May was a pretty dreary month all-in-all: Mom's "episode" and resulting hospital visit, no hummingbirds, crappy weather repeatedly drenching my canvas and wood deck furniture,
Lee's win and
LOST's loss. Really, it was more than some people should be expected to handle.
Yes, there was some cooking done, but none of it very interesting or inspiring. On Memorial Day, Natalie and I tried to break me out of the funk I was in. The result didn't really inspire me either, but I should have known better. Under the best of growing conditions, it's really too early to get delicious nectarines, peaches or blackberries. Under this year's conditions, it's laughable. The best things to come out of our efforts are the pictures. Which Natalie mostly took, thank goddess, because I'm fairly sure I would not have thought to. The other GREAT thing - Natalie's mise:
The Rustic Nectarine and Blackberry Crostata with Cornmeal Crust? Not so much. Maybe if it was August. It wasn't bad, but neither was it very flavorful. The dough I thought was very good: the cornmeal and orange zest gave it both texture and just the right zing. It probably would have been better with vanilla ice cream (as noted in the recipe and by several of the previous reviewers), but I didn't have any and, I wasn't inspired to make any. So, it was just the rustic crostata and it would have to stand, or slump, on its own merit.
Slumping was a distinct possibility since I was fairly sure I'd added too much ice water, resulting in a much wetter dough than the crumbly
pate brisee that I typically make. Lacking a sheet pan with sides that could accommodate the crostata, I had horrifying images in my head of the fruit juices seeping out, burning, and adhering all over the floor of my new and still relatively clean oven... so I probably overcompensated with the egg wash (nice action shots, Nat!). Once it was all put together I started to feel a little more confident, though the smell of burning fruit seemed an inevitability.
I mulled a little. I whined and wrung my hands. Finally, from the depths of my inspirationless, soggy, and muted month of lackluster culinary endeavors, an idea emerged. Perhaps I could at least prevent the impending burned fruit juice debacle by creasing and folding up the edges of the
parchment (not to be confused with wax) paper all around the damned thing. So I did, and said a short, godless prayer, and.... Voila!
Here's to a happier and more fruitful (ha!) June!
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