You need to be ready to receive the gifts around you, said my therapist.
The tree by the apartment building is laden with ruby-red grapefruits—gifts, I thought.
I place the bombe-shaped fruits on my nose; they remind me of Martha Holmberg. The image of Martha torching sugar on sliced grapefruit like crème brûlée is enshrined in my dessert hall of fame.
I turn the freshly squeezed juice into a luscious creamy curd. Curd is a soft, smooth, and thick spread made with eggs, beaten egg yolks, sugar, fruit juice, zest, butter, and vanilla, gently cooked together until a thick sauce forms. When the curd cools, it sets into a soft, pudding-like spread.
You don't necessarily have to urban forage for grapefruits; store-bought will yield the same delicious results, but do look around for gifts from mother nature outside or at your grocery store: any citrus like lemons, Meyer lemons, lime, or even high-acid and high-pectin fruits like passion fruit juice or mango work like a dream.
Using the curd as a topping seemed too easy, but this is precisely what I want, and buckwheat galettes are the perfect vehicle for curd to mouth.
If this is your first encounter with buckwheat galettes, the best way to tell you about them is like having your first bite of a naturally leavened loaf, a sourdough boule, or a country loaf after eating sandwich bread all of your life.
Your eyes open wide. You feel alive.
Buckwheat flour makes a more substantial crepe that the fine people of Brittany call galettes. I add just a tad of all-purpose flour to the batter to assist in crisping up the galette and offer a little more insurance when using my silly old crepe pan or a regular 10-inch nonstick skillet when cooking multiple batches.
Top the crispy galette with salted butter, spoon some grapefruit curd into the center, and fold the corners into a square. Then, top with whipped cream.
Find teachers in Mother Nature. You're alive. Pet dogs. Find zen in the ordinary. Eat grapefruit curd with a spoon. Think of your muse. Move your body. Learn a new thing you’re remarkably bad at— smell the grapefruits.