This Galette Tastes Like Spring (and Just as Unpredictable)

Someone once told me that making galettes is like forgiving yourself for not being able to roll a perfect pie crust. And wow, did that resonate! The first time I whipped up these strawberry–rhubarb galettes, I was in my tiny flat with barely enough counter space for my elbows, let alone baking projects. But something about that uneven, jammy filling bubbling out the sides just makes me happy everytime. My neighbor even poked her head in, sniffed, and offered to “supervise” the cooling process—she’s not subtle, bless her. Anyway, here’s my not-too-fancy guide for making these little rustic beauties, along with a few blunders and tweaks I’ve picked up along the way (including that one time I tried using lemon yogurt in the dough… eh, won’t do that again).

Why I Keep Coming Back to This Recipe

I bake these galettes whenever the markets are full of strawberries and that slightly grumpy old man with the rhubarb stand is back. My family goes a bit bonkers for these—they always swipe the crispiest edges off the tray. Sometimes I throw this together on a lazy Sunday; sometimes it’s a last-ditch effort to salvage slightly limp fruit in the fridge (no shame). Not gonna lie, rolling out dough still sometimes makes me mutter things under my breath. But the best thing? It’s forgiving. If your pastry looks like a lopsided hat, it’ll still taste like sunshine. (Oddly, that’s a compliment?) If the syrup leaks, all the better for the sticky, caramelized bits.

What You’ll Need (and What Could Be Different)

For the pastry:
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (but I’ve swapped in half whole wheat on occasion—slightly nutty, a little more hearty, you get me?)
1 tablespoon sugar (sometimes skip it if I’m feeling feisty)
1/2 teaspoon sea salt (or kosher salt if you’re feeling posh)
110g (about 8 tbsp) cold unsalted butter, diced (my gran always insisted on Kerrygold, but I haven’t noticed a dramatic difference)
4-5 tablespoons ice water (it’s usually closer to 4. Don’t go mad pouring it in. But if it’s dry, go for 5)
For the filling:
2 cups sliced strawberries (hulled, quartered or even just halved if they’re tiny. Frozen works if you’re in a pinch, but fresh is best)
1 1/2 cups diced rhubarb (about 2 long stalks. Don’t eat the leaves, they’re no good for you!)
1/2 cup sugar, plus extra for sprinkling (see note below about tartness)
2 tablespoons cornstarch (or plain flour in a pinch, but cornstarch keeps it a bit more silky)
1 teaspoon lemon zest (or a big splash of lemon juice if you’re not zesting today)
Extras:
1 egg, beaten (for the galette glow-up, aka egg wash)
Raw sugar or demerara, for sprinkling (but if all you’ve got is granulated, no one’s judging)

The How-To (Wobbles Welcome)

First up: in a big bowl, whisk your flour, sugar, and salt together. Add cold butter. Now, pretend you’re trying to break up the butter but not totally pulverize it—you want pea-sized lumps (this is where, yes, I love my pastry blender, but clean hands work better if I’m honest… less faff).
Drizzle in the ice water, tablespoon by tablespoon, tossing with a fork until the dough starts coming together. Honestly, it’s a bit like herding cats—if it goes crumbly, just squeeze it gently and say encouraging words.
Shape into a flat disc (or two if you want minis), wrap in plastic or cling film, and chill in the fridge about 45 minutes. If you forget it overnight? No big worry. I’ve done it—works fine.
While the dough chills, toss strawberries, rhubarb, sugar, cornstarch, and lemon zest in a bowl. Give it a good stir until everything’s lightly coated and glossy. This is where I always sneak a sliver of strawberry.
Grab your chilled dough, roll it out on a floured surface until it’s roughly a 12-inch wonky circle (mine looks like Australia most times). Transfer it to a parchment-lined baking tray as best you can. Don’t panic if it rips—a patch job with surplus dough is absolutely grand.
Heaping the filling in the center, leaving a 2-inch border free. Spoon some of the juicy syrup over if you like it messy (I do), otherwise leave most in the bowl.
Now, fold the edges of dough over the fruit, pleating as you go. This is honestly my favorite bit—it never looks identical twice and that’s the joy. Just tuck in any holes. If bits fall off, stick ’em back on.
Brush the pastry edges with your egg wash (or milk if you’re out of eggs—been there). Sprinkle chunky sugar all around for crunch.
Bake at 200°C / 400°F for 35-40 minutes, until deep golden and the juices bubble like the world’s best fruit lava lamp. Don’t fret if some leaks out—that caramelized mess on the pan? Heaven.
Cool on the tray (I know, patience!) for 15 minutes before slicing into wedges. Realistically, we usually nibble at the edges while it’s still warm because who can wait?

