Tony DeyalSOMEONE HAD the unmitigated crust to write to a cooking columnist seeking to ascertain the difference between a "tart" and a "torte". It is possible that the question might have been intended to butter up the columnist and make her seem to be worth the dough she is getting from the newspaper, not that she kneads it, but bread is the staff of life and that is how the cookie crumbles, or so says the Oreocle at Delphi.
The columnist's response, presented with a soupcon of shortening, is that a "tart" is a low-pie with an open face and a sweet or savoury filling, a description which, were it not for the height limitation, might apply to anyone from my dearly-beloved wife Indranie to my cousin Brenda. A "torte" is a dense, rich, multi-layered cake made with a minimum of flour and a maximum or bread-crumbs or ground nuts. "Torte" is Italian for cake.
Interestingly, I had different tortes about tortes and tarts. A tart can also be a promiscuous woman or prostitute as this exchange shows. A doctor was walking sedately and circumspectly with his wife as they skirted Oxford Circus only to be hailed out by a scantily clad young lady who said, "Hi Doc darling, how are you today?" His wife was immediately aghast and upset and asked, "Who is that tart and how come she's calling you darling?" "Oh," the doctor stammered, "She's just someone I met in business?" "Whose business," the wife demanded, "your's or her's?"
One of the most famous anecdotes in the history of British politics is about a political meeting held by Stanley Baldwin, British Conservative politician and three-time Prime Minister, in 1931. Baldwin decided to attack the media owners or "press lords". He thundered, "The proprietors of the national newspapers are aiming at power, and power without responsibility, the prerogative of the harlot throughout the ages." When the Duke of Devonshire, a long-standing supporter of the Conservative Party heard a report of the speech, he expostulated, "That's done it! He's lost us the tarts' vote."
In July 1963, commenting on the Profumo affair, and referring to two women at the centre of it, Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davis, Harold Macmillan commented, "I was determined that no British Government should be brought down by the action of two tarts." Unfortunately Macmillan failed and the Government fell. The event left Macmillan very bitter or "tart".
Some substances are reputed to leave a "tart" taste in the mouth. How that is determined and what yardstick or other measurement is used for determining which tart and the extent of tartness is beyond my comprehension, my having no direct, first hand or any other bodily connection with tarts of that nature. In my boyhood days, I loved the little triangles of flaky pastry splattered with a smattering of sweet substance, coloured red, which we optimistically called "jam" tarts. However, I did not myself jam any or had any jammed or otherwise since those days.
It is why I still am at a loss to understood what the American-based, multi-national purveyor of sugary substances containing smidgens of cereal matter, Kellog's mean or intend by calling one of their products a "Pop Tart". In America fathers and aerated soft-drinks are both called "pop". In Trinidad, the equivalent of a "Pop Tart" is called a "Deputy", a position considered essential by calypsonians and other influentials.
I also believe in the Biblical injunction pertaining to "an eye for an eye" except that I have adapted it to my own nature and predilections and interpret it as returning "tit-for-tart". In practice it is an extremely simple system of barter, or in confectionery terms, batter. Fittingly, Astarte is a fertility goddess worshipped by the Phoenicians and symbolised by a cake which, in the olden days, we called a "bellyful". It was not a tart so much as a roll, or so I torte.
Which brings me to tortes. Like Tweety Bird who insists, "I torte I taw a puddy-tat," during my boyhood, whenever I tried to justify any of my actions by suggesting that I thought it was the best thing to do at the time, my father had a habit of saying dryly, "Well you waste that torte." Before, during and since that time I have wasted many tortes on tarts and other pastries, including drops, buns, Madelines, and sometimes fruit-cakes and crackers. However, the following story takes the cake.
Veteran Pillsbury spokesman Pop N. Fresh died Wednesday of a severe yeast infection. He was 71. He was buried Friday in one of the biggest funerals in years. Dozens of celebrities turned out including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, and the Hostess Twinkies. The graveside was piled high with flours, as long-time friend Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, describing Fresh as a man who "never knew he was kneaded". Fresh rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a smart cookie, and wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model to millions. Fresh is survived by his second wife. They had two children, and one in the oven....
Tony Deyal was last seen with jelly in one ear and custard in the other. He was a trifle deaf.
