tart
Just like that, it's the end of September again. For all the time I've spent outside these past few months - sitting in the garden, hiding in the woods, rummaging through my parents' overgrown vegetable patch - I've been strangely oblivious to the changing of the seasons. The last thing that really registered with me was coming home to plum and fig trees filled with ripe fruit at the end of June.
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She drinks tea like I drink water.
For as long as I can remember, my mother's presence and activities in the house have been marked by the location of her tea pot. She used to carry it around on a worn-down wooden serving tray that bore traces of green and orange paint and was filled with tea lights and other trinkets. In between the candy wrappers and the used matches you'd find tiny notepads, pens, paper scraps, coins, toothpicks and, if you were lucky, a small piece of chocolate [...]
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I loved setting the table for Easter breakfast when I was a kid. I got to use a bright tablecloth, yellow napkins and fresh flowers. I got to search the dining room cupboard for candles shaped like eggs and baby chickens and I got to put wine glasses on the table. For us! [...]
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When I decided to post my mother's lemon tart as the next of my family recipes, I realized that I didn't really have a story to tell about it. My love for citrus is a pretty recent thing and until a couple of years ago, I used to steer clear of this tart altogether. So I decided to ask my mother for her story [...]
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