It all started at a Barnes n’ Noble on a Friday night. I had decided we would be making the transition to clean eating (because it’s pretty much become a cyclical habit that Ben and I pick up a new fad-diet for ourselves every few months), and after a night at the bookstore browsing recipes I found it. The most beautiful blueberry tart. It looked delicious, pretty easy, and like something you would see on a Better Homes and Gardens cover. I was in love. Right there and then, I made the decision that I was going to be the kind of wife who made tarts. Not only that, I was going to be the wife who made super FRESH and fancy tarts.
Which is how, on a Saturday morning, we found ourselves driving up to Lakeland to harvest our very own blueberries. (Yes, in my mind I called it harvesting. Because that made me not only a wife who made tarts, but also the kind of wife who could be a farmer.)
We arrived at the grove and it was HUGE. We walked. And walked. Took a mini rest break to look at some birds, and then walked some more. We walked to the very edge of the grove, and into the thick of the bushes. Through spider webs and long scratchy branches. (Farmery wives can’t be afraid of a few scratches). And when we got there, there were the most perfect blueberries EVERYWHERE. Some of the biggest, most ripest, blueberries I had ever seen. Blueberries that shouted “Pick us! We are meant to be in your super-impressive-and-home-makery tart!”And so, we picked them. A ton of them. And in between we may have snacked on a few. And had a blueberry fight. And played a pretty rousing game of “what distance can you get the berry in the bucket from”. But mostly we worked HARD, and left with a pretty full bucket.
On our way home we stopped so that I could buy a spray bottle to make my very own fruit wash (because tart-making-farmer-wives don’t just BUY fruit wash), and when we got home I spent the next 2 hours washing EVERY. BLUEBERRY. in my homemade vinegar and lemon concoction. Finally, it was TART TIME. But first, I had to go out and buy a tart pan. And a cooling rack. And the rest of the clean eating ingredients, including an unmarked bag of almond flour that turned out to be $17. (Hey, it was all in the name of my tart, which at this point in my mind was going to make me LEGENDARY.)
About $60.00 later, it was time to get started. (Now was the moment in my mind where I started to realize I was spending a TON of money on this crazy tart, but in the next thought I would picture myself proudly holding it. Usually in a frilly apron, heels, and a freshly coiffed up do. (Sidenote to this sidenote, I mentally picture myself as a 1950’s housewife, not a 2013 one who spends her days in a messy pony and yoga pants)). Berries were boiled, ingredients were measured, pie crust was made. And then, it was all done. And it was BEAUTIFUL. Almost as good as the picture, but with a few “personalizations”. (Ben was way better at smooshing his crust sides than me).
A few hours later and a short trip in the fridge, and we were ready to try it. Let me tell you that as good as it looked, the taste did not match. AT ALL. It was, for lack of a better word, much too tart. And runny. And just overall terrible. And in that moment, after putting tons of hard earned money, time, and effort into this tart, I laughed. (Because the only other option would have been throwing it across the room, and a 195o’s housewife is always cool and collected).
So what is the point of this
embarrassing story? It is to let you know that, in the end, I didn’t really care about the tart. On our fridge we have a magnet, that says “happiness is a journey, not a destination”, and I think that sometimes we all forget that. The destination this time around was AWFUL. It was a very expensive, insanely horrible tasting, manual labor wasting, destination. But the journey with Ben? That made me so very happy. The blueberry fights, the night out at the bookstore, scouring stores for a tart pan. (Knowing that my husband can identify a tart pan?!) I loved all of it, and would gladly do it all over again. Even if it meant I had to eat another piece of my not-so-delicious tart. So whatever destination you’re working towards, be it personal or professional, make sure to enjoy your journey there. Because a lot of times, that journey ends up being the very best part.
Love + Laughs