There’s a certain ease and simplicity to free-form tarts like this. Sometimes they’re called a crostata, sometimes a galette. You can call it whatever you want, but I call it a fast way to use great fruit when it’s in season, without a lot of fuss.

At the beginning of summer, when rhubarb is still lingering around, and strawberries are elbowing their way forward, it’s a good thing the two go so well together. And I’m happy to help them hook up.

I remember a neighbor had a big rhubarb plant in their backyard and we used to dip the raw stalks in a cup of sugar and eat them. (Somehow, we knew not to eat the leaves, which are toxic.) I still remember, not just the fact that you could get free food from the earth, but that something could have so much flavor. Some kids aren’t fond of things that are tangy but I’ve always loved the contrast of sweet and tart.

Recently I was so excited to find such beautiful berries that I bought three big baskets of them. I made a little batch of Strawberry Rhubarb Jam, and another batch of Strawberry Vodka, both of which I hope will prolong the season…unlike this tart, which lasted not so long around here.

I first learned to make tarts like this from Jacques Pépin, when he came to work with us and began his shift by rolling out dough for fruit tarts. He actually double-doughed his tarts, rolling out two rounds of dough, and sandwiching the fruit between the two.

Being French, he brushed the top with lots of butter and liberally dusted the top with sugar. Today I usually make them open-faced, but do brush the crust with lots of butter and a generous sprinkling of sugar, which makes a crunchy crust, and is a nice contrast to the tender fruit-forward filling.

When I posted a picture of this tart on social media, with a promise to share the recipe, a friend, Ann Mah, asked me how I dealt with all the juice from rhubarb, which can exude a moderate amount. Hothouse rhubarb is generally redder in color and holds its color better than field-grown rhubarb once baked. However, I’ve never found much of a correlation between if it’s grown indoors or out, and how much juice it exudes.

That said, as insurance, I sprinkle the dough with a little bit of almond flour to absorb any errant juices. But I don’t mind things being a little bit messy; a friend’s Norwegian grandmother once told me that if pie doesn’t fall apart when you slice it, it’s not going to be any good. This tart slices nicely but tastes great. So you’re getting the best of both worlds here, in more ways than one.