorthodox dessert.

Who doesn’t love grapes.

Symmetry

And funnily enough, this isn’t another one of my odd rambles (possibilities include facial symmetry, the symmetry of life and all it encompasses, how everything typically goes off the bend. Anyways.)

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My camera received more than a few evil glares from unknowing passers-by.

I’ve read reviews on this place countless times and decided it was finally time to give this supposedly indie nook a go. ‘Hipster’, they called it. What could I lose, I said to myself, as I drew myself out of the bustling Orchard grounds. Eggs eggs eggs, my stomach chanted.

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Portobello Benedict, with cheddar, hollandaise, hash and portobello duxelle

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If I can take one word away from that experience this morning, it would be squashed. The first thing I saw, before the barista, before the lavish plates of eggy dishes, were human beings. All sorts, packing the little area to the brim. There, the ponytailed waitress pointed. I faced about 5 inches of wood; a skinny rectangular slab. I didn’t care, though. The seat was heavy but adorable, and my lashes fluttered at the menu. I always order some form of poached eggs at cafes because too, too many places serve rather mediocre or pathetic blobs of ivory, bursting with what? Usually not a golden river to set your heart aflame.

Portobello Benedict it was.

Took my breath away. Well oiled, plump ovals. Babies. The gentle prod of my fork unleashed an angry, tender flow. It energetically filled the crisp holes in the toasted, buttery English muffin, swamping a melting tang of cheddar. Complimented so perfectly with a hearty dose of duxelle, which is basically minced portobello and garlic. The cheese and hollandaise was the savoury cake’s icing, thin and slightly crusty around the edges. My palette was overwhelmed, but my heart was quite grateful. At $22, this is no cheap sacrifice, but every bite was absolutely worth it. Even the hash was beautifully crisp and golden, without being mushy in the centre.

That’s it. I’m trying the sur le pat, pain perdu and duck egg next time I come.

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Rating: 4.8/5

Symmetry Cafe

9 Jalan Kubor

Bella Pasta

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An excruciating number of reviews.

Too little time, I say. And so I wallow in the woes of this routine world with an expression of doubt but heart of hope. I was up this morning and thinking about the raw freedom of the mornings, as I listened to the whurr of the air conditioner and buzz of the coffee machine. The toaster was ticking and my heart felt light. All before the dawn of another school day, all before a slew of assessments and analysis and faces; which I love, but weighs down heavy sometimes. Only really because the after-effect of a normal Sunday takes its toll and I feel mentally hungover. Then again, what on earth is new? Time passes and these motions carry on with you trapped in the tide. Forced to flow.

But Saturday. Saturday always holds such heart-pounding possibilities whenever it comes to foodie adventures. Coming back to Robertson Quay that afternoon was a familiar yet almost dangerous encounter, since the possibilities were endless. I was nauseous with ringing starvation which drenched my entire body and soul with an aching melancholy. I only wanted to eat and eat and be stained with a brimming satisfaction, though not sickness.

i swear I was heaving and sweating with hunger by the time my mother and I literally rushed into this open Italian restaurant, surrounded by the gregarious native people of Italy and the soft waters snaking down the river. We sat right under the fan, away from the ignorant smokers. It was a rushed decision which went something along the lines of:

“Hey mum look this looks rather appetising I heard Bella Pizza has the best pizza in Singapore but hey food let’s sit down here instead.”

Mother: “Um alright… Italian?” (she knows that would never typically be my first pick)

“Yes, why not.”

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fried calamari with tomato salsa

Crunch, chew, crunch, chew, back again and maybe chew a bit more just to get the rings of tender rubber down.

But delightful in both taste and texture. That salsa had the right tang without being either too thin and salty. I got the case of one dribble too many, but probably only due to my breakneck pace and clumsiness (I should never, EVER go anywhere too hungry or I’ll ruin a perfectly prim night out. Atrocious.) That calamari of course, was tender and may I even say a little fluffy. It was good squid, and I could see why the only other customers aside from an Indian couple were all Indians, open and full of gung-ho at best. It felt good to know that this is where they come for a quick and true Italian fix.

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charcoal grilled snapper on a bed of broccoli and tomatoes with a balsamic vinaigrette
linguine vongole

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The mother attacked the latter and I, the beautiful fish. Because well, fish. Also because I wanted to pick at the bread and my mother’s delicately twirled mound of shiny pasta strands (the joys of mother-daughter bonding sessions). For almost $30, I got a minute portion which only satisfied me with the addition of that luscious but slightly too oily balsamic. Thick oil drops lazed about in excess on every inch of the dish, but yes, the fish resembled a shiny piece of ivory silk which broke away in delectable flakes of oiled flesh.

But no. It didn’t throw me off any board. The linguine was better, I thought, with rich and affluent clams sliding out of empty shells. Beautiful little creatures. I’d like to imagine downing 10 at a time, like I would do onions. Lovely, really.

This stuff was good though not excellent, and most definitely not worth the appalling price. Even the gelato only came in three flavours (chocolate, strawberry and vanilla), and at a supposedly homey original Italian restaurant! Come on.

Pity.

Quality is mostly there though, and I enjoyed the rosy-cheeked, round-bellied waiters bustling to and fro.

Rating: 3.2/5

Bella Pasta

30 Robertson Quay #01-09

Riverside View Singapore 238251

Tel: (65)6836 5692