Freezer Friendly Chocolate-Whiskey Souffle Tarts

I once had a barren freezer. A bag of chopped spinach. Two ice cubes in a tray. A half empty can of tomato paste. A year-old Lean Cuisine. A few microwavable bean and cheese burritos. That was about it.

Now, my freezer runneth over. Opening the freezer door goes like this: take deep breath; with right hand on handle and left hand raised, fingers splayed and slightly bent to apprehend any thing making a sudden move, slowly perform two-inch safety-open; if movement is detected, move feet out of the field of falling frozen objects, and either shout for help or swiftly close freezer; if no movement is detected, continue with full-open, keeping left hand raised against sudden shifts. Really. I do this many times a day.

It's not like my freezer is some sort of disaster area. I routinely have to re-organize it in order to close the door. It's just chock-full of carefully arranged stuff.

Two tall stacks of dinner left-overs packaged into plastic containers for Patrick's lunches occupy more than their fair share of space. But I can't complain about my husband's total willingness--no, downright enthusiasm--for left-overs. I recognize this as a noble quality, particularly since I become mopey---no, utterly downcast--at the idea of eating Monday's braised chicken for lunch on Thursday. That is, though, the cook's prerogative.

Crowded around the left-over towers are several bags of edamame, at least three different sorts of fish fillets, ground beef, ground pork, plastic baggies of nuts, cardamom pods, whole cloves, and--the sign of stock procrastination--bits and pieces of chicken carcasses.

Into the nooks and crannies between bags of coffee beans and cans of orange juice, I've recently wedged several plastic-wrapped little disks. Yes, in my freezer right now are five tartlet crusts filled with whiskey-spiked chocolate souffle.

Little does my chicken carcass know that nestled up against his rib cage are diamonds in the freezer-burn rough. From freezer company to haute confections, these tarts want nothing but a 15-minute visit to the oven. They emerge all golden-crusted and poofed up, with crackled surfaces and interiors like brownie batter. Four egg whites, whipped up to stiff peaks and folded into the chocolate impart an airiness that perfectly tempers the chocolaty gooiness.




Adopting the premise that anything whiskey-laced counts as traditional Irish fare, I made these tarts for St. Patrick's Day. I prepared them the evening before, froze them, popped a few straight from the freezer into the oven right before dessert, and saved the rest for later to satisfy my own hankerings for chocolate and booze.

The recipe is from Bon Appetit magazine, and as I didn't make a single change to it, save maybe for an extra dash of whiskey, I'll simply link to it here.

A few bits of advice:
The crust is a lovely, crumbly, short-bread flavored thing. My dough would not hold together long enough to be rolled into a log, as the recipe asks. So, I divided it among the tins and pressed it in as I would a cookie crumble crust. Fine.

My tarts were crackly and ready to be eaten after about 15 minutes, whereas the recipe calls for 20.

Several of the cooks who have reviewed the recipe were successful with making one big tart instead of 8 small ones. I didn't have any trouble with my crusts over-browning, but since a big tart will require a longer cooking time, you'll probably have to place aluminum foil over the edges of the crust during its last few minutes in the oven.

I used 70% cocoa Ghirardelli chocolate. Unfortunately, I forgot that I already had several left over bits of it in my freezer. But, nibbles of these chased with swigs of whiskey might ease me through the withdrawal stage once my stash of tarts runs out.