Over-the-Top Dessert: A Tuscan classic, chestnut honey or miele di castagno has an unusually potent, savory flavor that gives this fall fruit tart a spicy kick. The bay leaves and rosemary sprigs on top perfume the tart beautifully (they are not meant to be eaten).
This post was created in partnership with Earth Balance. All opinions are my own.
Readjusting to home is strange. In Italy, I walked. I walked miles and miles every day—without even realizing, I’d find myself clocking 11 or 12 miles on my daily explorations, rapt as I was by every corner, every cobblestone, every leaf and church and cliffside. As I’ve lamented before, LA is not a walking city. It’s a city bound by the grid of streets and the crush of vehicles rushing to get to meetings and the grind of folks hustling to live out their dreams before they die. It’s a strange place to come home to after one has finally, briefly, settled into deep relaxation.
On one such walk, from the tip top of the tiny town of Positano on the Amalfi Coast, I descended a set of staircases from the Chiesa Nuova (the “new church”, which is not at all new, as my Airbnb host pointed out) down to the spiaggia grande (the main beach). The steps took me by one fragrant plant and tree after the next: Lavender and jasmine to olive and rose geranium, citrus blossom and rosemary to lemon and fig.
What a month it has been. My hosting server was hacked. My hosting account shut down (thrice!). My phone died. My computer faced its own set of confusion and woes. Any self-respecting California girl would throw up her hands, call it Mercury retrograde, and spend the rest of the day cuddling with crystals. Alas, Mercury is not retrograde and I happen to prefer my astrology not at all. (I knowwww! I used to be a yoga teacher and errythang! What happened to me?! That’s a story for another time.)
Because now, at the end of a week that was all about time learning it’s ok—like REALLY ok—to ask for help, I decided to throw up my hands and make these gorgeous little mini tarts.
They won’t remove malware on your hacked hosting account, they don’t know how to reboot the software on your sick little iPhone, and they damn well haven’t got a clue as to how to fix the enduring problem of race and class in America (listen to this, if you haven’t already), but they do have a way of soothing a ravaged soul.