Edward Schneider Tarte Tatin is the second-best apple pie in the world, after Jackie’s Polish-style szarlotka (which my Aunts Jennie — I had two, one on each side of the family, both fine bakers — also used to make but called simply “apple cake”). The amazing thing about tarte Tatin is how the caramelized apples are somehow transformed into something entirely new but at the same time remain intensely apple-y. It is also one of the easiest to make. And one of the hardest.
Easiest because it is baked upside-down, with the pastry laid on top of the apples: as the crust isn’t burdened with fruit it cannot get soggy, and there’s no need for cunning decorations or even for beautifully even rolling. When turned out of the pan you bake it in, it automatically looks beautiful.
It is easy also because the apples are cooked before the tart goes into the oven, which takes another troublesome variable off the table. But for that very same reason — cooking the apples — it is among the hardest, at least until you get the knack.
Many things called tarte Tatin are merely brown and sweet. To be sure, a tarte Tatin should be brown and sweet, but it needs to be more: the apples need to be cooked in sugar and butter long enough that they are not only coated in buttery caramel but also permeated with sweetness. Like what happens in jam-making, where some of the water in the fruit is replaced by sugar.
To achieve this, I deploy two non-stick frying pans: the process starts in a 12-inch skillet and the tart is baked in a 10-inch one. Lots and lots of peeled, cored and quartered apples — I use a mixture, whatever is in the farmers’ market, mostly venerable New York State varieties out of some vague sense of principle — enough to overflow that larger skillet. I can’t emphasize this enough: you need far more apples than you’d think, more than you’d imagine could possibly constitute a ten-inch tart’s worth. Over medium heat, sprinkle these generously with sugar; start with 2/3 or 3/4 cup, then see how things go. Once the apple juices start running from the heat and the sugar, add an ounce of butter. A little vanilla or armagnac would not be out of the question, though I use neither — apple all the way for me.
Every once in a while, toss the apples or carefully move them around with a concave spoon-like silicone spatula; as they cook, some will probably break, while others will retain their shape and seemingly puff up. If you keep the heat moderate, the apples will lose water and partially candy before the sugar caramelizes. And, at some point, perhaps 15 or 20 minutes down the road, the exuded apple juice will reduce and caramelization will start to take place: continue to toss or turn the apples to keep this as even as possible. When everything is deep golden, indeed brown in places, turn off the heat and add a little more butter.
You have pre-heated your oven to 400 degrees, haven’t you? You have got some pastry ready, haven’t you? This could be all-butter puff pastry, either home-made or store-bought, or it could be any other buttery dough, even a fragile short crust – it has no structural function. Butter the 10-inch skillet and add the apples (either arranging a layer of nice pieces on the bottom or not). Then top with the pastry, cut a couple of steam slits into it and put the pan into the oven on a baking sheet that will catch any drips.
When the pastry is thoroughly cooked, nice and brown, put on a pair of oven mitts to protect your hands, wrists and forearms. Give the pan a shake, then take a plate — or better, a cardboard cake circle, which will not slide around as much — apply it to the top (soon to be the bottom) of the tart, and courageously turn everything upside down. In the best of circumstances, the entire thing will come free, totally intact. Worst case, a few pieces of apple will stay behind; these are easily removed from the pan with a fork or spoon and restored to their proper place on the tart. Do not touch ANYTHING with your bare hands. Everything is hot. Very hot.
Let the tart cool to tepid or to room temperature and serve with whipped cream. You’ll think it’s the best apple pie in the world, but then you haven’t had Jackie’s szarlotka.
Pate sucre would not be a bad second choice.
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