Notes from My Kitchen Attempts

If your strawberries are super sweet, reduce the sugar just a touch; if your rhubarb’s got that real “whoa” tartness, keep it as is. I once tried making this with just brown sugar for some extra caramel flavor, but it didn’t quite set right for me.
An extra sprinkle of cornstarch on really juicy fruit helps stop a soggy bottom. But, honestly? If it gets messy, just serve in bowls with a spoon like a rustic crumble and shrug.
Don’t skip chilling the dough—I tried endlessly to roll it warm (impatient much) and all you get is breakage and swearing.

Variations (and That One Flop)

Blackberries + plums instead of strawberries/rhubarb: gorgeous, a bit moodier, but still worked a treat.
A teaspoon of vanilla extract in the filling if you’re feeling fancy. Makes it feel a bit posher, if that’s your thing.
One time I added rosemary (fresh, a little too enthusiastically) because someone on TV did. Didn’t love it. Too piney! Maybe stick to herbs on the side for this one.

Do You Need Fancy Kit? Eh, Not Really

Sure, a pastry blender is handy, but if you don’t have one, two butter knives crossed in a bowl or just your (clean) fingers do the trick—just work quick so your butter stays cool. Rolling pin? Wine bottle. No shame.

Leftovers and Storage

They’ll keep, covered on the counter, for a day or so, or in the fridge if it’s hot out. But honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a day! If by some miracle you have leftovers, I reckon it tastes even better the next morning with coffee.

Serving? Go Wild (Or Just Do Ice Cream)

We do wedges warm, sometimes with a big spoon of crème fraîche or a messy blob of vanilla ice cream. My dad swears it’s best with cold milk and a spoon. I think whipped cream with a sprinkling of lemon zest is a bit of all right.

What I Wish I’d Known (Pro Tips)

I once tried to skip the chilling step—huge mistake. The dough melts and gets rubbery. Chill it, even if you hate waiting.
Let it cool a bit before slicing. (Ask me about the time I cut into one too hot and the whole thing just slid into a puddle. Fun. Tasty, but no wedge.)
Don’t overfill. You’ll be tempted. But remember: with galettes, less is more, otherwise chaos wins.

Got Questions? (Actual Ones I’ve Heard or Sent Myself)

Can I use frozen fruit? Yep! Toss it in still frozen with a tablespoon extra cornstarch. It’ll be a touch more jammy, but honestly, that’s half the draw.
I don’t have rhubarb—what else can I use? Try all strawberries, or swap in thin-sliced apples or blackberries. It’ll be a different vibe, but it works.
How do you know when it’s really done? The juices ought to bubble thickly and the crust is deeply golden—not just beige. If the fruit’s still watery, give it five more minutes.
My dough cracked all over! Did I ruin it? Nope, embrace the rustic look. Patch it a bit, brush with egg wash, and know you’re in good company.
What’s up with my soggy bottom? Extra wet fruit or not enough cornstarch. Next time, add a sprinkle more starch, or just eat it with a spoon. Problem solved.

One last (not entirely relevant) thing: If you’re making this while listening to 70s pop, I firmly believe it tastes 10% happier. That’s good science, right?