Toast

Update, a Winner, and News for Gardening Pittsburghers

A report from the bad blogger: So where is the roundup? Why haven't you heard from me? Where's my banner?
The shortest, truest answer is sloth, on the part of the undersigned.

In more detail: There was insufficient response on the Terrinereama front to warrant much of a roundup. I think I picked a topic which may have appeared fussier and more complicated than it actually is, putting people off. In any event, I do have a winner of the cookbook. She is Solange, of Just Baking. Her terrine can be found here, and her book will be on the way in short order.

You haven't heard from me because I'm having a lazy patch. I expect to have a new post up within the week, as I'm making something I hope will be fun. I love writing this blog, and have never viewed it as a chore. I don't intend to start treating it like work...so if I don't feel like writing it..I don't. There are an awful lot of old posts available if you feel like browsing the categories...unlike my banner, they have not mysteriously disappeared.

Typepad assures me that they are working on the mysterious disappearing banner issue. I really hope that they can restore it..I don't have it backed up anywhere, because I m a fool. I patched it together with inadequate software, no experience, and some good luck, on my old (late) computer. I was very attached to it, despite its inadequacies.

Good News: If you live in the Pittsburgh area, and have a garden that's not all planted up yet, the Urban Farm in Wilkinsburg still has a good selection of naturally grown seedlings available. This is a great boon, because it's getting really hard to find what you want at this late date. They have heirloom varieties and seem very interesting indeed- I hope to go visit them soon. You can find out more about them and proprietor Mindy Schwartz through their website.

See you soon.

Every once in a while, I suffer a setback in my ongoing battle with myself to keep from posting pictures of my cats in this inappropriate forum. It's a slippery slope, as I am totally non-objective on the issue of how delightful and fascinating they are. Once I get going, there's a major danger of overkill. This would be Archie, who is unimpressed with the excuses cited above.

Plum Crazy

It is an absolutely beautiful spring morning, cool in a soft way, with promises of some warmth later. Everything is looking green, and a week from Wednesday the CSA farmbox starts up. So, despite a nasty cold, I'm getting my annual rush from the new growth . This is one area where I remain a total infant. I'm still gobsmacked and thrilled everytime a seed I plant sprouts, or a dormant plant goes green again.

This year, my office lemon tree seems to be working on three baby lemons. You may or may not know that this scraggy runt of a herbaceous house-pet has produced one full sized, delicious Meyer lemon every nine months or so for the last several years, without, apparently, growing a single inch. There are always numerous fabulously fragrant blossoms at the start of the cycle, and 8-10 teeny lemons follow. Then, all but one disappear overnight, and the last lemon clinging on is The One. This is the longest I've ever gone with more than one hanging on. So we'll see.

I do miss having a garden, and have not adapted well to this change in some 8 years of apartment life. In addition to the Working Lemon, for quite some time I grew lots of herb and tomato plants, as well as flowers, on the steps of my little porch. Then, the year before last, some workmen came, unannounced, to do stuff to our porches. They moved my plants while I was at work, with reckless abandon, and broke and killed most of them. I was stricken, and didn't grow much last year- I didn't want to deal with that sort of disappointment again. But I did eventually plant several herbs in containers, and to my major surprise, most of the perennials among them came back this spring, turning green again in their little pots.

I was particularly astonished to find the tarragon looking bright and bushy, since it gets very cold here in the winter, and tarragon is supposedly only hardy in the ground to 20F. And containers, of course, freeze (and unfreeze) quickly, being surrounded by air. Actually the only herb that didn't make it was the rosemary. The sage, thyme, lavender and mint are all back, and I'm really tickled.

So, I've been seduced by these happenings into further outlandish container efforts. You will think me mad, but I bought myself a bare root dwarf (?) self-fertile, greengage plum tree, and a really giant fiberglass pot (Costco-$20, not even ugly), and there is now a plum tree on the porch. Or, I hope there will be. Right now, there's a leafless stick in a pot. If you have ever ordered dormant nursery stock, you know how daunting it looks on arrival. Basically, it's not that easy to tell the top from the bottom. I was a bit surprised that this one is as tall as I am, in its pot. I'm almost positive that the roots are in their proper place on the bottom, in the dirt.

I am crazy for plums of all sorts,. The gages are the hardest kind to find around here, and one of my favorites. So I have an insane hope that in a few years, I might be able to pick one or two from my not so little porch tree. In other plant news, turns out that sorrel goes rather well with fuschia, coleus and sweet potato vine in a decorative planter.

