I have my mother’s hands, pronounced veins & tapered fingers. My hands are tools. They scratch and pry, knead and rub. They make. I too often use them as oven mitts. They’re devil’s hands & dirty. They like to touch and be touched, and I like to think my fingers would have been very good at piano. I, however, can’t play any instrument at all. In a different life, I’d be a pianist that spoke five languages. But I also can’t speak a foreign language. So. They aren’t pianist hands. They aren’t polyglot hands. They’re just kitchen hands. Kitchen hands that want to touch everything. The flesh of fruit and sandy almond meal. The smooth shells of pistachios, pried open for the meat. Eat one, toss one in the bowl. Cream the frangipane. Run a finger along the edge of the wooden spoon. And lick it off.
To touch & taste are the world to me. I’m hungry, deeply and always. It drives me forward without always knowing where I’m going, that hunger. I need to be forever creating and consuming, as if the mad accordion that is the stars all at once (because what is time) fleeing from and collapsing into the heart of black hole is at work inside me. It’s probably at work in us all. Maybe there’s a sorrow behind the hunger though lately I see nothing but light. There are fantastic orbs, bundles of scattering light, just pinging around inside me. I’m so very happy these days.
And yet there’s a darkness always present in my work. Someone said recently that a photo of mine was full of sorrow. At first I laughed. How could a lamb chop be full of sorrow? And yet, there it was. Undeniably, over and over again. My work is tinged with some foreign sorrow. A sorrow that, these days, feels alien. It’s the shadow. Last night I awoke three times sobbing in my sleep. It was bizarre, and I do not know what haunts me. I wake up and see nothing but light. I cannot know myself. Most days, I don’t care to try. I’d rather be. In the waking world my feet are in the dirt, and my skin feels like it’s rippling electric. My heart and mind are consumed by work &, jangling elation.
But it would seem at night I float, from time to time, into dark, deep water. All I know is that no waves can wash me out to sea when I’m cooking, writing, shooting. Not when I’m working, not as long as I don’t stop moving. That’s what I tell myself, and it seems to work. And that is why I love my hands. That is why I love to touch. More dimpled pears, more papery pistachio. More skin. More here, more now. More happiness. The darkness is such an intrinsic part of me it infuses my work even when all I can see is brilliance & joy. But for now, I will leave it for my sleep and while I wake, I’ll enjoy a cup of coffee, so juicy, and fall pears with warm almond frangipane in the only pastry crust I ever make.
This recipe is adapted from Izy Hossack’s new cookbook Top With Cinnamon and it’s just so brilliantly simple. Once it was there, irrevocably sitting on my counter next to the chemex & my favorite cups, I felt so civilized. Izy makes them in little tartlets on rounds of wholemeal pastry crust. I opted for one biggie with my oh-so-southern all purpose flour & butter crust. Mostly because I wanted to use my favorite Art et Manufacture tart dish from Provisions. Funnily, I’d never made frangipane. My assistant Amanda (who also took the shots with my hands in them for me) had to google it for me so I could figure out some alternative to calling it “frangi-panty”. So, that was a sophisticated moment. I’m obsessed now. Frangipane everything from hence forth. Especially for the fruits of fall. Don’t miss Izy’s book. You can purchase it here!
Adapted from Top With Cinnamon. Izzy makes this into little round 3.5" tartlets with wholemeal pastry crust. I opted for one big tart with my stand by pastry crust. I have to try it her way next time; the minis would be party perfect. You can find this recipe & so many more in her new cookbook Top With Cinnamon!
