I’m not sure if I’ve gone into any particular detail about this before, so bear with me while I confess: fruit is not my favorite.

A blanket statement, a write-off of an entire category of food, from a food blogger?! The shame, the audacity. Really, the hypocrisy. How ever can one be taken seriously, as a foodie, if an entire group of nature’s best produce is cast in the ‘not to be eaten’ category?

Well, I’d hope that a common love of fat, sugar, bacon, and caffeine would aid in letting my dismissal of fruit slide. Because it is the truth. Save for apples, grapes, and blueberry pie, very few fruits taste delicious. Pears, plums, nectarines, apricots, strawberries, blackberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, oranges, clementines, all of the above do not, in anyway, appeal to my palate. Yes, it makes no sense. If I love sugar like I claim to, then fruits are the easiest and healthiest way for me to take advantage of nature’s natural glucose. And, yet.

I cannot explain my aversion to fruit. Sometimes, it’s the texture that gets me, but more often than not, it’s the flavor. That floral, soapy, fruity flavor. Ugh.

This fruit-avoidance is the reason for the skewed ratio of non-fruit to fruit desserts on this blog. My family will knowingly answer, “something with fruit?” when I ask what kind of dessert they’d like to eat, only to be shot down with a look. I rarely make an exception outside of birthdays for fruit-based treats. And it is all to my detriment.

It’s more of a hindrance, an annoyance than a culinary position. There is no possible way to defend a dislike of fruit. How I wish a nectarine appealed to me, if only, my life would be make all the more easy. More times than I would like to recall have I had to forgo a delicious sounding chocolate tart because of errant raspberry sauce. Yes, please, can I have that brown butter pound cake, but please hold the compote. A trio of ice cream you say? What about just the chocolate and coffee duo, minus that horrid passion fruit crème? Espresso with an overtone of blackberry? No, thank you. Beer infused with apricot? I’ll stick to my hops.

So please, imagine my utter glee at happening upon a fruit pastry I’ll gladly eat on a menu. Such an instance occurred at Salt’s Cure in Los Angeles, with an apple, date, pecan, and cheddar crumble. I ordered without need for further explanation. And it was not a crumble in the strictest sense, it was really a tart topped with a mound of streusel, which is never a letdown. The combination of apples and dates, with the salty pecan and subtle to the point of undetectable cheddar was perfect. So perfect, it had to be replicated.

This recipe is ingenious on several levels, the first being wholly technical. The dates, when lining the bottom of a tart shell, act as a natural sponge for the juices the sliced apples will inevitably leak and the result is a date plumped and spiced beyond all hopes and dreams. The apples proved a layer of the best Thanksgiving memories and the crumble, oh, the crumble. Studded with toasted pecans, it’s marvelous. I’ll admit, I had not idea where to put the cheddar. Incorporated into the crust? What about in the streusel?

Opting for the classic ‘in the filling’ American tactic, I grated little more than a teaspoon of cheddar atop each tart before topping them off with streusel. The result? A hint of earthy saltiness at the end of each bite.

Recipe on the following page.

If last week’s testimony to Georgetown coffee shop and bakery Baked and Wired didn’t convince you to visit, if the idea of banana cupcakes topped with peanut butter frosting and chocolate drizzle somehow didn’t justify a leisurely stroll, Metro ride, drive, train trip, plane flight, sail…let me try again.

Yes, it may takes upwards of ten minutes for espresso drinks, yes there is never anywhere to sit and yes, sometimes the lines are extreme.  But, it’s worth it.  That’s what I’ve concluded.  While, during the ten minutes after you place your espresso order, it may seem like torture, caffeine-deprived torture, once that perfectly capped, wet-foam drink is in your hands, in your stomach, poured over your head or drizzled onto your eye if eyeballing is the game du jour, the wait is worth it.  Always.

On the plus side, if you go during normal hours on the weekdays, for a mid-morning, lunchtime, mid-afternoon or casual evening visit, there are generally nominal or no lines.  (Though the requisite ten or so minutes still happen. Good espresso takes time, a sentiment that is rapidly becoming the ultimate Catch-22 of my short life.  I desperately need it to wake up and function, but I have to go, purchase and wait.)

In a town that seems to run on good espresso, with Dupont’s Dolcezza and Filter and Chinatown’s Chinatown Coffee Company rounding my top favorite espresso shops, Baked and Wired has the additional plus of a lovely pastry case.

Never a bad thing.

Bake your own apple crisp…guaranteed to be delicious and on the plus side, it’s like a homemade, cinnamon and fruity air freshener.

Stay in with your loved one (or friends) and cook Valentine’s dinner.

Click the link above for the recipe.

If there was ever an intellectual challenge, this is it.  The quest: search far and wide, in towns, cities and villages (villages?) and find a job that is superior to owning a pie truck.   That’s right, a pie truck.   Take an ordinary ice cream truck, get rid of that tweeting, chirpy theme song box, the deep-freeze barrels and replace it with warming trays and pie.  Slice after slice of homemade pies.  Fruits pies, chess pies, chocolate pies and savory pies.  Fill up a truck with pie, and drive it around.  I dare you to propose an occupation that outdoes the happiness quota of manning a pie truck.

