"What a strange experience, to be comforted by a food I've never had!"
One part of the food world that plagues my existence is food hacks. These are often short-form video content displaying "tips and tricks" designed to speed up a cooking process or to create something innovative. One successful example of this was the feta pasta that ruled Tik Tok at the start of this year. Someone had the idea to just bake a block of fresh feta with cherry tomatoes, stir cooked pasta into the creamy, cheesy goodness, and serve the dish. It was said to be easy and delicious, two key components to help a food video go viral. A less successful example was a way to easily squeeze a lemon. The creator suggested firmly rolling a lemon around before poking one end with a small straw. This was said to release significantly more juice than just squeezing it, but few people were able to concur with that claim.
A video that I saw not too long ago showed someone mixing flour into vanilla ice cream and baking it into a pie. The concept struck me as a little weird, but I suppose it isn't too different from a custard pie. The basics include egg, cream, and some dry ingredients to give it body. I ventured into the comments to judge whether or not this hack was legit. One comment, with quite a few likes, said, "You should check out melktert!!" Clearly I am open to suggestions from strangers, because I hopped on Google and searched it. The results were full of recipes for a South African dessert, which looked pretty similar to what I had seen in the video, but like it had been done more purposefully. (Sidenote: it makes you question how many mainstream "food hacks" or "life tips" are just things from other cultures that have been done for ages!)
I actually wanted to cook something from South Africa at the start of this project because I was interested in braai. Braai is essentially a top-tier cookout. All kinds of meats and sides are charred over a fire (a real one, gas grills are not the same), which stays lit throughout the entire event. However, as I live in a small concrete box, I realized braai is probably not feasible. I abandoned South Africa for other countries. Then, all of a sudden, my daily mindless social media scrolling brought me right back here. I figured that while I could not do braai, I could easily bake melktert in my apartment.
Melktert, as one might guess, is a milk-based tart topped with cinnamon sugar. The inside has a consistency somewhere between a cheesecake and a custard pie. The rich ingredients seem light because the milk and egg yolk base is combined with whipped egg whites, which incorporate a ton of air into the overall batter. The process seemed simple enough, though I was dreading having to wash all of my baking equipment by hand.
In general, I consider myself more of a cook than a baker. Baking requires more precision in order to get the best textures. Additionally, with cooking, there is a ton of opportunity to change something while it cooks. I can squeeze a lemon into a pan to brighten up a heavy sauce. A baker puts a pan in the oven and prays. Last fall, I went on a bit of a macaron-making binge, and I remember praying to all of the saints I could when it was time to open the oven door. They tasted great, but something was always a bit off. That pretty much sums up most of my baking experience: good taste, wrong consistency. Because of this, I read each line of the recipe twice, and even premeasured some of my ingredients. After my less-than-ideal cooking experience with the Nigerian akara, I was determined to make Africa proud.
My reference recipe came from Allrecipes, and was described as, "My 'ouma' South African grandmother's legendary milk tart." The initial mixture had pretty much every ingredient except for egg whites. I started by creaming butter and sugar, a typical first step for baking cakes, and added my yolks slowly. Then came the flour, baking powder, salt, and a dash of cinnamon. My recipe didn't call for cinnamon to go into the batter, but I couldn't help myself. I then added the milk and vanilla. The result was a thick cream that resembled a can of sweetened condensed milk. I dipped a tasting spoon in, having disregarded the threat of raw egg many years ago. It tasted unbelievable. The sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla turned this milky mix into a liquid snickerdoodle cookie.
I've never really understood the concept of "warm milk," but if it tastes anything like this, I'd be a convert. Funnily enough, the batter reminded me of warm milk even though I had never actually had a glass. It was as if the flavor was what I always dreamed a comforting cup of the bedtime drink would taste like. Something about the combination of sweet and familiar flavors made me feel like I had just woken up from a nightmare and realized I was safe. It also made me miss home. What a strange experience, to be comforted by a food I've never had! I suppose the taste was similar enough to foods I have had for me to associate melktert with good memories.
I shook myself out of my cinnamon and vanilla daze. After beating the egg whites, I folded them into the delicious milk batter. I'll admit that I probably didn't beat my whites enough. The typical test for whether or not you've beat egg whites correctly is to lift the mixer and check the consistency left on the beaters. The egg white left on the beaters should form a "stiff peak." The tips of my egg white peaks were flopping over rather than staying stiff, but to be honest, I was impatient to get the mix in the oven. I folded the egg whites into the milk batter and coated the pie dish with oil. Gently pouring, I filled the pie dish to the brim. The final step was to cover the batter with cinnamon and sugar.
After waiting about 45 minutes, I checked the tart. It was still significantly jiggly in every part of the dish. This was probably a result of my not-quite-there egg whites. I waited another half an hour. Finally, my tart matched what the recipe told me: slightly wobbly in the very center. The cinnamon and sugar on top had browned, but a cream interior peaked through a few cracks on the surface of the tart. I brought the pan out to cool. Another 30 minutes later, I decided to cut into it. Cutting desserts is not my strong suit, so I was a little nervous, but the butter knife sliced through with little effort. The resulting slice resembled a very thick cheesecake, though it was evident some bits were a little more cooked than others. After a quick check online, having inconsistent textures was normal, and it would even out one the tart fully cooled. I placed my slice onto a place and got excited.
The cooked tart tasted just like the batter. It sank into a gelatinous puddle once it hit my tongue. I chewed each bite a few times, but it went down like pumpkin pie. The cinnamon was the star of the show, keeping the sweetness from overpowering while balancing the other elements. I have to admit, as delicious as it was, I honestly wished I could have had it in liquid form. Even though I liked the batter's consistency more, those same warm flavors brought me back to birthdays, bonfires, and great conversations over a cinnamon-dusted latte. It made me think of the kindness that motivates someone to bake for someone else, and how my mom never went a Thanksgiving without making frosted sugar cookies.