Ingredients
- 125 grams (1 cup) all purpose flour
- three-finger pinch of salt (I used bourbon smoked salt)
- 113 grams (1 stick) cold, unsalted butter, diced
- 2 tablespoons ice water
- 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 50 grams (1/4 cup) light brown sugar
- 1 teaspoon almond extract
- 1 egg
- 2 tablespoons all purpose (plain) flour
- 1/4 teaspoon salt (again I used the bourbon smoked salt)
- 45 grams (1/2 cup) almond flour (ground almonds)
- 1 quantity of crust above
- 1 quantity of frangipane above
- 3 medium pears, cored & sliced very thin
- 3 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 1/4 cup finely chopped pistachios
Instructions
- Make the crust. In a bowl combine the salt and flour. Work the diced butter in with your fingers until it looks like bread crumbs and no pieces larger than a pea remain. Stir in the ice water until a ball forms. Form into a disk and wrap in plastic wrap and chill in the fridge at least an hour before rolling out.
- Heat oven to 350°F (180°C).
- Make the frangipane. In a bowl cream the eggs, butter, sugar, and almond extract. Stir in the flour & almond meal until smooth. Set aside.
- Roll your pastry crust on a floured work surfact to out to about 1/8" thickness and place in a tart pan, trimming excess dough from the sides.
- Spread the frangipane evenly over the bottom of the crust. Be gentle.
- Arrange the sliced pears on top and bake the tart for 25-35 minutes until the pastry crust and frangipane are golden brown.
- Heat the sugar and 3 tablespoons of water in a small saucepan. Stir to just dissolve sugar, then stop stirring. Swirl & tilt the mixture over high heat until it turns golden and slightly dark brown on the edges. Immediately remove from heat and, working quickly, brush the caramel gently onto the pears.
- Top with the chopped pistachio. Allow to finish cooling. Great served with both coffee and tea.
This past week has been half-filled with walking nightmares and disrupted slumbers. I’ve realized that, perhaps, feeling so resplendent and brimming during the day leaves me no time to acknowledge the sorrow that is, inevitably, in my life. Therefore, my mind takes the only time it has, sleep, to process what I don’t during the day. I too, lean towards moody, shadowed photos, but is that not the balance? To look for shadows, and feel light in contrast? Just a thought. Either way, this frangipane (Frangi-panty! I will never know the proper pronunciation again!) is just lovely. As are your photos, and your hands, and your self-acclaimed pastry crust. This entire post just makes so much sense to me. Thank you for sharing, Beth. Beautiful, really, as always.
Such beautiful shots! And don’t let me start about that tart… it wish I had a piece of it now!
Lisa – AT LEAST BLOG
Frangi-panty!! Pretty sure I no longer want to call it anything else. I love this — as usual, your photos are so mesmerizing. And a huge yay for Izy’s book! I’m waiting for my copy of that beauty to come in the mail and now I’m even more excited. Happy Friday 🙂
Your hands may be nothing more than hardworking kitchen hands but they are very good at what they do; brilliant even. This post is pure magic, Beth. I know, I’m saying it again! Well, well. Your words linger on my mind… I recognize that part of me that aims to avoid the dark corners of my mind by never standing still, by always keeping my mind busy with other things. And these pics? I want to move in, please. Maybe right next to those pistachio shells and that oh-so-beautiful golden kettle. xoxo
i think we all, in some way, straddle the line between darkness an light.
the trick is in the balancing.
beth, this blog is a sensualist’s dream.
You have beautiful artist hands. They create magic with the medium of food and writing. Beth, it’s cliche, if we didn’t know the darkness, we wouldn’t appreciate the light. You have the gift of nourishing another’s body and psyche with your food and woods. And doing both beautifully. I enjoy your posts very much.
Beth, thank you!
I love your photos. Moody and like paintings. Who says foodie pictures always have to be bright/happy/on white plates, anyway? Keep on. Keep on.
Everyone has sorrow in their lives, but no one can make it look as good as you do.
I love this “frangy-panty”..
Cheers!
I believe it would disrespectful, somehow, to say that it is the darkness in your photos that makes them ravishing… And yet, there it is. But pain is not there to just use a tool, to draw upon at a time of need. Pain is something within us, a sign of an artist’s soul, the expression of a person who seeks to know, to explore, to learn. If it materializes at night, I believe it is because those are the times that your soul is able to truly spread its wings and burrow deeper into itself. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, words, and visual poetry with us.