I'm spending this beautiful memorial day weekend with a truly miserable chest cold, wallowing in self pity, wrapped in afghans and drinking hot liquids. There hasn't been a lot of cooking, but I did manage a mid-sized pot of beef broth and boiled veges. I can't actually taste much of anything, but for some reason this is pretty much what I want to eat, so good on that. It is neither interesting nor attractive, thus I will spare you, and me, a photo. Of course, the same could be said about the soon-to-be plum tree pictured above, but there you go.

Urban Lemon

For several years now, I have been growing a little Meyer lemon tree on the windowsill in my office at work. Last year, after much blooming, sweet smelling and carryings on, it yielded one lemon. I fussed around about what to do with it, and wound up making a very nice tart, which called for only one lemon, but used every scrap of it- skin, seeds, pith, the works.

A year later, the tree is still only 18" tall. Like me, it looks out on a brick wall all day long. Nonetheless, it has managed to produce two full sized lemons this year. It's a bit of a strain on the fragile trunk and limbs, and the tree is currently semi-supported by the ad hoc twisting of mini blind cord you see in the picture. So here is my question, and food for thought while I wait for the fruit to turn yellow. What can I make that is pretty special, and will use both of my hard won lemons?

I'm hoping someone will have a good idea for me.

Strange Doings on the Porch

In addition to causing some head-shaking in my urban neighborhood when I photograph my supper outside in the natural light, I also have a slightly excessive assortment of plants on my stairs. I miss having a garden since I moved, five years ago, to my little apartment/rowhouse. Since my flat has its own little porch and stoop, I console myself with a diminutive container "garden" of flowers, herbs, and a couple of patio and cherry tomato plants. It occurs to me that there are three words meaning "small" in this one paragraph. Probably, you get the idea of the space I'm working with.

There are a few potted shrubs which seem to survive from year to year-including a barberry and an elderberry. Each year I gussy things up with temporary pretties like a few fuschia, mandeville vine, and the like. I do have a tendency to keep adding plants, whether there is really space for them or not.

I had a little lemon tree, which spent the winter in my office and the summer on my porch. It lives in my office permanently now, as it blooms there, and is presently working on 2 meyer lemons (had 1 last year.) It is clearly happy where it is, and I'm afraid if I move it back, the fruit may drop. I bought a thing or two at the annual May Market, a charming Pittsburgh event where garden clubs take over Mellon park to sell plants, mushroom sandwiches, and fondant strawberries to gardeners playing hooky from school and work. As well as several herbs, I picked up something there called an "oyster"plant. It has lovely stripey leaves with intensly purple undersides. It looks cool with the fuschias.

You see pictured the european blue-white, or "sweet trefoil" from Gerard's Herbal, and also from my little project on the porch. This is the first of my baby utskho suneli, from the seeds I so rashly ordered. Khmeli suneli here I come. (maybe). They look a bit like clover, no? At least mine do. The ones from the Herbal are not so similar to mine.* Hmmm. Sweet trefoil is purportedly yet another name for this close fenugreek relation. I wonder.

I have a few other odd ventures among my usual potted suspects this year. In one pot, as yet unsprouted, are some medlar seeds a friend brought back from Sardinia. One reference said they needed a season of cold dormancy, so they have just recently come out of my freezer, where they spent the winter in a baggie. I will be thrilled if anything comes of them.

I also have a couple of zucchini plants. In a container you say? This probably seems particularly demented, in light of the farm box, and the excess zucchini gifts which appear each summer, everywhere. This is the idea,though- I'm trying to grow them to harvest the blossoms, for they are perhaps my most favorite food ever. And the blossoms just don't get donated. One wonderful year, there was a little bag of the blossoms in the farmbox, but that hasn't been repeated. Do you suppose if I harvest the blossoms assisdulously, they will be provoked to produce more? We'll see, if the plants don't expire before I get a chance to try.

As usual I have pots of chives, basil, mint, rosemary, oregano, thyme and tarragon. This year there is also some lovage, and my gift of rose geraniums. It's no garden, but I get my kicks.

* Actually, the ones in the Herbal look more like methi a/k/a fresh fenugreek leaves, which you can see here, courtesy of the chocolate lady.

