And that crumbly topping morphs into a nubbly, crunchy, edible crocheted afghan of sorts, with tips of ruby plums peeking out of the holes. When baked, the crust crisps up in the most surprising way, maintaining a nice snap even under the luscious baked fruit. It's really more of a tart/crumble hybrid-so much more interesting than your standard fruit tart. Buttery, brown sugared and studded with walnuts, I could happily munch a slice of the bare crust, no filling required.Įven better, the crust mixture pulls double duty here-some lines the tart pan, and the rest stays crumbly, sprinkled over the fanned-out fruit like a sandy blanket. It all comes together in mere minutes, patted into the pan, no precious rolling or messy flouring of workspace or blind baking involved. The crust for this tart is, in my opinion, the very best kind of crust, meaning the no-stress variety. Even if I'd been able to use the elusive Italian Prune Plums for this dish, I doubt they would have been as spectacular and noteworthy as the tweedy, nutty, crisp crust upon which they sat. Well, you (meaning I) would be all wrong about that. You'd think, with this being a plum tart and all, that the star would be the fruit. But I was wrong about Italian Prune Plum season-I'd hoped it might still be hanging on, but after searching three markets with an impatient toddler, I gave up and chose the deepest-hued regular plums I could find. I'd gathered an armful of firm-ripe plums at the market the day before, when I'd had an inkling that the weather man was just being a big liar again, and this "massive heatwave" he'd been yammering about for days was never really going to come. I'd had my eye on this recipe for the better part of a week and just couldn't get it out of my head. The relentless mist and wind made the thought of a post-lunchtime outing less than appealing, and Baby C had slipped into an easy, albeit short, morning nap. On the day of which I speak, this tart was in the oven by 10:00 am. So last week on One of Those Days, I sent out an SOS invitation to some friends who I was willing to bet were having the same kind of day we were: 3:00 pm, bring your babes, coffee, Oprah and One Really Good Plum Tart. Sometimes, when the thick blanket of San Francisco fog makes it impossible to tell what time of day it is all day long, and I've already had three cups of coffee by 9:00 am and they're not making a dent in the feeling of blah, I know I have to spring into action to keep the day from being a total bust.
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