Last week I went to a dinner and brought a nice apple tart. The brilliant, perfect crust I learned from my Grandmother, local apples, and a glaze made from apricot jam, honey, and local apple brandy were the whole thing, though I dusted it with 5-spice and a twist of black pepper before sliding it into the oven. It's really all about the crust, and secondly about not oversweetening the fruit. Thinner is better; a slice held pizza-style by the outer edge should remain perfectly flat all the way to the point, even allowing for impassioned gesticulation without any deformation. Letting the fruit taste like fruit is the other key. Rolling the pastry out thin also obviates the need for blind-baking, so there's that bonus as well. Thick, covered pies have their place, but it's not often I eat one that's much better than decent. Most of them are sickly sweet, starch-thickened disasters that make my teeth hurt while I'm eating them. A tart like this, though, is a thing of beauty, a timeless classic.