Rosemary Tree

I don't get to Whole Foods very often; it means a hike, spending too much (they know how to hook me over there,especially when my CSA farm has gone winter-dormant), and then carrying my excess baggage home on the bus. I did stop by on Friday night, with a friend and a car, so I was able to pick up some Mediterra Mt. Athos firebread, which I love. I also succumbed to the lure of the Rosemary Christmas Tree you see above. This 18" cutie was reduced, along with its numerous healthy looking fellows , to $9.99. I could not be expected to resist.

I am very fond of the piney flavor of rosemary. I always grow some in the summer, but have never been able to bring it through the winter-it's too cold outside in Pittsburgh, and the dry heat, low light and cats in my apartment are death to growing things. This fall, I took my little summer rosemary plant to the Magic Windowsill at work, where my lemon tree is blooming again its second winter, after bearing an actual full size fruit. The window ledge there is wide and well lit, and they turn the heat off in the building every night.

This provides a nonfreezing, but cool night temperature, which is perfect for a lot of plants. There's a small palm tree, a Kaffir Lime-with blossoms and fruit, some jade plants and a good sized thyme plant. If my rosemary christmas tree survives the holiday, I will take it in to join the smaller rosemary plant there, and see if I can pull them through. Meanwhile, I have been keeping an eye on my little rosemary tree in a sheltered corner of the porch, planning to drag it indoors if it gets super cold, and to set it on my dining room table for my holiday party.

The root ball of my new rosemary plant, on examination, does have the the look of having been hacked mercilessly from a larger bush. It certainly is not some carefully grown standard, nurtured and gently urged into its shape by subtle pruning over the years. But hey, it cost $9.99. Even if it doesn't last long, it will be well worth the money. For less than it would cost to buy a few undistinguished supermarket cut flowers, it is a bargain. In addition to being seasonal and extremely cute, it should provide quite a bit of fresh rosemary. I see some rosemary ciabotta, roasted veg, rosemary pound cake, slow roasted lamb shoulder, and more in my future.

I've started with something I have not made before, because it sounds intriguing, and because I cannot stay away from preserving for very long. I am now aware that this jelly could been seen as a somewhat peculiar concoction. I liked the idea of it, and assumed that it would be universally appealing. When I told my elderly mother what I was making, she said, with the frankness of the slightly unglued, "What would you want that for?" I reported this to a friend as an eccentric remark, and was brought up a bit short when he raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, what would you want it for?"

It is a garlic and rosemary jelly, a condiment recommended as a substitute for mint jelly with roast lamb- also supposedly complimenting roast pork or chicken. It can be stirred into gravies and the like as well. Personally, I think it sounds great, but I haven't had any yet, so I can't swear to it.

The green apple pectin jelly, I made this summer is nearly gone, so I used the store-bought liquid pectin called for in the recipe- which is adapted from the newest Gourmet Cookbook. Speaking of stirring, the jelly must be stirred up a bit before using; the garlic tends to migrate to one corner of the jar. The recipe makes about 4 cups of jelly.
If you would like to make some too, you will need:

dry white wine 1 1/4 cups
white wine vinegar 1/8 cup
balsamic vinegar 1/8 cup
garlic, finely chopped 15 large cloves
fresh rosemary sprigs 4 four inch sprigs
sugar 3 1/2 cups
liquid pectin one 3 oz pouch

Sterilize four 8 oz canning jars. Put everything but the pectin into a large nonreactive pot, and bring to a rolling boil. Stir in pectin, bring back to a boil, and boil for one minute. Pour jelly through a sieve into a large glass measuring cup. Distribute garlic and rosemary among the jars, and pour jelly over. Leave 1/4 space at top of each. Process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Cool and check seals. Do not open for at least 24 hours, to allow flavors to develop. After that you can serve it to anyone who doesn't think you're off your head to want to make it, with their roast lamb.

And with that, my friends, I wish you, in the words of a gifted chef of my acquantaince who is presently the overqualified, yet incredibly helpful cheese guy at Whole Foods, a very "Happy Hollandaise".

Three Rivers Lemon Tart

You may not remember the saga of my little Meyer Lemon tree at the office, with its one heroic lemon. If you are interested, you can find it here. I am delighted to report that this good sized lemon has actually ripened. So , while the bent and straining 18" tree recovers from it's outsize burden, I'm going to make something of my one fruit citrus crop.

