Sunday, December 14, 2014


What can I say, since hitting mid-life, there are certain things that I no longer get to enjoy.

For example, gravy use to be a food group for me but now it’s something I drizzle on my food semi-annually instead of drowning it weekly. Any type of fresh bread and soft butter? Not an option. Makes my ass fatter just thinking about indulging in it. 

...Then there are butter tarts.

For me, enjoying a really great butter tart is right up there with truly amazing sex. As we all know, if a man is looking to really get laid on a Saturday night, foreplay usually needs to start with his wife that morning at breakfast. The same goes for me and the indulgence of a really great butter tart. I have to carefully allow myself to be seduced. Eventually giving into the strong, undeniable and very sexy urge. It's most definitely my guilty pleasure.

As a born and bred French Canadian woman, butter tarts (and a plethora of other fresh baked items) were something I grew up with. Thoughout my childhood, every single day that I took a lunch to school, there was something freshly baked tucked nicely into my lunch kit. 

Actually,  my kit always carried the same three things; a processed lunch meat sandwich, a homemade baked goody, and a piece of fresh fruit. Not the best lot to barter with at lunchtime but I always managed to make out okay. My sandwich was pre-frozen and always soggy, so it automatically got tossed. The good news was that my Mom’s baking would more often than not land me a little sum-sum much farther up the lunch food chain.  That said, because the baked offering always rotated, I never knew from one day to the next what I had to work with.

For example, Artje use to offer her entire lunch for one of my Mom's butter tarts. The truth of the matter was she wasn't allowed to have sugar, so by first recess, if there was a butter tart my kit, my lunch was in play. All goopy and sinfully sweet, the butter tarts always brought me the mother load.

A couple of years back, my best electronic friend and I use to talk about the world famous tarts that could be found in my Town all the time. I've never told him about Betty's Tarts (...still weep at night since she's retired) and today's post is the first time I've shared with him about my Mom's yummies. I'm also sure he'll be in shock when he sees that I am now a proud patron at The Bean. You see... for varying reasons, he seems to be infatuated with Marty's.

Not this Cat. I've read his sign in Town that reads his tarts are world famous but I wouldn't know. I haven't frequented his shop since I had to refinance my home after buying four ice cream cones there for my kiddies a decade ago. The honest truth? I have never had a carefully marketed World Famous Marty's Butter Tart. 

Truth of the matter is that I've just never been able to process the fact that his ego felt they were the best. After all, with so many perfect tarts in my life before his, I never truly had the desire to give his a try.

...AND don't get me started on the fact that he charges $99 for an apple pie!!