Some things are unapologetically Canadian.
Like maple syrup. Peameal bacon. Poutine. And, for reasons I’ve never fully understood, the butter tart.
Growing up, we were never really that much of a butter tart family. I vaguely recall my grandmother making (or having) them occasionally, but other than that, we weren’t crazy for them the way many other families are. That’s no surprise to me since butter tarts are typically loaded with raisins, which just happen to be a dried fruit I hate with a passion. The only dessert my family ever went batshit crazy for was mincemeat, and that was really only once a year.
But then I fell in love with a man who loves butter tarts. Actually, as a full disclosure, when I first met the Everyman I found out that he ate a butter tart, banana and chocolate milk for breakfast every day. Mmm. Breakfast of champions, right? Luckily I’ve managed to nudge him in a slightly healthier direction over the years, but he still does love him some butter tarts. But, because they’re still not something I care for, I’d never thought to make them.
But then I came home one day and just felt like it, so I went with it. And of course, the Everyman was happy about that.