Back when I first posted about my indoor lemon-of-the-north, I made a lemon tart recipe that has been a standard with me, and a much favored dessert. I made it with some inferior store-bought puff pastry, and some supermarket meyer lemons and it was very nice anyhow. But I have been looking around for something that only needs one lemon, so I will know that I am tasting the Pittsburgh Lemon when I try it.

I was tickled when I saw that this week's NYTimes Magazine featured lemons and some good sounding things to do with them. Although I have a few bones to pick with foodwriter Amanda Hesser from time to time , we agree entirely on the importance of the lemon. Like Ms. Hesser, I believe that the lemon is a sparkler and a "desert island" item. Food, drink, seasoning, preservative,gelling agent, antiseptic, perfume-there's nothing else quite like it. There are a number of recipes in the article I intend to try-a lemoncello, a Babbo vinagrette, and the chicken, all appeal. (Although for lemon chicken it's hard to beat just roasting a bird with a couple of morroccan-style preserved lemons and some garlic inside.) But none of the recipes were one-lemon items, so they must wait.

In the end, I decided on a slightly adapted version of the one lemon tart from Dorie Greenspan's Paris Sweets, a favorite collection of French desserts. This recipe is from Rollet-Pradier, a Parisian patisserie and tea shop, and it uses every scrap of the fruit, except the seeds. Just the thing for my treasured and cossetted lemon. If you would like to make it too, this is what you need:

1 partially baked 9" tart shell (which I made from ordinary all-butter homemade pastry)
1 "average" lemon, washed and dried (average refers to size...mine was average in size only, I was sure)
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 1/2 tbsps cornstarch
1 stick unsalted butter, melted and cooled.

This is what you do:
Preheat oven to 325F. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Put the partly baked shell, in its tart pan, on the sheet. Slice the lemon and remove all seeds. Put in food processor with the sugar and puree thoroughly, Pour in a bowl, whisk in the eggs, then the cornstarch, and finally the butter. Pour into crust. Bake 20 minutes. Turn oven to 350 and bake until bubbly and browned, about 20 minutes more, per Ms. Greenspan. Mine took more like 40 minutes, but my oven is cranky. Cool to room temp, remove from pan, and devour with like minded lemon aficiondos.

Call me crazy, but I may go so far as trying to plant the seeds, which I have not yet thrown out.

Elderflower Cordial : Happy Ending

When I read about Anne's father's recipe for elderflower cordial in her beautiful blog from Sweden, I was reminded of my thwarted attempt to acquire some of that fine beverage for myself. I was also saddened to realize that my own pretty little variant cut-leaf elderberry bush has a long way to go before it can produce the necessary 30 good sized flower heads.

I got a bee in my bonnet (funny old expression, which seems somehow apropos) about elderflower cordial this spring. I was visiting my cousin in England, and had we stopped to see Wells Cathedral on the way back to Brighton from Bristol, where we had been visiting friends. We ate in the refectory at the cathedral, which was a little vegetarian lunch room, with very nice soups and sandwiches featuring local produce. In the cafeteria line, I picked up an interesting looking bottled drink.

It turned out to be elderflower cordial, which I really liked. My companions were amused that it seemed exotic to me, and informed me that I could easily find some elderflower concentrate, and make my own. This was my plan. Somehow, though, it didn't work out. I kept my eyes open for it while shopping, but when it came time to go home, I hadn't found any.

Once I was back in Pittsburgh, the few mail order sources seemed alarmingly expensive and/or weirdly medicinal. I googled "elderflower cordial" and was pretty amused myself to find that the very first site listed was the blog of my own, one and only daughter. I was more than a little surprised, since we hadn't discussed this item at all. When I recovered , I read on and saw that she found some concentrate at the IKEA near their place in Maryland.

But when I checked the Pittsburgh IKEA, they had none. After reading Anne's account of her father's recipe, I had been thinking of it again, so when I made a trip to IKEA for some odds and ends- I checked, and this time it was there! In addition to the bottled concentrate, there were also pretty little juiceboxes of an elderflower drink, chilled. This proved very nice, though not quite as good as the carbonated English one. I am planning on mixing my concentrate with some fizzy water. The elderflower taste is hard to pin down; it is refreshing, with a modest flavor, a floral taste, but not at all perfumey, clean and soft. I'm sold on it, as you can see.

I also scored some interesting looking IKEA jam, gooseberry, which is a favorite of mine, and cloudberry, which I have never yet tasted. I am feeling quite pleased about finally finding the elderflower products, and think they are very pretty too. I am also wondering if it might be a flavor to use on, or in other things. Hmmmm.

