"Why the name 'The Inn at Sweet Water Farm'?" "What's the recipe for the onion tart?" "Do hens need a rooster to lay eggs?"

It's time to answer some of the questions you ask most.

Your first question is a reasonable one. There is no farm at the inn.

We bought the inn four years ago. My restlessness, however, began a year before that, in a Boston suburb during the January thaw. I was safe and sound; I was mostly happy with my cottage garden (except for the red beetles that ate the lilies), my two cats, the food project I called "Dinner at Lynda's" and teaching at a lovely little independent school. Still, something nagged at me.

One day faded into the next; I knew if I wasn't careful, ten years would drift by ... and then what? I stood in the backyard of my little suburban house with a lavender picket fence, watching as a mist of melting snow rose kind of creepily from the thawing ground, and I knew I had to leave. I didn't know what I would find, but I knew my days were numbered in that little backyard. Once I get that feeling,  there is no stopping it.

I am and always have been a creature of instinct ... listening to my inner voice has taken me to all kinds of places, and  each time, I always end up in the place I am supposed to be.

When Andrei and I bought the inn, it was called The Baldwin Grange (grange = farmhouse). The weekend we closed on the inn, we stayed at a bed and breakfast on the top of Baldwin Hill called The Baldwin Hill Bed & Breakfast. I wasn't against The Baldwin Grange as a name, but you can understand why everyone thought it was a good idea for us to change the name.

We had about a month to come up with a new one. My head was filled with closing costs, oil prices, building codes, a continuous series of crunched-out, bottom-line figures and an internal dialogue that went something like, Just how crazy am I? I really don't know what the heck I'm doing! Sure, this was a great idea a year ago when I wasn't really DOING it. Did you smell something burning? That was my brain. But, I knew by the look of determined confusion in Andrei's eyes that I'd better hold steady and not buckle at this point.

The month flew by. It was time to fill out the paperwork. I couldn't sleep.

Well, it was my instinct that got me into this, it had better get me out.

What did I actually know about this dust-covered, dark house in a town with a name I couldn't pronounce that intrigued me so? After our first visit, I dreamed a lot about flying in the dark from the back door through the long hallway through the dining room, finally landing in the living room. Unsettling, I know, but somehow thrilling. I also couldn't get that one floorboard out of my mind. (I'll show it to you the next time you're here. You'll like it.)

But I digress ... Voices in my head, don't fail me now, I pleaded. I need a name. I need it NOW.

I DO like the water, I thought. I always like good, cold water.

It was a fitful sleep that night. So much to do! But sometime near dawn, the answer came to me in a dream.

Two hands dripping with the coolest, cleanest water reached up from a vast beautiful pool offering me a gleaming silver tray. On the tray, shimmering with a life of their own, were the words ... The Inn at Sweet Water Farm. It's not a farm! I said to my dream. You know farmers work really hard, and this is just a house. Who am I to trick people into thinking that the inn is a farm and ...?

If you want to learn how to make a tart that everyone will gobble up, here's what you need to know.

If you want to skip the pie-dough-making part, go ahead. I won't tell if it's store-bought.   

The Pie Dough

You need:

1 cup all purpose flour
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 stick (that's 8 tablespoons or ¼ pound) unsalted butter (cold)
In a small glass, put 2 ice cubes into about 6 tablespoons of water. Set the water aside for later. (You probably won't use all the water.)

1. Mix the flour and salt together in a bowl.

2. Using a paring knife, slice the butter into ¼-inch slices (little "pats" of butter) and put them into the flour and salt mixture.

3. Work the butter into the flour with your fingers until the mixture is the texture of slightly wet sand.

4. It will be pretty moist at this point, but you need it to hold together, so add about 3 tablespoons of the ice water and squeeze the dough into a ball. Add a little more water if necessary to get it to hold together. You do NOT want it to crumble at this point.

5. Pat the dough into a disk about 6 inches in diameter, and wrap it in plastic wrap.

6. Refrigerate for at least 6 hours (this is a lie ... I have used it in as little as a half an hour, but I am a loosey-goosey pastry cook ... this is a shameful thing and I am not proud of it). You can freeze the dough at this point for up to 3 months.

The Onion Marmalade

You need: 

8 medium onions
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon coarse sea salt
1 teaspoon dried thyme, marjoram or oregano
or 2 teaspoons fresh herbs

1. Peel and cut the onions in half lengthwise. Cut off the tip on each end and slice length-wise in ½-inch slices.

2. Melt the butter in a large frying pan over medium heat.

(Frying pan soapbox alert: Cast iron is good, but any heavy-bottomed frying pan will do. No cheap, thin-bottomed pans for this, please. Onions will burn, the recipe won't work and we'll all feel bad. Cast iron is probably the least expensive frying pan you'll find, and you can even buy them at yard sales and flea markets, because you can scour them with steel wool to get any creepy stuff off and season them up again (for another time).

3. Add the onions. Do not season them.

4. Cook them until they are rich brown, which is beyond golden. Look at the picture. Stir often, especially at the end and ... wait for it.

(This is a good time to do dishes or clean the splatters off your kitchen cabinetry or do the windows over the kitchen sink ... told you I've become my mother! Cooking the onions takes between 20 and 45 minutes, depending on how much moisture is in them).

5. Let the onions stay in the pan off the heat when they are done. They still cook a little and exude more moisture.

6. Season them with salt and herbs and store in a glass canning jar in the refrigerator. They will keep for about a week.

Assembly

You need:

1½ cups onion marmalade
8 ounces soft, mild goat cheese (like Montrachet or Boucheron. I use our local Monterey Chevre)
13 olives, any kind. Pit them. (Use the best-quality olives you can afford)
coarse sea salt
fresh-cracked black pepper
olive oil for drizzling (use your fancy stuff. If you don't have some, go buy it. It's worth it. Food snobbery has its place.)
whatever fresh herbs you have handy (you can use dried herbs ... I do, in the winter).

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.

2. Roll out half the dough into a rough rectangular shape about 10 inches by 14 inches, as thinly as possible. Place the dough on parchment paper or a silicone baking mat on a rimless baking sheet. I bake it on a flat baking sheet on a SILPAT^®, because I am not afraid of silicon baking mats. If you are afraid of them, use parchment paper or just put the thing on a baking sheet. I don't think it would stick. Wrap the rest of the dough and freeze for later use.

3. Scatter 1½ cups of onion marmalade over the surface.

4. Drop teaspoons of the goat cheese on top of the onions.

5. Scatter the olives over the onions and cheese.

6. Drizzle with your best olive oil (I am using Corona Creek Olive Oil right now) and brush the edges of the tart with the oil.

7. Season with coarse sea salt.

8. Bake on the bottom rack of the oven or place the pan on a baking stone for 20 minutes, until tart edges are dark brown and cheese has begun to melt.

9. Grind fresh pepper over the tart, drizzle with a little more olive oil and, if it is summer, snip some fresh herbs on top.

10. Transfer to cutting board and cut with a large knife into serving pieces. Serve on the board.

11. Enjoy the praise!  Sometimes simple is best.