This tart looks amazing!!! And your pictures are so beautiful. I just started following you on instagram. And you are a huge inspiration.
Hands are unique to everyone, for they are not merely an integral part of our physical embodiment, but THE tool for experiencing what’s inside. It’s lovely that you’re happy, and because of the sorrow there’s happiness. Your work always snatches my breath from me, not only your photographs, but the words that accompany them. This one really made me chuckle – Frangi-Panty Haa haa haa…
Thank you for the lovely read Beth – and a very pleasant week ahead for you!
Beautiful writing, beautiful shots, beautiful recipe. Now where do I find this bourbon smoked salt you speak of? It sounds glorious.
You have incredibly beautiful writing. It’s interesting that we all know of our hands as a tool, but seldom appreciate them for being one. I,too, like to use my hands for everything in the kitchen — I have the quintessential burns, the food stained nails.
I think it’s notable that you, like everyone else, have some darkness inside of you and some light, too yet you don’t dwell on it. “Most days, I don’t care to try. I’d rather be.”
This is such a beautiful, and I’m sure delicious tart. Your writing clearly matches your food.
This tart is so inviting – loving the mix of ingredients Izzy used. So yummy!
You have an uncanny way of allowing each of us to feel a little less alone with our strange and wild thoughts. I shall make this tart to embrace the parallel feelings of the maker – something akin to the cooking metaphors that commence each chapter in the book, Like Water for Chocolate. Thank you Beth!
Estupenda receta y maravillosas fotos. Esa luz se ve increíble. Saludos desde España.
Love the flavours in this – gorgeous!
Perhaps yin believes you favour yang? Perhaps yin feels neglected during the day and finds she can only get your attention at night? Gosh, who knows, but my guess is that your amazing ability to reflect and your fearless approach to introspection will – over time – provide you with all the answers you need;).
Thanks for sharing such beautiful words, such beautiful pictures and such a beautiful recipe.
Kimberly
Beautifully done as always, Beth. I am happy to hear that your waking hours find you joy and comfort and beauty. I think sometimes our subconscious makes an appearance in our sleep, but it sounds as though you are figuring it out and dealing with it day by day – and that is all any of us can do. Your feelings are clear in your writing, your photographs and in your cooking, all beautiful with emotional intent. And now, I can’t wait to use “frangie-panty” (once I google it as well…)
I wouldn’t say your pictures are full of sorrow… to me they make me feel homey, comfy. I know how it feels like to be dreaming in a sea of things we don’t want to face during the day. But I guess it’s normal, right? Your dreams will be a light as day soon enough! =)
this recipe looks just amazingly delicious!
I love your blog and your photos, and this post makes a lot of sense to me. Our life is sculptured by the play of light and shadow, and we should feel, live and accept both. Your posts and photos have a deepness which I miss in many other blogs. Thank you for creating something so inspiring!
That’s the mix isn’t it. You’d photos bring the dark into the day. Wish I could cook like you! Jean
The one thing that immediately attracted me to your photos was that darkness, that use of shading. Where others see sorrow, I don’t, really. I love darkness an cannot associate the lack of bright, white light with sorrows, or sadness, or depressive moods, To me this greyish tint I find in your photography – and that I am so envious of, I confess – is filled with light – pardon the apparent paradox – and creativity. It moves me. It moves my soul, if I have one. It moves something within me, that’s for sure, my breath always catches, my eyes open wider, I sigh and am instantly thrown into another world inside my head. It makes me want to go and finish writing my darn book, it makes me want to go and edit my photos that are just lying there in a folder on my desktop, it makes me want to go into the kitchen and cook something. But mostly, it makes me want to write. It speaks to me of magic, of witches and dragons and knights and vikings and forests and woods, haunted with life and richness and bounty. I see no sorrow in your pictures, only an overwhelming calmness that seems to fill me with burts of creativity. I must be slightly unhinged, I guess, eheh.