You may not make millions, but there will be millions of pies.

Work?  Hardly.  You’d be sitting in a mobile heaven, a small chamber of pie-love on wheels.  And just think of all the joy that a pie truck spreads to the less-fortunately employed, simply by dispensing pies across the city.  With all the good-will being spread, you’d be hard pressed not to be escalated to sainthood.  By driving a pie truck, spread good cheer and fruit-filling, the masses would assemble to petition for the addition of a halo to your image as a PieMan.  That’s the power of pie.

I can’t take credit for the sheer genius of a pie truck, Dangerously Delicious Pies of Baltimore, Maryland has already done it with their Dangerously Delicious Pie (Truck) roaming the streets of Washington.   The black truck emblazoned with pie and cross-bones travels the DC streets, even during the slushy snow days that  seem  to scare off the more delicate cupcake and pastry trucks.  And even on such snow days, the pies are hot and yes, dangerously delicious.

After a quick two-hour session of productivity at work and twitter research which revealed that the Dangerously Delicious truck was less than four blocks away, I recruited a fellow pie fan for a lunch break.  Because of course, pie constitutes only the most nutritious and delicious of lunches.  Having made the unfortunate decision to wear my glasses, after about two minutes outside in the odd Washington combination of snow and wet sleet-rain, I was blind.  Actually requiring eyesight-help, fogged-up glasses do nothing in aiding the absolutely necessary step in food truck locating—the actual spotting.  All the twitter information in the world does nothing when it comes down to finding the physical truck.  Following a quick detour in the wrong direction though, the pie truck was spotted…and it was pulling away!

Thankfully, my pie compatriot was a native New Yorker, and therefore was born with an affinity for hailing moving vehicles.  The Dangerously Delicious Pies (Truck) pulled over in a bus stop and a lined formed, complete with DC policemen who had no interest in illegally parked vehicles, only in the Apple Pie.  The PieMan in the truck was more than happy to recommend pies, insisting of course that they were all good, but that the Baltimore Bomb was currently the best-seller.

The pies.  Oh the pies.  The Baltimore Bomb, a sweet vanilla chess pie (southern tradition, egg-based baked custard) loaded up with Berger Cookies that melt down and create a sweet, chocolaty miss-mash, is a winner if you’re in the mood for something close to the maximum tolerable amount of sweetness. In true pie form, the Blueberry Pie is perfectly warm, messy, and loaded with a tart and remarkably fresh fruit filling.  The crust is appropriately flaky and not at all soggy.  Each slice is served in an individual container and while $6.50 a slice may seem pricey, you’re getting a good sixth of a pie, and a delicious homemade pie at that.  It’s also on the go, for the spur-of-the-moment pie need.

Only after demolishing the pie did we notice the looks of envy from the other patrons in the coffee shop we had settled in.  They should be envious.  Those who lack pie really should remedy the situation.  And what better way than to walk outside and visit a pie truck?

Dangerously Delicious Pies (Truck) accepts credit cards, for those struck by the need-for-pie when they are unfortunately lacking cash.

Dear god, it’s been almost a month.  Three weeks about, on the nose.  Have I not eaten in the past three weeks?  Clearly not.  With a combination of finals, Thanksgiving, and the relative consumption of food either after all the natural light is gone or—oh my—before the camera makes it out of the bag…golly food writing is hard.  All that food and not enough time.  Oh, the struggles.

Speaking of struggles, really difficult, soul-wrenching struggles, try finishing a slice of this S’mores Tart.  Appealing to the child-within, this S’mores Tart is everything a s’mores should be, warm, melting, overwhelming chocolaty with a salty-graham finish.  A hint of toasted marshmallow caramel.  Except sophisticated and lacking the campfire.  (But if you close your eyes, don’t worry, the campfire is still there when you want it.)  So what’s the problem you ask?  How, on this dear planet of ours, could finishing a decadent wedge of this tart be a hardship?  Especially when, at the age of eight, eating s’mores en mass was the easiest thing about camping.

Because, as it often happens with the most delicious of deserts, when your tongue says yes, sometimes your stomach says no.  God damn those internal organs.  Although my brain wants to eat a rich and melting bar of buttery ganache topped with light and airy toasted marshmallows, my gut can’t handle it.  And the discord between heart and stomach, tongue and stomach, soul and stomach, is too much.  So what, don’t make the tart?

Don’t be ridiculous.  Make the tart, and then eat little slices.  Every hour, each hour, until it’s gone.

Recipe on the following page.

As it turns out, sugar and caffeine are not the sole components of a balanced diet.  Really, who knew?  That alone is my paltry, pathetic reason for the lack of sweet posts in the past two months.  Because, contrary to the image I try to convey in my everyday and blogging life sometimes, occasionally, it turns out that a person has to eat a little something else.  ‘Something else’ translates into those superfluous others: iron, protein, carbohydrates, meat, vegetables, maybe some salad, a bowl of soup, a sandwich, eggs.  You know, that little group of foods, i.e. the entirety of the Food Pyramid not containing sugar and butter.

