Tarte au citron
A sharp lemon cream baked low and slow in a blind-baked sweet pastry case, so it sets to a smooth cut rather than curdling.
Named from the ingredients as written, including those carried in from sub-recipes. This is not a guarantee — check the labels on what you actually buy, and note that a product’s recipe can change.
Rub the cold butter into the flour, the 60g of icing sugar and the fine salt with your fingertips, until the mixture looks like coarse breadcrumbs with no butter pieces bigger than a pea.
Stir the egg yolk into the 2 tbsp of ice-cold water and pour it over the crumbs.
Cut the liquid through the mixture with a table knife until it starts to clump.
Press the clumps together with one hand into a single lump with no dry flour left, using as few movements as you can. Sweet pastry worked like bread dough builds gluten, and gluten is what makes a case shrink down the sides of the tin and bake tough.
Flatten the dough into a disc about 2cm thick, wrap it and refrigerate for 1 hour.
Roll the dough out on a lightly floured worktop to a round about 30cm across and 3mm thick, turning it a quarter turn after every couple of passes so it does not stick.
Line a 23cm loose-bottomed tart tin, easing the pastry down into the corner with a knuckle rather than stretching it across. Pastry pulled tight over the base pulls back as it bakes and the sides slump.
Leave the excess hanging over the rim and trim it only after the case is baked. Every case shrinks a little, and trimming it flush now is what leaves you with a tart too shallow to hold the filling.
Prick the base all over with a fork.
Chill the lined tin for 30 minutes.
Heat the oven to 180C/350F.
Line the chilled case with a sheet of baking paper and fill it to the top of the sides with baking beans.
Bake for 20 minutes.
Lift out the paper and beans and bake for a further 8-10 minutes, until the base is dry, sandy and pale gold with no grey damp patches left.
Beat the egg white loosely with a fork.
Brush the inside of the hot case thinly all over with the white.
Return it to the oven for 2 minutes, until the white has set to a dull film. That film seals the hairline cracks a liquid filling would otherwise leak through, and a leaked tart welds itself to the tin.
Turn the oven down to 150C/300F.
Whisk the 4 eggs and the caster sugar together in a bowl until smooth, stirring rather than beating so no air goes in.
Whisk in the lemon zest and the 150ml of juice.
Whisk in the double cream.
Skim any foam off the surface with a spoon, since bubbles bake into a mottled, freckled skin.
Set the tart case on a baking tray and slide it onto the oven shelf before it is filled.
Pour the filling in at the open oven door, right up to the pastry rim. Carrying a full tart across a kitchen is how it ends up on the floor.
Bake for 30-35 minutes, until the filling is set to the edge and only the middle 5cm shivers when you tap the tray.
Turn the oven down to 140C/275F if the surface starts to blister or bubble at the edge. That is the custard boiling, and a boiled lemon filling sets grainy and weeps water under the slice.
Cool the tart in its tin on a rack for at least 2 hours, until it is cold right through. It goes on setting the whole time it cools.
Trim the pastry standing above the rim with a small serrated knife, sawing outwards and downwards.
Lift the tart out of the ring.
Dust the surface with icing sugar.
Cut with a knife dipped in hot water and wiped dry, cleaning it between every slice.
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Sharp, and it should be genuinely startling on the first mouthful. A hundred and fifty millilitres of lemon juice in a tart for ten is a lot of acid, and 200g of sugar is only just enough to balance it — the whole point of a good tarte au citron is that it sits right at the edge of too sour. Under that, the eggs are rich and savoury and the cream rounds everything off. Lemon zest is the other half of the citrus and is a different thing from the juice: it is aromatic oil rather than acid, and it is what makes the tart smell of lemon rather than merely taste sour. The pastry is sweet, buttery and slightly salty, and it is the only sweetness that is not fighting the lemon.
Lemon zest, which is the loudest thing and is entirely oil rather than acid — you can smell a tart from across a room and none of that is the juice. Under it, butter from the pastry. Baking, the whole thing smells like a lemon curd.
Dense, smooth and cold against thin crisp pastry, and the contrast is the dish. The filling should be firm enough to cut cleanly and soft enough to give completely on the tongue — closer to a set custard than to a curd. Any graininess means it curdled. The pastry should shatter under the fork rather than bend, which is what the egg-white seal and a properly dry blind bake are for.
The pastry, and it is the only sound the dish makes: a properly baked, properly sealed case cracks audibly under a fork. A silent one has gone soggy.
Lemon oil in the nose first. Then acid, immediately and hard, then sweetness catching it about a second later. The cream and egg spread underneath and round it off. The buttery pastry arrives last and is the relief. The finish is long and sour and makes the mouth water, which is exactly why a small slice is enough and a second one is inevitable.
Cold or barely cool. Warm, the filling has not set and the tart cannot be cut; fridge-cold, the pastry is at its crispest and the acidity is slightly muted, which is not a bad thing in something this sharp.
Nothing, ideally, or a spoonful of crème fraîche, which is the classic French accompaniment and adds acidity of a different kind rather than sweetness. Raspberries. A very small cup of strong coffee. A glass of Sauternes if you want to be traditional, though the tart is sharp enough to fight most sweet wines. Where it fails is after a rich meal, when it can be too much, and next to cream, which flattens it.
