{"id":1771,"date":"2005-02-20T02:32:00","date_gmt":"2005-02-20T02:32:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2005\/02\/20\/pate-brisee-for-a-pillow"},"modified":"2015-09-24T03:54:29","modified_gmt":"2015-09-24T03:54:29","slug":"pate-brisee-for-a-pillow","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2005\/02\/pate-brisee-for-a-pillow\/","title":{"rendered":"P\u00e2te bris\u00e9e for a pillow"},"content":{"rendered":"
I know it\u2019s been said about all sorts of things, but this<\/em> is the stuff that dreams are made of. I mean it.<\/p>\n A specialty of the <\/strong>Alsace<\/strong><\/a>* region of northeastern France<\/strong>, la tarte \u00e0 l\u2019oignon<\/em> is perfect winter fare: delicate but rich, sweet but earthy, light but grounding. I made it for the first time\u2014and then over and over and over again\u2014last winter. It begins with a hefty amount of thinly slivered onions, saut\u00e9ed until lightly caramelized and then doused with a mixture of egg and heavy cream, poured into a tart shell, and baked to golden.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Our recent discussion of eating, sleeping, and breathing food<\/a> got me thinking, a dangerous activity<\/strong> that inevitably ends with me hunched over a pile of open cookbooks and recipe clippings. In that post, I\u2019d mentioned a roasted-onion tart that once came to me in a dream, beckoning from a shelf in a bakery window, its thick topknot of translucent onion gleaming under the lights. Unfortunately, I\u2019ve never seen its exact likeness in my waking life, but dear reader, I\u2019ve come close. If the onion tart in my dream was, let\u2019s say, the <\/strong>Platonic form<\/strong><\/a> of onion tarthood<\/strong>, its real-life copy is the Alsatian onion tart. And deep within my accordion file of clippings lies the recipe.<\/p>\n