Cherry Tomato Tart

The secret to making this a doable “weekday” side dish is that the crust is store bought.  I’m sure it would be 100% better with a homemade pie crust, but I can’t muster the strength on an evening where I need to make dinner but then not eat it and leave to teach night school. That is just asking too much.

So simply take 1 thawed pie crust (regular or vegan) and spread a thin layer of pesto over it. Then take 1 pint of cherry tomatoes and wash them and slice them in half. Arrange the tomatoes in a single layer over the bottom of the crust and bake at 375°F  for between 25-30 minutes.

Who ate it?

Husband- I forgot to tell him about it as I left for work. Oops!

Son #1- Loved the tomatoes!

Son #2- Tried it and in typical fashion liked only the crust.

On another note

The boys are 4 and 6 years old and so it’s getting  hard to keep track of all the random pieces of advice I’ve given them over the years. It ranges from the run of the mill to the really weird.  I know some of it is weird because it comes back to me and then I always ask, “who told you that?” and of course the answer is, “You did mom!! Don’t you remember?”

I don’t remember. Not at all.

Some of the stuff I do remember telling them is:

-not to pick their nose in public

-to look both ways before crossing the street and to make eye contact with the driver

– that killing large animals for fun is a gross abuse of our power at the top of the food chain

– never to buy a dark coloured raincoat 

-that they can marry whomever they wish- male or female, but they can not marry their cousin

– never to leave a campfire unattended

– that the words “hate” and “dumb” are not to be used

– not to waste water

– to walk quietly in the woods so you can see animals. Unless there is a sign that says that there are bears, in which case you should  be loud.

– that jumping from your bed to the carpet is not a good use of your time and will likely cause the lady downstairs to complain

– that if someone farts in the elevator you should ignore it and definitely NOT say, “You may be smart but I can fart!”

– that if you are not 200% sure that the mushroom in the forest is safe to eat, you should leave it alone

Of course, doling out advice is easy. Measuring how much of it has actually been retained is almost impossible. Sometimes though evidence of what they remember just lands in your lap.

And so it was that a few weeks ago, we were reading the original “Babar” book we borrowed from the library. What I thought would be a nice bedtime story (if you ignore all the colonial overtones) turned out to be a torturous 20 minutes for the boys.

The trauma started early when only a few pages into the book, Babar’s mom is shot by a hunter hiding in some bushes. Babar, standing next to his slain mother, is suddenly an orphan.

Son #2 was the first to lose it with big fat tears running down his chubby cheeks. Son #1 tried to keep it together, as almost any 6 year old boy would, but once his brother’s crying became audible, his flood gates also opened.

A few pages later, just as the boys had regained their composure, there stands Babar in a tux marrying the beautiful Celeste- his COUSIN!

I know. I had no idea that Celeste was his cousin, either.

The boys both gasp in shock. Son #2’s gasp is pure horror, but Son #1 quickly follows his with a sigh and a realization, ” Babar’s mom died before she could tell him that you can marry anyone you like- a man or a woman, but NOT your cousin. That must have been what happened. Right, mom?”

“Yes. Moms are useful that way.”

It would have probably been a good idea to stop, but we continue reading. I mean what else can possibly happen?

The answer lies only a few short pages later, when the elephant king dies. It’s a long, gruesome death. Going from a regal looking, upright, grey elephant  to a deflated, green lump of an elephant clearly in agony. He was poisoned but by what?

Then there in the lower corner beside the page number the boys see it.

“A poisonous mushroom!!” they scream in unison.

Finally, we reach the end of the book and Son #2 declares, ” this is the worst book ever!”

Son #1 is quiet for a while and then while I’m tucking him into bed he whispers, “that would never happen to me because you told me that red and white mushrooms are poisonous and that I can’t marry my cousin.”

“I love you,” I reply, thinking of the thousands of things that both boys have yet to learn. The thousands of things that I have yet to teach them and the even greater number of things I’m certain to get wrong.

-Mom on a veggie mission

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6 thoughts on “Cherry Tomato Tart

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