|First I made the caramel (with Star Anise and Cinnamon)|
and baked the apples briefly in the sauce.
|Then I covered the whole thing with puff pastry and put|
it in the oven for half an hour.
|The pastry rose beautifully. This is just after coming|
out of the oven.
|Flipped into a shallow bowl, it's ready for some cream.|
Wow. My spirits took a massive dump yesterday. I awoke in a state of unease—“unease” being the perfect word, a parallel to “disease,” it’s corporal equivalent. I’d get up, do something simple such as take Sheba for a walk, and go back to bed. I’d had three naps by 2:00 pm.
I had a spa, I lit incense, I had extra toast, I did a little yard—I tried everything to boost my spirits. Nothing worked. At four, on impulse, I decided to take a third try at making a Tarte Tatin—and it worked! It worked awesomely!
The puff pastry rose beautifully in the pan, I managed to flip it (it’s an upside down tart) and it tastes absolutely fabulous—especially while still warm and with a little vanilla ice cream. Oh my God, it’s good. I’m greatly relieved and looking forward to taking one to Dianne’s posse party.
My success with the tart made me fee better. So did the most perfect dog in the world— her gaze, her constant presence and the joy she relentlessly emits helped raise my spirits.
I settled in for an evening of New Yorkersand television before retiring very early in bedding that still smells of the outdoors.
I had an infestation of birds here yesterday. They dug up the moss in the Fern garden, splashed all the water out of the fountain, and they ate two feedings out of the feeders. They gave off a sense of joy because I was seeing lots of play because the majority of the flock is made up of fledglings.
I’m feeling myself today, and thank goodness! I can putter all day in the yard. I’m keen to fix my Pinecone Park sign. Bonus: My rib is healing well. I don’t run for a chair or kneel down on all fours if I have to sneeze any more.