It’s really good. I ate way too much. But not really, as it gave me true, untainted, extraordinary joy. Apples, which we all know I love deeply in a very American way, caramel, and flaky pastry. Could not be improved upon in any way at all. Except perhaps when topped by a cold whipped cream made tangy with sour cream and a dash of lemon and perfected with a smack of raw sugar. The honey-brown apples over the soft pastry, combined with this melodiously smooth creaminess, ringed with the sugary overhang of the crust. Thank you France. And Kate.

“Oh, two tartes, one for tomorrow!” you’re thinking. No. Ate both. Simply had to.

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