Can I be completely transparent? I’ve been sitting at my computer for 30 minutes typing and erasing words I think I want to share with you. I keep grasping at thoughts that I’d ordinarily be able to blab about incessantly, but for some reason I’m unable to explain it in a way that makes sense. Call it writer’s block or call it Mommy brain, but I’ll just go ahead and chalk it up to a whole bunch of feels that are hard to put to words. Here’s where it all started:

I made this cherry almond galette with my daughter. Always the kitchen helper, Aimee recently discovered how much fun the cherry coring tool was. She perched herself on a kitchen stool and plucked stems off of glossy Rainiers while I punched the pits out of the fruit and into the trash. Eventually, she convinced me to let her take over, and what was supposed to be a quick hour of baking turned into a day long cherry-stained date for two in the kitchen. I love to share in special moments like this with my kids, but raise your hand if there are times you just need to get. the. job. done.

This kind of thing happens all the time. Now, as a mother of three, I’m finding that my life and agenda are not my own. It could be because my schedule is dictated by bedtimes and breastfeeding schedules. It could be because my car, once spotless, is now littered with action figures and cereal crumbs. Even my office is slowly being taken over by a slew of broken crayons and crude drawings of rainbows and stick people. Whatever the reason, my time or my space, this season of motherhood has been one of the truest dying of self that I’ve ever experienced, so much so that my life is hardly recognizable from what it was even months ago.

Although people always say that motherhood is instinctual, I’d argue that most of it is still really hard to figure out. Finding a balance of who I am as Kate versus who I am as Aimee, George, and Charlie’s Mom is basically an illusive teeter totter of grey area that I usually have zero clue how to navigate. Part of me feels incredibly selfish to want to maintain some semblance of self independent of my children, but the other part knows that in order to stay sane I need to know how to still be me. So how do you do that? How do you fully embrace a new life you’ve been gifted, a life that you’ve chosen, and still maintain an identity that is even remotely recognizable? I just don’t know yet. I imagine the reality falls somewhere in-between and eventually I’ll be able to sum it up in a few words. For now it’s a mystery. I’ll fill you in if I ever figure it out, but for now, let’s just talk about the things I do know. Let’s get back to the cherry almond galette.

These are seasonal cherries, a mix of dark and rainier, topping an all-butter, almond and turbinado sugar-flecked pie crust. In between the two layers is a quick and dirty frangipane that sweetens the pastry and adds a hint of flavor and texture. Of course, you already know I made the crust with my love-you-long-time fave, Kerrygold. Their butter is unmatched when it comes to simple recipes like this, and when there is only a few ingredients to a dish you need to let each one sing. The crust is buttery and tender, and every ounce of thanks goes to that quality butter. Amen.

The frangipane filling for this cherry almond galette is delicately sweetened and flavored. I think that little bit of filling helps to keep the crust from becoming soggy, and the almond flavor pairs perfectly with the cherries. Although I ordinarily don’t mind using frozen fruit, I kinda insist on fresh fruit when it comes to galettes because it always bakes so beautifully. Trust me on this. While making this cherry almond galette may appear to be tricky, it’s actually incredibly forgiving and way easier than a full pie. Simply roll out your chilled dough, spread the frangipane filling into the center, and top it with loads of sugared cherries. The rustic nature of a galette practically begs for messy folds of dough, so don’t worry too much about precision when you crimp the edges around the fruit. Just let it come together organically and I can almost promise it will bake out beautifully. After all, remember that Aimee helped me make this galette. If a four-year-old can crush it, grown-ups can too, okay?

Thank you for listening to me banter about motherhood, and I hope my rambling hasn’t completely deterred you from giving this cherry almond galette a try. As always, thank you for supporting Kerrygold and other brands that make Wood & Spoon possible. I hope you’ll give their goods a try for all of your special bakes like this one. Happy Thursday and happy baking!

If you like this cherry almond galette you should try:

Blueberry Cornmeal Galette

Tomato Basil Pesto Galette

Mini Strawberry Galettes

Cherry Lime Hand Pies

Black Cherry Chip Cake

Cherry Gateau Basque

 

Print