Vegan Orange-Almond Tart (Pardon Me, Have You Seen My 10 lb. Bag of Oranges?): French Fridays with Dorie

So, this week, it's oranges, last week, it was eggs. Not that oranges pose any great diet/moral concern, they don't. However, how I lost a 10 lb. bag of oranges is a whole other story. I wanted to write a true "foodie" post today. Bring in all the bake-ness verbiage I could muster, follow that with some true-to-form food shots. Well, that all got tossed out the window when I lost my bag of oranges I'd purchased to make this lovely French dessert some place between Walmart and home. It doesn't seem like a big deal until you realize I never purchase oranges more than two at a time. If that. 

I had my list in hand, oranges on top because this week we're using four to create this lovely little dessert darling from Around My French Table. (It was a yummy, yummy dessert by the way even if it lacked chocolate--I'll tell you about it in a sec.)

I shop Walmart. I know some folks bristle at that, and recently had the pleasure of hearing yet again, a friend say: Oh, I know Walmart will have this for a better price, but I don't shop there. Whatever! and roll my eyes. I lucked out when I got there--they had this gi-normous bag of eight oranges for a ridiculously low price--like 2.85 or something. Sold. So I heaved the oranges into my cart--thinking, well, what in the heck will I do with the other five oranges I'm bringing home? No matter, these are such a great deal! I finished my shopping, unpacked everything and was getting ready to clear the kitchen after dinner when I realized, Hmmm, something's not right. I looked at my fruit basket: no oranges. (Not that a 10 lb. bag of fruit would fit in my fruit keeper, but clearly, I had no oranges on hand.)

It was nine at night. I was alone. Dr. Thyme was in another state, probably sleeping. I couldn't call him and ask what he thinks might have happened to my oranges. But I KNOW I bought a bag of oranges! So out to the garage I went. No oranges in my car. Then I double checked my receipt. Yep. I bought oranges. Nope. I have no oranges. So I call Walmart. Hello, I seem to have left something behind. What? Oh, a HUGE bag of oranges, light bulbs and some ink jet stuff. Okay, give me the number on the receipt, I'll go to the register and see if your oranges are there. Okay. (I wait.) She comes back. Ma'am, we don't have your oranges at the register, but I could get your "tracking and time" number from the receipt and have security pull up the video of your shopping and checking out and we'll be able to tell you what happened to the oranges.

WHAT?! You could WHAT?! Video? Security? I began to shake. I thought of the movie Minority Report. I thought of Big Brother. I paused, took a deep breath and said, Uh, you know what, I think I'll look one more time and if no oranges, well, my tough luck and promptly hung up the phone.

Okay. I don't know about you all, but for me, I would rather die than watch a video of myself shop. I am sure I have provided hours of fun for security camera people. In fact, I know I have. Stopping and starting. Trekking full lengths of the store three, sometimes four times. Trips to the bathroom. Reading every label on every single thing I pick up. Putting things back. . . sometimes where they don't belong. But then, I was even more dismayed by the fact that there is some cryptic time capture on my receipt which would allow for such things as a video replay of my humble ordeal to be played back! Really, no thanks, I'd rather die. Just sayin'.

One more trip to my car, it's now almost ten at night. I'm tired. I open the back hatch, look in the trunk, and no oranges. . . wait, what's that in my back seat? My ORANGES! Whew. They could have froze to death, it was near zero that night. Why the heck I placed this lonely bag in the back seat of my car rather than in the trunk and have absolutely NO memory doing so, I have no idea. Well, I do have an idea: I'm Almost Fifty! My decline has begun. This darn cold winter, ice everywhere, my lack of running, my lack of sunshine, it's just been bloody AWFUL these past few months. My mind is going.

The next morning, I began making my tart. First of all, I'd never, ever made a tart before. Ever. Hard to believe with all the baking going on here during the past few years. And given that this is the year of the pie, surely I would have come to the tart at some point. But not so. However, just like I had this little gnocchi board I'd picked up at a local kitchen supply store, I had also bought a 9" tart pan at some point--removeable bottom and all. It still had the price tag on it: $15--but never been used.

This endeavor took all morning to prep. So, let me say, if you think you can whip this up in an evening, forget about it. You need half a day at least. Those French have a lot of cooking time on their hands, if you ask me.

However, given all that, I truly did relish every aspect of prepping AND baking this dessert. First of all, the aroma of the oranges in the kitchen on a ten degree day lifted my spirits more than you could imagine. (I also ate a whole orange in the process.)  Then, that tart base--I ate almost half of it in RAW form before I even began baking it. It was the BEST. I just knew this was going to come together and be divine. And it was. Truly, this labor-intensive little French jewel will make a repeat, perhaps in the design of some other fruit tart--and one I don't need to purchase in bulk to afford, but really, we LOVED this. And I had it for breakfast this morning with my oatmeal. Yum!

Little orange pieces set out to dry, about three hours. So cute. I love the color orange.

Barely enough dough for my tart base, because. . . I ate so much of it raw! I pressed my tart dough in right after I made it, then froze it in the pan for about an hour before filling it with the almond cream and baking as Dorie suggests. I think I'll remake this tart dough, bake it by itself and have it as a shortbread cookie. It's that good.

Ready for baking.

Viola'! To see how the other Frenchies and non-alike made this, check them out at French Fridays with Dorie.