🥘 Ingredients
- 2 sheets store-bought puff pastry (about 15–17 oz / 425–480 g), thawed
- 3 ripe Bosc or Bartlett pears, cored and cut into 1/4-inch (6 mm) slices
- 2 large yellow onions (about 12–14 oz / 350–400 g total), thinly sliced
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 teaspoon granulated sugar
- 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar (for deglazing onion)
- 6 oz (170 g) Taleggio cheese (or fontina as substitute), thinly sliced
- 1/3 cup (40 g) hazelnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped
- 1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, plus extra sprigs for garnish
- 1 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary (or 1/4 teaspoon dried)
- 1 large egg beaten with 1 teaspoon water (egg wash)
- 1 tablespoon honey (plus extra for finishing, optional)
- 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar (for reduction)
- Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
- Optional: 4 thin slices prosciutto, torn into pieces (for a savory-salty finish)
⚠️ Allergen Information
- Wheat (gluten) - puff pastry
- Dairy - butter, Taleggio (cheese)
- Eggs - egg wash
- Tree nuts - hazelnuts
👨🍳 Instructions
- Bring the puff pastry to pliable but still cold according to package directions (usually 30–40 minutes at room temperature). Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
- Toast the hazelnuts on a baking sheet in the preheated oven for 8–10 minutes until fragrant and lightly browned. Remove and let cool, then rub in a towel to remove loose skins and coarsely chop. Set aside.
- Begin the caramelized onions: heat the butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil in a wide sauté pan over medium-low heat. Add the sliced onions, a pinch of salt, and cook, stirring every few minutes, until soft and golden—about 20–25 minutes. Stir in 1 teaspoon sugar at the 8–10 minute mark to encourage caramelization and add 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar in the last 2 minutes to deglaze and deepen flavor. Taste and adjust salt/pepper. Remove from heat.
- Meanwhile, toss the pear slices with a small pinch of salt, a grind of black pepper and a light drizzle (about 1 teaspoon) of olive oil. Arrange them in a single layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet and roast in the 400°F (200°C) oven for 10–12 minutes until they begin to color and soften but still hold shape. Remove and cool slightly.
- Prepare the puff pastry bases: on a lightly floured surface, roll each thawed sheet into a roughly 10 x 12-inch rectangle (about 1/8 inch thick) to even edges. Transfer to the parchment-lined baking sheets. Using a knife, very lightly score a 1-inch border around each rectangle without cutting through. Dock (prick) the inner area lightly with a fork to prevent excessive puffing in the center.
- Blind-bake the pastry for 10 minutes at 400°F (200°C) to set the base and start puffing. Remove from oven and reduce oven temperature to 375°F (190°C).
- Assemble the tarts: spread an even layer of the warm caramelized onions across the center (inside the scored border) of each pastry, leaving the 1-inch rim clear. Scatter half of the sliced Taleggio over the onions on each tart. Neatly fan the roasted pear slices on top of the cheese. Sprinkle the chopped toasted hazelnuts, thyme leaves and chopped rosemary evenly. If using prosciutto, tuck torn pieces between pear slices for bursts of savory flavor. Brush the pastry rims with the egg wash.
- Return the assembled tarts to the oven set to 375°F (190°C) and bake for 15–20 minutes, until the pastry is deep golden and crisp and the cheese is melted and bubbly. If the edges brown too quickly, tent loosely with foil for the last few minutes.
- While the tarts bake, make the balsamic reduction: in a small saucepan combine 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar and 1 tablespoon honey. Bring to a gentle simmer and reduce until slightly viscous and syrupy, about 4–6 minutes. Remove from heat and cool slightly — it will thicken more as it cools.
- Remove the tarts from the oven and let rest 5 minutes on the baking sheets. Drizzle the balsamic reduction lightly over each tart and add an extra thin drizzle of honey if you like a touch of sweetness. Finish with a few sprigs of fresh thyme, a grind of black pepper and flaky sea salt to taste.
- Transfer to a cutting board and slice each tart into 4–6 rustic pieces. Serve warm or at room temperature with a simple peppery arugula salad dressed in lemon and olive oil if you like contrast. Leftover tart can be kept refrigerated and best eaten within 24–48 hours and reheated briefly in a hot oven to re-crisp.
📖 Backstory
They called it Pera-fetto the way Florentines call a thunderstorm “romantic” — with a mixture of reverence and the quiet suspicion that someone had been paid to say it. The truth is simpler and therefore more dramatic: I was trying to impress a mildly important food critic on a ferry to Isola di San Pietro and had nothing but two sheets of store-bought puff pastry (15–17 oz, because my freezer is practical), three perfectly indecisive Bosc/Bartlett pears, and an alarming abundance of yellow onions. In a kitchen lit by a single espresso machine and the very specific glow of culinary destiny, I caramelized those onions in 2 tablespoons of butter and 1 tablespoon of extra-virgin olive oil until they apologized for being so sweet. The pears, sliced thin because geometry is as important as flavor, and the buttery, flaky pastry joined like old friends at a table they didn’t realize they’d reserved.
Contemporary Italian bistro–style, I announced, as if the ferry had an announcer. The Pera-fetto Puff is artisanal in intent and mildly fraudulent in provenance: Italian cheeses and herbs (a modest but noble scatter of Parmigiano shards and torn basil, perhaps a hint of fontina if you insist) stand in for centuries of regional technique, while modern plating techniques — read: I arranged the slices like a tiny renaissance fan and added a dramatic swirl of olive oil with a confidence that comes from doing something once and pretending it’s a tradition — make it look like the future and the past agreed to share a plate. It’s the kind of tart that would make a gondolier stop rowing, if gondoliers stopped for tarts and not just for tips.
I will admit, as any reliable raconteur must, that I have since ruined several perfectly good batches trying to evolve the Pera-fetto Puff into its final, smug incarnation: seventeen iterations, three small applause-worthy flares, and one ceremonial wooden spoon later, it sits on menus and in Instagram thumbnails like a patrician fruit. People have told me it healed a quarrel, ended a PowerPoint presentation, and led to the brief but intense respect of a very particular maître d’. If you find yourself with two sheets of puff pastry, three pears, and a skillet, consider this a friendly nudge from history: put on something flattering and let the onions apologize. You will not create world peace, but you will create something that has the exact right amount of audacity to make people believe you planned it that way.
Contemporary Italian bistro–style, I announced, as if the ferry had an announcer. The Pera-fetto Puff is artisanal in intent and mildly fraudulent in provenance: Italian cheeses and herbs (a modest but noble scatter of Parmigiano shards and torn basil, perhaps a hint of fontina if you insist) stand in for centuries of regional technique, while modern plating techniques — read: I arranged the slices like a tiny renaissance fan and added a dramatic swirl of olive oil with a confidence that comes from doing something once and pretending it’s a tradition — make it look like the future and the past agreed to share a plate. It’s the kind of tart that would make a gondolier stop rowing, if gondoliers stopped for tarts and not just for tips.
I will admit, as any reliable raconteur must, that I have since ruined several perfectly good batches trying to evolve the Pera-fetto Puff into its final, smug incarnation: seventeen iterations, three small applause-worthy flares, and one ceremonial wooden spoon later, it sits on menus and in Instagram thumbnails like a patrician fruit. People have told me it healed a quarrel, ended a PowerPoint presentation, and led to the brief but intense respect of a very particular maître d’. If you find yourself with two sheets of puff pastry, three pears, and a skillet, consider this a friendly nudge from history: put on something flattering and let the onions apologize. You will not create world peace, but you will create something that has the exact right amount of audacity to make people believe you planned it that way.