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La Tarte flambee

On the German border of France, in and around Strasbourg and the rest of Alsace, you’ll find a little pizza like treat called la tarte flambée. Literally meaning “baked in the flames”, the Germans call it Flammekueche. You take a pizza-esque dough, roll it out very thinly, cover almost to the edges with fromage blanc (literally white cheese – similar to greek yogurt or a light crème fraiche), top with lots of caramelized onions as well as  speck/bacon and cook like a pizza until the bottom crust is crispy. The end result of sweet and creamy pork crispness is like nothing else. 


When K & I were on our way to France last summer, she couldn’t be kept from going on and on about the tarte, even though she generally doesn’t eat pork. When we arrived in Strasbourg, our friend Julie took us out of the city and into a little farm village about 20 minutes away and into a barn-like restaurant that many city peeps go in the summer to eat tarte flambée in the garden. Along with the tarte, which they will continue to bring you until you ask them to stop, we ate a fattening meal of boudin (blood sausage) and other pork and cream products.

On Sunday night after heading to the gym, I noticed our next door neighbor Chickie Pigs proclaiming a special of la tarte flambée. I had to try it. I was the only one in the restaurant, which always seems to be either packed or completely empty and ordered one to go. While Gustav (or Gusto or something) prepared the tarte/pizza, I chatted with his wife about where K & I might find Brazilian treats in the city (she’s Brazilian and therefore, instantly our friend – All Brazilians get along apparently). 15 minutes later, it was done and 2 minutes later I was greedingly eating every bite in front of the television, totally obliterating my willpower on portion control, while sipping the leftover wine from yesterday’s dinner. I should’ve taken a picture of the tarte, but it was gone before it even crossed my mind and I was left very fat and happy.

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One Response

  1. Greedy! That’s my husband…

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