The Dordogne is a place of quiet abundance — truffles, foie gras, confit, and, in the end, something simple and perfumed like this: the tourtière. It’s a pie, yes, but not quite. The dough is so fine it’s almost invisible, like silk stretched over sunlight. Between the layers rest apples kissed with sugar and Armagnac — a local liqueur that smells of oak and nostalgia.

 

We once had it after a long Sunday lunch in Monpazier. The grandmother of the house brought it out on a chipped plate, dusted with sugar and still warm from the oven. She said, “C’est fragile, comme la vie.” And then she smiled — because it was true.

 

The Recipe: Tourtière du Périgord

 

Serves 6–8

Time: 1 hour 30 minutes (plus resting time)

 

Ingredients

 

• 250 g (2 cups) all-purpose flour

• 2 tbsp neutral oil (sunflower or grapeseed)

• 1 egg

• Pinch of salt

• 80 ml (⅓ cup) lukewarm water

• 6 small firm apples, peeled and thinly sliced

• 80 g (⅓ cup) sugar

• 2 tbsp Armagnac (or brandy)

• 80 g (6 tbsp) butter, melted

• Powdered sugar, for dusting

 

Method

 

In a bowl, mix flour and salt. Add the egg and oil, then gradually pour in the water, kneading until smooth. Form into a ball, wrap, and let rest for at least 30 minutes.

 

Preheat oven to 190°C (375°F).

Divide the dough into two parts. On a large floured cloth, roll one portion until paper-thin — so thin you can almost see through it.

 

Brush with melted butter and layer it into a buttered pie dish. Arrange a layer of apple slices, sprinkle with sugar, and drizzle with Armagnac. Repeat until all apples are used.

 

Roll out the second half of the dough just as thin, and gently cover the apples, tucking the edges under. Brush generously with melted butter.

 

Bake for about 40–45 minutes until crisp and golden. Dust with powdered sugar before serving.

 

It should shatter like autumn leaves under your fork.

 

 

🍷 Wine Pairing

 

A late-harvest Monbazillac — golden, honeyed, and from just down the road — is perfection. If you can’t find it, a chilled Sauternes or even a glass of sweet cider will echo the apples beautifully.

 

 

A Note from the Table

 

Tourtière isn’t a showpiece — it’s a whisper. Light, fleeting, almost shy. But when you taste it, the world slows down for a moment.

 

And if you ever wander through the Sunday market in Sarlat and smell apples, butter, and Armagnac in the air, follow it. Someone’s baking a tourtière — and they’ll likely offer you a slice.