"This may taste awful ..."

So I made the pear tart mentioned yesterday (originally Melissa's post) for a potluck last night. Something went wrong -- maybe the dough, or the pears, but the filling was soupy and the bottom crust was mush. As Brian and I walked out the door, my vision of gracefully placing a perfect tart on our hostesses' buffet was replaced with a wish to call it a night and sit around the house moping.

Add to this the discovery of a beautiful Whole Foods tart at the party. How can I compete with that?

The discouraging dessert ordeal reminded me of my favorite passage from My Life In France (borrowed from Melissa):

"I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I really don't know how to cook ...," or "Poor little me ...," or "This may taste awful ...," it is dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this is an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake collapsed -- eh bien, tant pis!

Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile -- and learn from her mistakes."

Like any good moral tale, the conclusion of my tart disaster proved that most things do end at least tolerably ever after: When Tart Time arrived, my soggy-bottomed pastry actually looked very pretty, and everyone finished their messy slices (unlike some more-professional tarts of the evening).