Tarts

My first tarts filled with seedless black raspberry jam

The kind you eat, not the kind that may be found at the Tarts and Vicars party that Bridget Jones attends in Bridget Jones's Diary (I must read that book again--I'm due for a good belly laugh).

Homemade tarts filled with yummy jam and topped with homemade whipping cream go hand in hand with a Tew Family Thanksgiving.  It has been so long since I have been to Ephraim, Utah for Thanksgiving. My grandma died 4 years ago and in the year or two before that she had Alzheimers so I don't remember visiting her house for Thanksgiving during that time, either, or any other time during the past 10 years I've been married. The tarts made an appearance last year when we celebrated Thanksgiving with my mom and brothers and sister and their families. My sister, Emma, surprised us all when she showed up with a tray of them. Now I will always make them.

I can remember going to Ephraim as a kid and smelling the good smells and running around with the cousins and waiting and waiting to be called to eat. My Uncle David and his family were always late (sorry, Becki! It's true!) and so in desperation, we'd go hunting for the tarts. You see, my grandma made them the day before or maybe it was early in the morning of Thanksgiving--I don't know for sure, all I know is they were made and then hidden from hungry little hands. We always found them, though. I remember a time when they were up on the fridge that was kept downstairs to store extra food. We climbed up on the counter and pulled the tray down and me and my brothers and sister all took one and then we rearranged them to look like we hadn't touched them. Ha! I think my Grandpa got after us but we didn't care--it was worth it. Later when the whipping cream was made and all the pies set out and the tarts were finally free to eat, we stuffed our faces with them.

But they never tasted quite as good as the stolen tarts, eaten in secret with my siblings . . .