Pear Raspberry Tartlets

My oldest daughter has played ice hockey for most of her life. Hija has committed herself to double weekly practices and weekend games during the winters, and most summers, since she was very little. My daughter defined herself, to a great extent, as a hockey player. Really, given the amount of time spent preparing for, traveling to and recovering from games and practices made it natural for her to assume this position in her world. When she prepared for college, one of her major considerations was whether the school had a hockey team. Last year she was the only non-recruit walk-on at her school’s team. She made the team with basic hard work and commitment. Her friends played hockey, her little sister played hockey, her highest achievements could be traced to hockey – you get the idea - hockey is important to Hija.

Somehow, hockey also grew in importance to me. Hija and Mihijita are my children from a prior relationship. When their mother and I split up, the girls, who were very young, stayed with their mom. For some time after the breakup, in addition to all the other turmoil, I worried about the survival of my relationship with my kids. We struggled along for a while, visiting on weekends, going to the zoo and park, etc., until they stumbled into this world of elbow pads, constantly diminishing rolls of sticky black tape and mouth guards. Because I had a car and because I saw an opportunity to spend more time with the girls, I gradually moved into the role of hockey booster. Their mom has never actively supported their hockey pursuits and left that part of their lives in my hands. This has been a mixed blessing. I have sacrificed a lot to support Hija and Mihijita in following their dreams. Their mom has not. Their mom enjoyed the benefit of long winter weekends at home while we drove through snow storms towards Oswego in February for tournaments. However, what I received for my troubles so outweighs the relatively small investment of my time and energy. What I received back was fatherhood.

I came to define myself as a hockey parent. Having never played the game, I enjoyed learning about creases, cycling the puck and the difficulty of identifying the two-line pass. I also enjoyed the ancillary glory that occasionally came my way when my daughters experienced a particularly hard win or when they gained individual recognition for some exceptional hockey accomplishment. All that stuff got all over me and I was able to experience a wonderful pride in my kids. I am so proud of these two.

So where are the pear tarts? What’s this all about?

Last week, Mihija wrote me a short E-mail to say she had decided to quit the hockey team. She also wrote she was not ready to talk about it.

She met with the coach, she’s not on the roster, she’ll be home for the holidays this year instead of traveling to Toronto for a tournament.

And she doesn’t want to talk about it. This is such a tremendous choice my daughter has made. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for her to essentially retire from the sport at this level. I’m also having difficulty coping with her having made the decision without talking to me. At the same time, I understand how tightly wound all our emotions are around ice hockey and our relationship. I know in time, we’ll talk about it. Now it’s too soon. When I barely touched on the subject last Friday during a call she teared up and we quickly moved on.

But it’s a big deal. I’m going to completely support her decision. I need to talk to her about it though.

The Pastry
Into the bowl of a food processor, add one cup all-purpose flour, one tablespoon of sugar and a dash of salt. Add one stick of cold, cold butter cut into small cubes. Pulse until the mixture resembles course pebbles. Slowly add up to ¼ cup heavy cream and pulse until to starts to gather together. Form the pastry into a disk, wrap it in cellophane and throw it into the ice box while you cut up your pears.

The Filling
Peel, core and slice a few ripe pears. When the pastry has cooled, take it out of the fridge, roll it out to about 1/8 – 9/64 of an inch and cut out circles large enough to line several small tartlet pans. Fill the tarts with the sliced pears. Sprinkle a few raspberries over the tarts. Then, chop some toasted walnuts and sprinkle those over the top of the tarts. Finally, sprinkly sugar over the top to taste and bake in a moderate oven until the pastry is golden brown and the juices from the fruit start to pool. Serve with vanilla ice cream.

Hockey Heartbreak

The Hardest Part About Watching Your Kid Take a Pounding From an Exponentially Superior Team.

1. You love your kid so very much that seeing her suffer the consequences of the mismatch makes you question your judgment of letting her play goalie in the first place.
2. You drove six hours to get to the tournament. When it’s over, you’ll drive six hours home.
3. The hotel costs $200. Gas, food and related expenses will add up to another $150. You’ve completely ignored a $4,000 consulting assignment to be here.
4. You can’t help fantasizing about the awful lives that lay ahead for the players on the other team, imagining them suffering when their hockey careers end while your daughter thrives because she has more going for her than hockey alone.
5. You feel guilty for thinking bad thoughts about someone else’s child merely because she scored a goal while your kid was between the pipes.
6. Fighting the urge to spend $30,000 a year to enroll your kid into an elite prep school hockey program just so she could be on the other side of the 8 to 0 loss.
7. Getting over it. While your kid put the loss behind her within minutes of the final buzzer, you can’t seem to stop wringing your hands and gnashing your teeth long after the fact.

Just in case anyone out there is considering letting their kid play ice hockey.