Taylor gets the most random food cravings. I do too, I guess, but my cravings are usually for elaborate sweet and salty baked goods. His, on the other hand, usually involve nostalgic junk foods from his childhood. Things like Lunchables, orange Tang, and, most recently, strawberry Pop Tarts.
I usually roll my eyes and tell him to go eat a granola bar, but in this case, I told him that I could totally make a homemade version that would blow his beloved pop tarts out of the water. Not something that is exactly hard to do, considering. Needless to say he was excited as the prospect (because, he admitted, the box he bought on a whim didn’t quite live up to his childhood expectations).
The pastry itself makes all the difference. Instead of the cardboard-like crust or whatever those things are made of (necessitated, at least, by the need for the snacks to hold up in a pop-up toaster). And granted these homemade versions should probably not be cooked in such a manner. But a simple butter and egg pastry, sturdier than a pie crust but still tender and flaky, makes this homemade version not only edible but truly enjoyable.
For filling I used the last remaining jar of last year’s Strawberry Hibiscus Jam, but you could use any flavor jam you like, or even whip up a copycat brown sugar filling (the only kind of pop tart that was worth eating, in my opinion).
I used a ravioli cutter to seal and crimp the edges of each pastry, but a fork will work just as well (probably better actually, since it won’t cut off any more dough around the edges). Be sure to cut a few vents in your pastries too, before baking, to allow the steam to escape. Otherwise it’ll find other means to get out, probably leaking filling out of your pastries in one way or another.
Oh yes, the mess potential of this recipe is off the charts, and I love it.
As he scrubbed the splattered sugar glaze off the counter, Taylor declared he was going to start an instagram account to document my messes. “It’ll be @loveandoliveoilsmesses” he said, not realizing that screen name was obviously too long to work. (And no, he didn’t actually do it. As far as I know, at least, although there would be no shortage of content).
I told him he knew exactly what he was getting when he married me. It’s not like I was neat then, either. I was born this way and will probably die with frosting in my hair and flour on my shirt. Not a bad way to go, actually.
Speaking of messes, I had a few casualties in this process, when I lazily tried to rotate the two baking sheets without properly supporting them. It slipped and crashed down on the pan underneath it, and, well, I lost a few pastries in the process. Bad words were said, tears were shed, and then we promptly ate the squished ones. Quality control, I say.
Adapted from King Arthur Flour via Smitten Kitchen.
All images and text ©Lindsay Landis / Love & Olive OilLet us know what you think!
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