rushthatspeaks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks) wrote2012-09-17 03:23 am
rushthatspeaks) wrote2012-09-17 03:23 am
Entry tags:
like pumpkin, only way way better
Several years ago I wrote down in my commonplace book a very simple recipe by Elizabeth David; I was sitting in some used bookstore or out-of-town library or other, and it was not a book of hers I've seen round since, although nothing of hers is that rare. But I knew I'd forget to do it if I didn't write it down, which is why I have a commonplace book in the first place. (Well, and also for people's phone numbers, and the addresses of various restaurants, and the list of things I want to get various library systems to cough up, and this-and-that quotation, and because ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
papersky gave me the book and it was one of those Christmas presents that one can't figure out how one survived before having, but I digress.)
sovay and I finally cooked it, and everyone ought to go and do likewise, because it is brilliant.
Dried Apricot Fool,
freely paraphrased from Elizabeth David
1/2 lb. unsulfured dried apricots. This is Very Important. You cannot do this with sulfured ones; they just won't. Finding unsulfured dried apricots that weren't as shriveled and hardened as a wood ear mushroom is the reason it took me five years to make this recipe, andsovay was the one who eventually found them. (Yes, I know Trader Joe's theoretically carries them. Theirs suck.) Unsulfured dried apricots will be a warm shade of brown, not remotely orange; will have, as the only ingredient, 'apricots'; and may say somewhere on the label 'unsulfured' or 'no preservatives'. They should be plump and moderately soft to the touch.
Honey.
Water.
A pot to put the apricots in, with a lid.
1/4 pint lightly whipped cream, just to soft-peak stage.
Put the apricots in the pot, and just cover them with water. Put on the lid. Leave them to soak for, oh, let's say at least four hours, or overnight, if that's more convenient.
When they've soaked, they will be plump, soft, squishy, and very close to disintegrating outright into the water. Put the entire pot, lid on, adding nothing, into a 330F oven for one hour.
Pour off the water. It will be cider-brown and smell and taste strongly of apricot; I kept it and am calling it apricot simple syrup and using it as such, because it needs no sugar. Coarsely puree the apricots.
Elizabeth David thinks you ought to coarsely strain them, too, at this point, but I can't see why. I suppose if you have any bits that resolutely failed to stop being hard and crunchy you ought to.
Mix in honey to taste. About two tablespoons, maybe? We were very doubtful about the honey, because the apricots are quite sweet enough, but it turns out to add not sweetness but complexity; don't skip it.
When the apricots are cool enough not to curdle the whipped cream, beat the whipped cream in. Elizabeth David would like you to chill the fool now; I'd say, chill at least long enough to get it to room temperature, as it is better than when hot, but you don't need to go all the way to cold.
The result resembles a pumpkin custard, except that it is better than anything of that sort I have ever had. It is as complex as though it had a week of careful stewing with spices, it has none of the tinny taste you can get from canned pumpkin or pumpkin cooked in the wrong pot, it maintains the perfect consistency and doesn't go watery, and it also tastes like apricots, but as though somebody achieved some kind of perfect apricot-pumpkin meld on, like, a genetic level. I instantly wanted to put it in a pie. (nineweaving points out that one should probably blind-bake a pie shell and do it as a chilled, molded pie, or the cream will run when it heats up. I am not sure whether I will try it that way, or beat an egg into it and make a cooked pie.)
Elizabeth David also thinks that if you are feeling particularly flush, you can beat ground almonds into it, too. My brain both trips over itself attempting to cope with the amount of sheer deliciousness that would produce, and starts muttering things about frangipane and phyllo and I could make some honey candy on the side...
... which is my usual attempt to complicate the hell out of a very simple and delicious dessert which is perfect for fall and requires no thought whatsoever except when you are finding the apricots.
Seriously. Do this. It is amazing.
papersky gave me the book and it was one of those Christmas presents that one can't figure out how one survived before having, but I digress.)sovay and I finally cooked it, and everyone ought to go and do likewise, because it is brilliant.Dried Apricot Fool,
freely paraphrased from Elizabeth David
1/2 lb. unsulfured dried apricots. This is Very Important. You cannot do this with sulfured ones; they just won't. Finding unsulfured dried apricots that weren't as shriveled and hardened as a wood ear mushroom is the reason it took me five years to make this recipe, and
sovay was the one who eventually found them. (Yes, I know Trader Joe's theoretically carries them. Theirs suck.) Unsulfured dried apricots will be a warm shade of brown, not remotely orange; will have, as the only ingredient, 'apricots'; and may say somewhere on the label 'unsulfured' or 'no preservatives'. They should be plump and moderately soft to the touch.Honey.
Water.
A pot to put the apricots in, with a lid.
1/4 pint lightly whipped cream, just to soft-peak stage.
Put the apricots in the pot, and just cover them with water. Put on the lid. Leave them to soak for, oh, let's say at least four hours, or overnight, if that's more convenient.
When they've soaked, they will be plump, soft, squishy, and very close to disintegrating outright into the water. Put the entire pot, lid on, adding nothing, into a 330F oven for one hour.
Pour off the water. It will be cider-brown and smell and taste strongly of apricot; I kept it and am calling it apricot simple syrup and using it as such, because it needs no sugar. Coarsely puree the apricots.
Elizabeth David thinks you ought to coarsely strain them, too, at this point, but I can't see why. I suppose if you have any bits that resolutely failed to stop being hard and crunchy you ought to.
Mix in honey to taste. About two tablespoons, maybe? We were very doubtful about the honey, because the apricots are quite sweet enough, but it turns out to add not sweetness but complexity; don't skip it.
When the apricots are cool enough not to curdle the whipped cream, beat the whipped cream in. Elizabeth David would like you to chill the fool now; I'd say, chill at least long enough to get it to room temperature, as it is better than when hot, but you don't need to go all the way to cold.
The result resembles a pumpkin custard, except that it is better than anything of that sort I have ever had. It is as complex as though it had a week of careful stewing with spices, it has none of the tinny taste you can get from canned pumpkin or pumpkin cooked in the wrong pot, it maintains the perfect consistency and doesn't go watery, and it also tastes like apricots, but as though somebody achieved some kind of perfect apricot-pumpkin meld on, like, a genetic level. I instantly wanted to put it in a pie. (
nineweaving points out that one should probably blind-bake a pie shell and do it as a chilled, molded pie, or the cream will run when it heats up. I am not sure whether I will try it that way, or beat an egg into it and make a cooked pie.)Elizabeth David also thinks that if you are feeling particularly flush, you can beat ground almonds into it, too. My brain both trips over itself attempting to cope with the amount of sheer deliciousness that would produce, and starts muttering things about frangipane and phyllo and I could make some honey candy on the side...
... which is my usual attempt to complicate the hell out of a very simple and delicious dessert which is perfect for fall and requires no thought whatsoever except when you are finding the apricots.
Seriously. Do this. It is amazing.