I promised a couple of weeks ago in the fig and blue cheese crostata post,  to get into the subject of pastry. If you're game to read the saga, I'm game to tell you. Perhaps you've already noticed that I can be a tad bit--how shall I say?--obsessive.  Pastry is one such obsession.  I come from a fine tradition of expert pastry makers.  My mother, who was otherwise not a particularly inspired cook, was renowned for her pastry. As a little girl, to my untrained eye, pastry making seemed to involve terrifyingly tiny dollops of ice water doled out just so.  To my horror, with the least provocation, it seemed to me, a tiny drop too much could land the whole batch in the trash.  Talk about intimidating.