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What a beautifully written post, I’ve been an admirer of your photos for some time…this is my first time reading your blog however and I’m just as enchanted with your words. Excited to read more later, and I sympathize, waking up to yourself sobbing is an unsettling and sad event. xoxoxo
I encourage you to talk about what you might possibly be sad about to a trusted friend or professional. Something important is wanting to be recognized and expressed and perhaps acted on. Let this part of you give the gift it wants to give to you.
And your photos are gorgeous.
I love what you wrote about touching and tasting. So beautifully written, and this dessert looks divine!
Beautiful as always! Also your hands!
Powerful….I cannot wait to meet your hands Beth. I have my grandmother’s hands. I wonder if they are similar. When I was 18, a boy that I was friendly with commented that my hands looked like his mother’s. He meant it in an endearing way, but I was absolutely mortified. Then, I realised that my hands have always looked that way….even as a child. It’s like they have lived many other lives before this one.
I’m a fan of frangipane….will eat plain ole crumbly slices of frangipane til the cows come home…..your Izy highbred looks like pure ambrosia, must try the recipe…or better yet, get her book!
Soon,
Imen x
PS. I need an assistant if you know anyone that wants to move to Ireland…..
Have I told you how much I love your photography? It’s not just about your food (which looks delicious btw) but how you present your food that really sets this blog apart. Great work!
The darkness in your work is what makes it my most favorite! Dark, mystical, and dreamy….
Could you possibly be more talented? Your photos, your writing, it’s all amazing! This tart looks delicious, by the way!
Love this piece, and I agree with a lot of the commenters above: the darkness in your work is what makes it so striking. Also love the bit about your hands. I ended up with Grandma’s long-fingered hands, like pale spiders, veins and tendons jumping about at every movement. (I’ve learned to hide them in photos since my mom and sister tease me about my “grandma hands,” and no, I am not a pianist either.) I’ve learned to see them as purpose-built, meant for doing rather than looking at.
Sunning photos Beth, as per usual. Have pinned some and added this to the ‘to bake’ list. Bec x
Hi, Beth!! I don´t know if it is sorrow… may be the sorrow of happiness, the taste of the decadent and a bit of mistery envolving everything. That´s what I see when I see your pictures…
A big hug from Spain,
Marta.
Oh my lordy!! your photos are stunning and that tart I want in my tummy right now. Thanks for sharing will deff pop on the apron and try this bad boy out. Rosie x
http://www.rosedogandco.blogspot.com.au
I’m behind on all my blog reading, so I just got to this post. Beth, this is so beautiful. And sad. I’ve always been so afraid of the dark, and did everything I could to push it away most of my life, but I’m slowly learning that sometimes it just has to wash over me; all the things I’m so afraid of in the shadows press into me until I see them, and then pass through me. Then, sometimes, there is a glimmer of light.
I love your honesty. You will be in my thoughts. Sending you joy and peace. xx
Yes — frangipane everything, it’s so perfect with a buttery crust and some sort of fruit on top. I sometimes look at your photographs and especially, the dark quality, and consider what it is that you capture, aside from a beautifully-styled cake or other food. There’s a sort of delicate melancholy but also something so comforting and beautiful. You have such a way with words – lovely post.
Your work doesn’t speak to me, it sings. Keep on keepin’ on.
The bullet point at the end of the recipe is blank. How much water do I mix with the sugar to make the caramel?
Sorry for the omission! 3 T. It’s been added. : )
Thanks. Are your measurements for the almond flour and brown sugar correct? Only 5 grams difference between 1/2 cup and 1/4 cup?
We literally drooled reading this recipe, looks incredibly delicious! Beautiful blog, great work!
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Stunning. I adore frangipane so much.
Beautiful pictures! Can’t wait to make my next tart.