TWD: Chocolate Cream Tart

First of all, where is Kim of Scrumptious Photography? Can someone find her so that I can give her a massive bear hug??? THANK YOU. This recipe made me swoon. I want to get into a serious relationship with it and call it Sweetcheeks.

I mentioned earlier that I was in LA over the weekend with my friend Kim. Kim is a ridiculously talented marketing executive, and she is highly inspirational because she is one of those people who puts in a great amount of high quality work, no matter what she does. But she has a lot of the same concerns as I do, mainly "Why am I sitting here at the office at 8pm doing someone else's work?" Kim mentioned that she had read a very decent pseudo self-help book, called "Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office," and that it had given her some insight into what common mistakes businesswomen make.


So of course, right up there was "don't be the office baker."

Because, you know, being the one who consistently brings in cookies is no way to get yourself taken seriously when the shizzle hits the fizzle. You don't want to be Tammy Tollhouse.

So I thought about this. And kind of sighed, and realized that it's probably the right thing to say. Women get themselves stuck into stereotypes that they themselves promulgate by doing mindless things. And if I'm going to have any role in the office, I'd much prefer it to be Duffy Who Knows her Shit rather than Tammy Tollhouse (all apologies to anyone whose blog is called Tammy Tollhouse).


But it sucks, right? Because #1, I really like baking. #2, I really enjoy bringing in these things to my coworkers. #3, I really don't want to have the responsibility of eating an entire chocolate cream tart land solely on myself during The Real Housewives of Manhattan. Where does the line between being a recreational baker and being taken seriously get drawn?

As I thought about this dilemma, I realized that I am basically up a creek without a paddle in some senses. I realized that I cook a lot of dinners for people who don't take me out to them. I buy a lot of toilet paper. I wash a lot of dishes. And my dog? Do you know how much poo I put into little plastic baggies? Not to mention the fact that she constantly needs food and water. Scoop and pour, scoop and pour, all day long. What. A. Freeloader.

But in the mountain of obstacles, it's best to take on the molehills. So I started with the TWD. That chocolate tart was NOT going into the office. They would have to get their 3pm fix somewhere else, and by somewhere else, I meant NOT MY DESK. ONLY COME TO MY DESK IF YOU WANT TO BE GIVEN A VERBAL LASHING AND A LEGITIMATE APPRAISAL OF YOUR IDEA OF THE CORPORATE CASUAL WARDROBE.


I didn't make any friends.

And the tart? Well, honestly, you can't give a chocolate tart away in this town. At first I tried calling the local hospital. Would they want to give some chocolate tart to some patients? Perhaps there's a child with cancer whose day I could make with a big helping of delicious chocolate tart? And I could feel good about myself in the process? Turns out hospitals don't want random strange women bringing over baked goods. Yadda yadda yadda security screening, swine flu and lactose intolerance. Those nurses can be such bitches.

So then I tried giving the chocolate tart to a few homeless guys who were scrounging around the neighborhood at a very late hour. The weather's been lovely lately, and so there have been more vagrants in the park, hanging out, drinking a little sumpin' sumpin.' I went over, introduced myself, offered my tart to them because they obviously must be starving. But hey - turns out they weren't homeless at all. They were just some retirees playing dice and drinking grappa. They screamed at me in Italian, threw a bacci ball at my head, put a Sicilian curse on my family and kicked me off the playground. Which is such a shame, because Dixie loved going poo there.

I brought the tart back home to the roommate and the dogs, a little dejected, a little humbled. Breaking down the gender barrier is tough. We discussed the trials and tribulations of our role in society while eating chocolate tart, watching The Real Housewives. I love that Ramona.

And just a note. I really want to write an open letter to Sasha and Maliya Obama about the canine mess they've just gotten themselves into. Girls, take it from me. You're the first family - get Cesar Milian on the phone and have him whisper to your puppy for the first year of its life. But to wit - here is a picture of Brady, my roommate's Portie puppy, eating the cardboard wrapper from the chocolate I bought for the tart. Because, you know, if there's anything a dog loves, it's refuse.


And just some notes. Obviously my chocolate cream didn't come out as custardy as I had hoped. You all know my experience with milk. And after reading the Ps and Qs, I decided to go ahead and separate the cream from the custard. This made more of a pie, but truth be told, I tried making this once and it came out so hard, it broke my ceramic tart pan. Finally, I used the shortbread crust rather than the chocolate one - heaven. The orange on top was inspired by the shortbread and lime cookies from a while back, and I highly recommend them. I loved this recipe.