Start with the lemons. They should feel heavy for their size, the skin taut and fragrant even before you cut. A good lemon announces itself. Meyer lemons from a backyard tree or the farmers market will give you a curd so floral and bright that you will understand why generations of French grandmothers made this tart.

The raspberries come next. Look for berries with a soft matte finish, not shiny or hard. Shiny means underripe. Soft means they were picked at perfect ripeness and need to be used today. That is exactly what you want. If you find yourself at a market where the farmer lets you taste one, do it. You are looking for that balance of sweet and tart, the aliveness that fades within hours of picking.

This tart is an exercise in restraint. The shell is tender and buttery, made by pressing rather than rolling, so it stays delicate. The curd is simple: lemons, eggs, butter, sugar. Nothing more. When the ingredients are right, the technique becomes almost invisible. You are getting out of the way.

Make this for someone you love. The kind of dessert you carry carefully to the table, the raspberries trembling slightly, the whole thing almost too beautiful to cut into. Almost.