Sriracha Chocolate & Dulce de Leche Tart

When I was a kid, probably around 4 or 5 years old, I rubbed my eyes and all hell broke loose. Next thing I knew, my mother had me bent over the bathroom sink and was repeatedly splashing water into my eyes and frantically asking me what exactly I had touched. In my memory, this is all a blur of the bright bathroom lights, moisture, burning, and screaming, coming from both me and my mother. I couldn’t remember touching anything but the potpourri at my friend Kaitlyn’s house. For years, I was worried that if I touched the wrong potpourri, I would be doomed to relive this experience.

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