There's a Farm on My Street

I live in Pittsburgh, in the urban neighborhood of Squirrel Hill, just a block from the entrance to the Parkway; you can be downtown in under 10 minutes. Except for the apartments where I live, the houses are single family dwellings or duplexes. Most are not very far from the houses next door to them. My side of the street is a hill, and there are typical Pittsburgh long steps leading to each house. This is in no way suburban. I therefore was astonished to find that there is a small farm at the end of my street.

Perhaps you are thinking, there's a large garden at the end of her street, maybe, not a farm. But I think it is a farm, unless the sole defining factor is selling what you grow. I have seen no evidence that they are selling their fruits and vegetables. They grow enough to be selling them somewhere, but they seem to have a large extended family, so who knows, they may eat it all.

There are two separate houses which front the street, and which appear to be owned by two related families. The large lots behind and next to the houses are planted up as one, and fenced by a common wall, which is the chainlink fence you see in the picture. Closest to the fence are the tomatoes (at least 200 plants), the zillions of peppers(several different types and colors), and the beans, neatly tented. Up against the wall of the shed/garage structure you see (there is also another one) are 5 fig trees! They appear to be 10 feet tall or so, and are planted directly in the ground. And they have figs on them! In Pittsburgh!

It is hard to get a good look at the rest of the space, which is more or less around the corner from the street. Even standing right up against the fence, and rudely craning my neck, I can only catch a glimpse of that area, but I can see that there are fruit trees, and that they are in a row. I can't see them well enough to tell what kind they are, and I can't see what else grows back there.

The only visible flowers are in foundation plantings in the front of the very tidy houses, and a tall row of bright red cannas.The latter seems to be in the nature of a screening or privacy fence between the little farm and the next house on the block.

At least one of the houses is owned by an elderly old world sort of couple, who dress in dark clothing, even when working in the sun. They look very weathered and remind me of the old people I saw in little Cyprus hill towns. These elderly greek cypriots would sit and chat together outside a small tavern, all in black , the ladies with purple headscarves. There were many pleasant, raisiny faces. (I cannot understand why so many traditional old people wear very dark clothing in warm Mediterranean countries- does it not make them hotter? There must be an explanation. Can they all be in mourning?) I think the elderly people on my street farm speak Italian to one another, but I am not sure that is their language, because although I am horribly nosy, I am shy of getting close enough to hear, and annoy them.

I'm not really sure who lives in the second house, but there are middle aged adults around sometimes, and children, who play in the flat areas between the plantings, and seem to be visitors. On holidays, the children and older adults may been seen on the porches, dressed formally, as they go in and out.

The plantings make me jealous, especially the figs. In fact, one day I may be so overcome with curiosity and longing about the figs that I work up my nerve to speak to someone there, and ask how they do it. They are never near the fence, so you can't just have a neighborly word in passing, you'd have to wave madly, and call them over. They are certainly not looking for this kind of contact, so I haven't done it. In any event, there is something nice about the mystery of it all.

Living 6 years now in an apartment, which is sort of like a little row house, with an individual porch in front, and shared deck behind, I miss real gardening. I grow things in tubs on the porch and by the house- a few tomatos, herbs, flowers and a baby kaffir lime tree. The lime tree will join my Meyer lemon tree at work when the weather gets chilly. (My lone lemon is still green, and firm. Never having had a lemon tree before, I don't know how long lemons generally take to ripen. I have various alternate plans/fantasies for consuming mine when it does.) The lime tree has quite a few cute limes on it. These are reputedly not so tasty. I grow the tree for it's leaves, which are yummy, somewhat in the manner of lemongrass.

I am sensible enough to know that I couldn't ever manage an urban farm like my neighbors. I am so much lazier and less diligent than they are. But I do miss my old garden, more than my house. I particularly miss my Cox's Orange Pippin apple tree, despite the work and mess it entailed. I likewise regret my perennials and vegs. And I want a greengage plum tree of my own in the worst way. I think sometime I'm going to have to find a little house with a manageable sized garden. Maybe when I retire, or something. In the meantime, I get a huge kick out of walking by the little farm on my way home from work every day.

Lemon at Work

It is not usually easy to get Meyer Lemons in Pittsburgh. I guess they do not travel well, and they certainly do not grow around here- although we do have really beautiful apples, including a kind called Honeycrisp, which are unequaled for eating out of hand.

