It started with a tart

It started with a tart. Sweet pastry with notes of cinnamon and caramelised apple, amongst chocolate roulades, fresh fruit and meringue towers it looked plain, ordinary.  Whilst deciding between arrays of whipped cream, glazed fruit and rich tortes; the ordinary by contrast looked extraordinary.  I ordered the tart: warm, no cream and water, settled down book in hand.  Warm sugar filling the air, smell of buttery pastry deserved to be savoured.  Alas, the smell was better than the taste. Caramelised apples are in fact charred, leaving a bitter taste, pastry so-so but the filling sloppy and resembling baby food.  So, one Friday afternoon in January, with a heavy heart and clouded head, in a faux-French patisserie I sat down at a table with plates of half eaten sandwiches and discovered disappointment.  This was the start.  It started with a tart.