Yorkshire Curd Tart

There's a fortnight in late May when the hawthorn comes out and the evenings start to stretch, and somewhere in the back of the notebook there's a page that just says: curd tart. Whitsun. Make one. I always do.

This is a Yorkshire pudding in the older sense of the word. Farmhouses used to make their own cheese, and the leftover curds, soft, slightly sweet, faintly tangy, became the filling for a tart that turned up on tables around Whitsuntide. Currants for richness, lemon for lift, nutmeg for warmth, butter for the sake of butter. Held together by a buttery shortcrust that crumbles properly under a fork. Nothing clever. Nothing that wasn't already in the dairy.

You don't need a Yorkshire farmhouse or a Whitsun Sunday to make one, but if you can find proper curd cheese from a good dairy, the tart will repay you. Failing that, ricotta or even drained cottage cheese will get you most of the way there. The thing to chase is the texture: soft, faintly granular, neither smooth nor stodgy. Curds should look like curds.

I baked one last week and ate a slice standing at the kitchen window with a mug of tea, watching the rain come in over the garden. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate in front of someone, but standing alone with something quiet and good runs it close.