Two techniques, both standard and both with a specific failure. Sweet pastry shrinks if it is not rested and cracks if it is overworked; the filling curdles if the oven is too hot. Neither is difficult and both are unforgiving.
Low. Flour, butter, eggs, sugar and four lemons.
A 23cm loose-bottomed tart tin, baking beans or rice, and a fine sieve for the filling. The sieve is not optional — it catches the chalazae and any zest that has not dissolved.
Any time of year. Lemons are best in winter, which is when this tart is at its sharpest and brightest.
Lemons are at their best from late autumn through winter, which makes this a better winter dessert than a summer one despite its reputation.
The case should be completely dry with no translucent patches before the filling goes in. The filling is done when the edge is set and the very centre still has a faint wobble as one mass — it will firm up completely as it cools. If the surface has puffed or cracked, it has gone too far.
Cold, it should cut cleanly with a warm knife and hold a sharp edge, and be dense and smooth rather than rubbery.
The filling is baked and there is no raw-egg question. Keep the finished tart refrigerated if it is not being eaten the same day.
Not resting the pastry, which makes it shrink down the sides of the tin. Overworking it, which develops gluten and makes it tough. Skipping the egg-white seal, which gives a wet base. An oven that is too hot for the filling, which curdles it — this is the fault that ruins otherwise good tarts. Cutting it warm. And dusting the icing sugar too early, so it dissolves and goes patchy.
Pastry shrunk: it was not rested, or it was stretched into the tin rather than eased in. Cracked case: patch it with raw pastry and bake for another five minutes before filling. Filling curdled or weeping: too hot an oven; there is no fix. Soggy base: no egg-white seal, or the blind bake was too short. Filling will not set: it needed longer, or the proportion of juice to egg is off. Too sour: it is meant to be, and crème fraîche beside it is the answer rather than more sugar.
The pastry case can be made and blind baked a day ahead, or frozen raw in the tin. The finished tart is best on the day it is made and acceptable on the second.
Three days in the fridge. The pastry softens after the first day, which is the limit on keeping it.
Never. It is a cold tart.
The unbaked pastry case freezes well. The finished tart does not — freezing curdles the filling.
Good, and the softening pastry is the only complaint.
It is sized to a 23cm tin. Two tarts are two tins rather than one deeper one, since a deeper filling will not set evenly at 150°C.
Lime makes an excellent tart and needs slightly less juice, since limes are sharper. A mixture of lemon and blood orange is very good in winter. Shop-bought sweet pastry works and is noticeably less good. Nothing substitutes for the double cream, which is what makes this a cream rather than a curd.
Vegetarian. Not vegan and not adaptable. Not gluten-free as written; a gluten-free flour blend makes an acceptable case since there is no gluten development wanted anyway. Contains cereals containing gluten, eggs and milk.
Unwaxed lemons, since the zest goes in. Good butter, which is most of the pastry's flavour. Nothing else needs thought.
Four lemons and some store-cupboard staples is already cheap for a dessert that serves ten. Zest the lemons before juicing and freeze any spare zest, which is the ingredient people habitually throw away.
Nothing notable. Using the whole lemon — zest and juice — is the small saving.
Around 380 calories a slice. Butter, cream, sugar and eggs, with roughly 25g of sugar per slice. It is a dessert and there is no way to make it otherwise.
Worth it, and worth doing the two steps that get skipped. Resting the pastry and sealing the case with egg white cost five minutes between them and they are the difference between a good tart and one with a wet base. Bake the filling lower than you think and let it cool completely before it is cut.
France, as part of the classical pâtisserie repertoire.
Tarte au citron. The version with meringue on top is tarte au citron meringuée, which is a different and much sweeter dessert.
tart oh see-TRON.
Lemon tart. Nothing more.
Lemon curds and lemon custards are old and are English as much as French — lemon curd as a spread is a nineteenth-century British thing. What French pastry contributed is the structure: a pâte sucrée case, blind baked and sealed, filled with a crème au citron that is baked rather than cooked on the stove. The distinction between a curd and a cream is worth understanding, because they are different preparations: a curd is thickened over heat with butter beaten in, and is loose and glossy; a cream of this kind is a custard set in the oven, and it is denser and sliceable. Michel Roux's version is the one most often cited as the modern reference. The choice of a low oven is the whole technical content of the recipe and it is the same principle as a crème caramel or a cheesecake — a protein set that must be held below the temperature at which it contracts.
It is one of a small handful of desserts that appear in essentially every French restaurant of every level, from a corner bistro to a three-star dining room, and it is a standard by which a pastry section is judged for exactly that reason: there is nothing in it to hide behind.
Any time. It is a dinner-party dessert and a Sunday one.
Blind baking and sealing with egg white. Both are standard French pastry practice and both are almost universally skipped in home recipes, which is why home tarts so often have a wet base.
It got sharper. Older recipes are markedly sweeter and use less juice; the modern preference is for something that leans right into the acidity.
Menton, on the Côte d'Azur, has a lemon festival and a strong claim on the fruit; tarte au citron de Menton is made with a particular local lemon that is sweeter and more fragrant than most. The meringue-topped version is more common in Britain and America than in France.
It uses double cream rather than butter in the filling, which gives a softer, lighter set. It is unusually explicit about the egg-white seal, which is the step that decides whether the base stays crisp.
None specific. The technique is classical.