Bananas are not my favourite fruit. That is, eaten raw.
The window of opportunity for eating a raw banana that’s just at the right moment of ripeness – smooth yet ever so slightly al dente in texture with the hint of sweetness and a slightly sour under-taste – is so narrow that I’ve pretty well given up.
I’ve been meaning to make the trip to Orillia – a place you can’t miss about an hour’s drive north of Toronto en route to Muskoka’s cottage country – for many years.
The reason, of course, is food – in this case, one of my absolute favourites: butter tarts.
When I get obsessed with a recipe, it pervades my waking and sleeping hours.
Of late, it’s been peach galette, how much ground almonds to use in the layer below the peaches, what oven temperature, how long to bake – the list goes on. Then comes the testing and re-testing until Ross and I are eating the dessert daily and the freezer is full of various renditions, all clearly labelled.