Lusty Tarts

Campers, I have a confession to make.

On my last morning in South Africa I undeniably, unashamedly, unabashedly, unpardonably, and without remorse drank a whole glass of lactose and ate a whole plateful of gluten.

I do not apologize for my lapse or feel the overwhelming need to defend myself, but I do believe that in the interest of full disclosure my transgression deserves an explanation. It is important, after all, that individuals in the spotlight admit their human frailties and allow the public to judge for themselves the degree to which they are in a position to cast stones.

I hope readers will understand that sometimes, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. 

As I have already argued, I have been extremely diligent in my quest for gluten freedom and have - apart from the two minor accidents of which I am aware - been 100% successful since September 12 of last year. I continued to maintain my perfect record throughout our two weeks in the Western Cape and felt none the worse for it (despite a close call with brownies and something called 'jungle oats' offered up tantalizingly at The Power & The Glory, Cape Town's hippest coffee joint). As the end of the holiday approached I felt neither deprived nor tempted, since (as I have been faithfully recording) I had spent the previous fortnight eating the finest food the locals had to offer.

But DMR and I had an hour to kill before we were due to climb into our Toyota for the drive to Cape Town Airport and the beginning of our long trip home. We decided to while away the time having morning coffee at the jocularly-named wine estate of Vrede en Lust, through the gates of which we had driven every day to gain access to the wonderful country inn we were calling home. I think you'll agree that Vrede en Lust is picture-perfect in every way:

As we sat down in the farm's lovely cafe, surrounded by happy families enjoying breakfast and lone intellectuals perusing the morning's paper for election results and analysis, we decided a latte was in order. Who could resist such creamy, foamy transcendence? The espresso was served separately in little pitchers, for extra innovative fanciness. It was dreamy.

Having just eaten breakfast, I was not in the mood for eggs or protein - but I did feel the need for a bite to accompany the caffeinated bliss. What imp of the perverse caused me to request the dessert menu at 10:30 in the morning? I'm not sure - fickle fate, I suppose, because that is the only explanation for the two slices of warm fig tart with Chantilly cream that materialized on our table a few minutes later.

I seem to remember that my logic went something like this:

1. I have been a very, very good girl and I deserve a treat.
2. I am on vacation.
3. If I can't have a treat on vacation, I might as well curl up my toes heavenwards and bid this vale of tears farewell.
4. Speaking of which, if my SAA Airbus goes down in a flaming ball over the mid-Atlantic in a few hours' time, do I really want my last thought to be, 'Oh wow, I'm so glad I denied myself pastry this morning' ?
5. QED: it's perfectly all right to indulge in a slice of gluten-filled goodness, just this once.

The tart turned out to be more spectacular than would have been possible in my wildest imaginings. Warm and almondy, with a flaky crust and exotic-tasting fig quarters concealed within, it was enrobed in lightly-sweetened citrus-scented cream. I savored every bite and washed each one down with a sip of divine milky coffee.

Was it worth it?

Hell yes.

And I'd do it again.