Like alot of other people, I am particularly fond of Meyer lemons. So last July, when I saw a really raggedy little Meyer lemon plant on sale for five dollars at Lowe's, I succumbed to a sentimental impulse, bought it, and set it on my stoop, in a sunny spot. I was more than a bit surprised when it blossomed like crazy, shortly thereafter. It was pretty as a picture, and the scent was huge and intoxicating. Reward enough. Then came little green lemons (five).

Naturally I was over the moon, but I got pretty worried when the usual non-Floridean October weather started up. I can't safely bring plants into the apartment under most circumstances. Archie the cat, though otherwise angelic, is a demon where houseplants are concerned. The cute little green lemons would have been some high powered cat magnets.

So with the help of a friend with a car, I took my little tree to the office, and set it on my extra wide windowsill there. Although the window looks out on an actual brick wall, it is in fact quite sunny. Nonetheless, the tree dropped all five lemons in very short order. I was desolated, but kept watering the plant. And, what do you know, it bloomed again., and now has 3 fruits, one of which you see before you-in front of the window/brickwall. It is at least 2" in diameter, and I have high hopes of consuming it someday when it turns yellow.

I am afraid to move my tree back to the stoop for the summer, so it is still in the office. I did get myself a pretty little kaffir lime tree for home, though. Since you eat the leaves, rather than the fruit , it will in no event be a total loss (even if it is fruitless). The other few things I grow on the stoop are either much more sensible, or just for looks.

In the meantime, what should appear at the Giant Eagle but a small bag of reasonably priced Meyer Lemons. So I bought them, and made my favorite Lemon Tarts. They are very good with regular, homemade pastry, but I used, instead, store bought puff pastry this time. Also good. A Lemon tart is a classic treat I always like. It is common, but it is uncommonly good. I've noticed that it is often a big hit with guests, too. Usually I make one big one, but this time I made four little ones instead, as I didn't have quite enough juice for a nine incher. If you want to make one big one, double this recipe, which makes four five inch tarts. You will know what to do about adjusting the lemon slices in the middle, without being bossed by me.

1/2 package frozen puff pastry (1 sheet) defrosted for 30 minutes
2 1/2 lemons
2 eggs
2 tbsp melted unsalted butter
1 cup sugar

Preheat oven to 400. Cut the sheet of pastry into four squares, and roll each square just a little bit bigger, so that it can be dropped into one of 4 five inch false bottom tart shells. Fit each in loosely, and trim the top even with the fluted edge. Put some parchment paper and dried beans or pie weights in each to hold it down, and blind bake the shells for 15 minutes on a cookie sheet. Meanwhile, cut four thin slices from the center of one of your lemons, and set them aside. Juice the lemons over a fine strainer into a bowl. It should be 1/4 cup or so.

Zest the lemons with your trusty microplane grater, into the same bowl. Whisk in the eggs, and 2/3 cup of the sugar. Lastly, the melted butter. Now the shells are baked, so take them out, remove the beans and stuff, and very very carefully pour the lemon mixture into the empty shells. You must also be very careful when you put that cookie sheet with the tarts back in the oven for fifteen more minutes (20 if you are making the big one). While they are in there, you are mixing the remaining sugar with
1/3 cup water, bringing it to the boil, and sliding in the thin slices of lemon.

Just before you take the tarts out of the oven, carefully take the lemon slices out of the sugar solution, and put them on a little rack to drip a bit, over a paper towel. After you take the cookie sheet from the oven, you can use a spatula to move the tarts, in their pans, onto a cooling rack. You should do this at once, so any seeped juice does not cool down and become gluelike under your tarts. When they are cool, remove the little tart rings and top each tart with a lemon slice. You can serve these to your friend for dessert when she comes for dinner after work the next day. Or you can have them, one at a time, for yourself, as they last several days in the fridge. You could do both. And, of course, the fiddling with the lemon slices is optional, however they are really yummy, especially when made with meyer lemons.

These tarts are quite pretty, but they have a lurid gleam if you take a picture of them with a flash. If there are any left when the sun comes up, I may add a picture of them then.

...And here is one now. It occurs to me to point out that my lemons were quite small, so if you are juicing large ones, you will want to measure the juice. These are good at room temperature, but also cold, particularly on a very hot day. Of course, you can make them with any sort of nice lemons you like.