Tarts and giggles

Who doesn’t love a jam tart? Is it the combination of the sweet, sticky jam and the crumbly, buttery pastry or is it the memories that they evoke?

We all made jam tarts as children, mother watching over us as we carefully spooned the jam into the pastry shell.

I remember her watching me intently as I eyed up the bubbling tarts as they came out of the oven, warning me of the dangers of hot jam.

My little hand would hover, ready to grab my first taste as soon as mother had given the word that it was safe to do so.

We made jam tarts with our own children and with our grandchildren, by then it was up to us to guard against accidents with the molten preserve.

This week we spent a blissful afternoon, taking a stroll down memory lane, we rolled pastry, we carefully added the jam and baked, we waited somewhat impatiently for the tarts to cool and then enjoyed rather too many of them with a nice cup of tea.

We shared stories of Sunday teatimes and of school picnics, and we reminisced about our childhoods and about our children, it really was a wonderful trip.

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