The Road to Wellfleet is Paved with Lemon Tarts

I'm rendering some baby back ribs and sipping a glass of Chianti as I write. One more hour in the oven and the ribs will be fully cooked and tender, at which point I'll transfer them to the barbeque to brown 'em up and add some more flavour.

I'm using a really simple technique and only a few ingredients. First I seasoned the rack with a little S&P and liberally sprinkled on smoked paprika. Then I doused them in a tablespoon or two of cognac and massaged all the flavours into the flesh before laying the ribs over a sliced onion and five or so cloves of crushed garlic. I wrapped it all up in aluminum foil and shoved it in the oven at 350 degrees F for an hour.

That brings us to the Chianti (La Striscia, 2008, a full-frontal fruity mama with a not-too-dry finish) and the last two paragraphs. I've reduced the oven to 250 and will cook them for another hour.

Now I wait. And write.

Today was my day off and I spent it exploring. (Had I remembered that my camera battery died last week at Will and Roxanna's wedding, I would have had pictures to document my day and show to you. But that's not the case so you'll have to rely on my vivid retelling to conjure your own images.)

My roommate Peter, The Boys of Eastland and at least half the town keep raving about this new bakery in Wellfleet so I hopped in my bird-defiled Mazda 3 and hit the highway. Wellfleet is about 20 minutes from Ptown and until today I new exactly two things about it: the local fisherman harvest oysters in the bay and PB Boulangerie churns out some damn fine confections.

Peter returned home one day last week with chocolate cream-filled eclairs from said bakery and barely the heel of a former baguette he devoured in the car on the drive back. Delicious and amazing. In that order.

And the people have caught on too; they're lining up for the tarte au citron and waiting 20 minutes for fresh country loaves to come from the ovens. I picked up one of those pale lemon tarts and asked the woman behind the counter to make room in the box for a fresh fruit tart as well. I'll tell you what they taste like as soon as I finish those baby backs but the simplicity and elegance of them reminds me of the Queen of Tarts in Toronto. If their flavour measures up to their aesthetic I should be in for some good sweetness later.

I might even share with Peter.

Okay, I just yanked the ribs out of the oven and peeled back the layers of foil--the fat has been perfectly rendered and the meat is tender. You can tell this by the pool of fat oozing from the foil and the bones wiggling freely from the meat.

Too the grill!

I'm going to cook them over a low flame for probably 20 minutes, turning after 10 minutes until they have some nice charred bits and a cool flame-broiled colour. Then I'll brush them with some of Annie Natural's Organic Smoky Maple barbeque sauce that I picked up at the Ptown Stop 'n' Shop.

I'm on the second glass of Chianti now. Which explains the state of my dessert. When I went to grab the tart box from the refrigerator I stumbled a little and the box fell to the ground, half smashing its contents. Oops. Might as well drag my finger through the lemon curd smears on the side of the box, right? It's perfect. A smooth and light consistency, creamy texture and a great balance of two parts sour to one part sweet.

Okay, don't let me burn the ribs. Seriously.