There were two things about this tart that I immediately disliked when I read the recipe. The first, and probably most important, is that I hate fruit. Hate is, yes, a strong word that really should be reserved for enemies and evildoers, but I’ll just come out and repeat it. I hate fruit. For me, there is nothing worse than when a raspberry invades my chocolate item, with is disgustingly bloody color, it’s tiny little wimpy seeds, and that gross, cloying flavor. Peaches, with their fuzzy outsides and sticky, sweet insides—I’ve never eaten one. Getting down an orange or nectarine wedge is absolute torture—I haven’t eaten a fresh wedge since middle school. At least eight years ago. And the banana. The banana. The smell, the mushy white flesh that invades peoples’ mouths and leaves a scent their breath.
Ugh. I will only eat apples, the occasional grape. And blueberry pie.
So, yes. The first thing I disliked about this tart recipe was that it was served with fruit. The second, and probably more relatable for the 99 percent of you all who actually enjoy fruit was that is was served with a “White Secret Sauce.” A white secret sauce? What editor, what chef, what publisher though it was a good idea to put a White Secret Sauce in a cookbook? Isn’t it a little degrading, and slightly insulting, to the memory of Julia Child, whom one would assume knows what a custard sauce is, to title a recipe ‘White Secret Sauce?’ I was personally insulted. (And, being freshly two decades old but with the mind of a 15-year-old boy, let’s be real. What is a white secret sauce?)