Toads-in-the-Hole

Last week, Joel and I went out on one of our rare dates. Forgoing the usual margarita and movie fare, I signed us up to take a Tuesday evening cooking class at our nearby co-op. We'd chosen a class entitled "Classic French Dinner" and were prepared (based on the class description snippet) to learn to make a rustic quiche, trout medallion, and creme brulee.

'Twas the rustic quiche that caught our eye ... When we visited Paris five years ago, I did some foodie blog research before we went and gathered a list of must-try places. Among those places was the little Rose Bakery in Monmartre. Joel and I went there and fell head over heals with the charming, square-shaped Eggy Tarts, as we called them. You can imagine a flaky buttery shell with a soft, puffy center of egg and mushroom. Delicious.

After our trip, we'd tried to recreate the tarts a handful of times, but without much success. I am a baker of sorts like cookies and cakes, but never crusts. Pie crusts are a whole different world. Recently Joel has become our crust-maker when out-of-the-blue last fall he was inspired to make an apple tart. Now we clamor for it every autumn when the apples are in season.

So, we signed up for Tuesday's class with new hope that maybe if an actual French person taught us how to do crust that we'd have more success with our own Eggy Tart reproduction. During the class there was a lot of shrugging, inexact measuring, and unassuming reassuring (e.g., "It will be fine.") as the instructor made a rectangular pat of dough using butter, flour, and lukewarm water. There was folding and waiting and folding and waiting before the dough was plopped into a pie plate, pricked with a fork, and par baked in the oven. We had a tiny sliver of a sample of one that she'd made earlier in the day that was yummy with a grueyre and blue cheese filling. Our sample was tasty enough to make me encourage Joel to tackle the tart at home.

To describe what Joel made, armed with our instructor's recipe, is an almost impossible feat.

The crust was perfection, flaky and crisp, but the fluffy souffle-like Grueyre filling stole the quiche. I would eat it everyday. This is one recipe for the books.