It’s really very unfortunate.  Those other foods take up a lot of time and the desserts have fallen by the wayside.  Cover your ears, shield your eyes!  Say it isn’t so.  (But it is.)

About a month ago, after the lack of sugar became really too much to bear, I went out and bought 10 Crunch Bars.  Those milk chocolate candy bars studded with crispy rice.  And then I made a chocolate pound cake, covered the bottom with all 10 Crunch Bars and proceeded to make a little chocolate ganache – for good measure- to drizzle on top because every cake deserves a healthy drizzle.  It was an extreme and delicious ricochet effect, caused by the very unseemly lack of sugar.  Where, exactly, did it go?  It met its end in less than two days.  A valid sacrifice of an extravagant cake.  But while it was rich, sweet, moist and all things great that a cake should aspire to be, it was sloppy.  Take a second and imagine a dark chocolate cake that didn’t really want to come out of the pan, and cover it in a lot of chocolate.  Now imagine after 10 hands and forks have gone through it.

Not my most beautiful effort, but it set the groundwork for sweets and pastries to come and if that Crunch Bar cake was delicious, than let me take a moment to introduce you to this beauty, Tarte Tatin.  Elegant, rich, and the embodiment of fall it is in fact easier to make than said Crunch Bar fiasco.  Imagine plump caramelized apples atop a flaky and very, very buttery crust tasting better in fact than it looks.  And it’s a beautiful tarte.

Tarte Tatin is the upscale cousin of an apple pie, so yes, it is complemented extremely well by vanilla ice cream.  And it is delicious warm.  Or cold.  Or room temperature.

The best part is, it is made of apples.  Which are a fruit.  Which qualifies as a vegetable.  Which means that it really can be the main course in any meal, including dinner therefore obliterating any qualms I have about eating pastries for my meal.

Which is not to say I really have any problems with that.  At all.

Recipe on the following page.

Is it obscene?  Well, that really depends on where you stand in the battle of fat.  Are you afraid of a little cream, a little butter?  What about a little sugar then?

In a pervious post I noted that, as a Crack Pie Round Two, I was going to dress the Crack Pie portion of the Chocolate-Malt Cake and Blueberry and Cream Cookies Momofuku Milk Bar Trio in my absolutely favorite treatment.  Make it into Ice Cream.  So, that little amount of butter—you know, ½ a pound isn’t that much—plus a custard base, that’s not obscene, is it?  I’ve discovered that, when it comes to ice cream, my stomach and brain—oh yea, not the reasonable part of my brain, no way that gray matter has anything to do with my decisions today—demolish my arteries.  You’re clogging you say?  Butter will help with that.

Recipe on next page.

It hard to pin down, just exactly, what is so addictive about Crack Pie. The name, for one is particularly attractive in a bad kind of way—the way in which you feel like you’re doing something naughty ‘Oooo I’m doing Crack! Or at least, eating something called Crack…tee hee hee.’ It’s the square-bakers kind of foray into hard drugs, the excessive consumption of sugar and fat, dangerous in that the aftermath consists of bloated stomachs full of ecstasy and a requisite crash on some kind of soft surface.

Did Crack Pie bring about these things? Well, yes. But, as a lightweight baker, in general I lack a threshold cap on my judgment of how much—exactly—I can consume before I fall into a sugar coma. With everything, I always believe I can eat more than I really can or should, often resulting in me clutching my stomach in a sort of I feel like I am going to explode but please, Sir, can I have some more?

In general, I am a chocolate and ice cream type of girl. Fruit desserts, stay away. Cake? Not going to get me swooning. Cookies post-oven? Just not as enticing as cookie dough. But a bar of chocolate, dark, rich, and thick when it melts in your mouth? Alright. For that reason, I did not expect, exactly, to be blown away by Crack Pie. It not necessarily a beautiful dessert.  But it’s good. It’s really good. Imagine the texture of an underdone lemon bar, minus the lemon, with the malt and brown sugar and caramel flavors pumped up. Throw in sweetness to the extreme and a crunchy oatmeal sugar crust, then make it cold, chill it out. It’s delicious, yes it is. And the most interesting thing is, it disappears, without you even knowing.

Rustic baking is the best.  It’s loose, it’s not exact, and it’s relaxing.  Now, loving baking, all baking is in some form, relaxing.  But it’s the degree of relaxation, the amount of effort, and the margin of error that affects the overall relaxation factor.

And Rustic Baking is an extreme form of relaxing baking surpassed only by Chocolate Chip Cookies in the max relaxation factor.

Another most excellent part of Rustic Baking is that most Rustic Baking products—especially the French Rustic Baking products—are just as impressive as baking with less relaxation factors.  Rustic Baking is perhaps the ultimate form of baking showmanship, in the casual appearance of the baked good, a baker can sort of say, “Yea, I just threw this tart together.  On a whim.”

No big deal.

And this Apple Frangipane Galette, as with most galettes, has ultimate casualness in the baking.  It’s delicious, it’s French, it combines pastry dough, an almond custard-like filling, and tops it off with an American-riff of apple pie filling.