RANDY'S FRUIT COBBLER

Over my thirty-six years in California, my cookbook collection grew at an exponential rate. Not only did I purchase my own books, but I was also the recipient for hundreds of livres about French cooking that publishers sent me hoping I would select them for the Joie de Vivre catalog. When I moved back to France a year ago, I had to cull out the “special” ones from my library. If I had listened to Marie Kondo and only packed the books that sparked joy, I would have kept 90% of my collection. It was agonizing to decide who would get the ax.

A well-used recipe

I also had a binder of loose recipes clipped from magazines, recopied from newspapers, or collected from friends and family: Michelle’s chocolate mayonnaise cake, Justin’s zesty chili, Debbie’s carrot cake, Randy’s fruit cobbler are some examples. They have yet to emerge from the bowels of the garage, buried among the 356 cartons that we are gradually unpacking. Luckily, Randy prepared his famous cobbler when we visited in March and I took a photo of his recipe.

Apricot and nectarine cobbler

Actually, it’s Grandma Lang’s recipe. It recalls a time when people cooked from scratch (and from memory), perhaps jotted down a few instructions on index cards, and usually favored margarine over butter because it was cheaper and more available. I never got to meet Grandma Lang so, to me, this cobbler represents my brother-in-law’s signature dessert.

Strawberry and rhubarb: always a winning combination.

I don’t believe there is a French traduction for that word. Unlike other American foodstuff like hamburgers, tacos, milkshakes, brownies, or chocolate cookies, the cobbler has yet to make it to this side of the Atlantic. Compared to the regimented arrangement of fruits on French tarts and cakes, cobbler looks a bit free-formed and sloppy. Clafoutis could almost pass for a cobbler’s cousin but the batter is decidedly different. At any rate, I love the unique texture of cobbler and its versatility: just like Randy, I use whatever fruits are in season and vary the flavoring agents accordingly.

Simmering peaches and blackcurrant

Here are some of the combinations I like:
Apple, raisins, cinnamon, Calvados (or rum)
Strawberry, rhubarb, orange blossom water (or orange zest)
Apricot, sliced almonds, almond extract
Pear, cranberries, walnuts, Bourbon
Mixed red fruits, lemon zest, vanilla
Peach, blackcurrant, crème de cassis

All set to go into the oven

Pèche et cassis is my favorite. Blackcurrant is in season right now and good peaches are appearing on the market stalls. I never saw blackcurrants while I was in California: perhaps they are available in the East or Midwest? You could substitute blueberries for blackcurrant if necessary. Just remember to always choose fruits that are ripe but firm. And use butter, not margarine: tout est meilleur avec du beurre…

Le cobbler à la pèche et au cassis

Randy’s fruit cobbler
Le “cobbler” de Randy

For the fruit filling:
4 cups of fruit
½ cup sugar
1 Tbsp flour
Flavoring of your choice

 For the batter:
4 Tbsp butter (1/2 stick)
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
2/3 cup milk

Preheat oven to 375º. Mix together all ingredients for the fruit filling in a saucepan and bring to a simmer so that everything melts together. Place butter in an 8” x 8” Pyrex dish and melt in the microwave. Mix dry ingredients for the batter; gradually add the milk until well blended. Pour batter over melted butter and top with the hot fruit mixture. Bake 25-30 minutes.

Vocabulary
Le livre: book
La traduction: translation
La crème de cassis: blackcurrant liqueur; also used to make Kir when mixed with white wine
La pèche: peach
Le cassis: blackcurrant
Tout est meilleur avec du beurre: everything tastes better with butter

A PLUM LIFE

Since my return to the farm I’ve been feeling very domestic. It is a retour aux sources to the place that’s been part of me, since my very first visit: I was two months old. Throughout their retirement, my grandparents raised ducks, chicken, and rabbits. They also grew vegetables to feed animals (maïs, betteraves, topinambours) and humans (pommes de terre, haricots verts, asperges, petits pois, fèves.) There was also a small potager planted with leeks, carrots, tomatoes, and a variety of lettuces. Fruit trees dotted the fields. Growing your own produce and eating in season was a double-edged sword. First, you got all excited when harvesting the first green beans; two weeks later, you tried to invent new dishes to use the above-mentioned vegetables; three weeks into the season, you were insanely tired of équeuter the beans and canning the seemingly endless crop.

My quetsche tree is ready for its close up.

The farm is no longer in an active state but some of the fruit trees remain. We arrived too late for cherries and apricots but August blessed us with an abundance of plums, more than enough to share with family, birds, and wasps. By all accounts, this year was a bumper crop for fruits à noyaux.

Although I frequently purchased local produce from Farmers’ markets while living in California, nothing beats the taste and texture of a perfectly ripe fruit, just picked from the tree and eaten on the spot. But when strong winds knocked down a large branch of my quetsche tree, we found ourselves with an abundance of riches. Not being equipped for canning at the moment, I resorted to making compotes, clafoutis, and tarts. If I find myself in a similar predicament next year, I might just have a local bouilleur de cru distill my excess fruit and turn it into eau de vie.

Sweet golden mirabelles

The most exciting thing for me was to feast on varieties of plums that I rarely –or never– encountered in the US. The Mirabelle plum is virtually unknown there: in fact, I can’t really find a translation for it. Some call it a “cherry plum” because it is the size of a fat cherry; one of my suppliers used to label it “fancy plum”, which was more confusing than helpful. Those who have seen and tasted a mirabelle always recognize its (often flecked) dark yellow skin, yellow flesh, and sweet flavor. It’s a specialty of the Lorraine area where 80% of the production is grown.

Reines-Claudes stay green even when ripe.

My personal favorite is the Reine Claude (greengage), named after the wife of King François 1er. Round and firm, its skin is green even when the plum is ripe; its flesh is green as well. It retains a touch of acidity which balances its sweetness. I think they make fabulous tarts: they soften but do not lose too much juice.

Luscious quetsches; could make a good brandy, perhaps…

Very prevalent in our area is the Quetsche (damson) and its cousin the Prune d’Ente (the one they dry to make those wonderful French prunes in Agen.) The oval purple fruit brightly contrasts from the thick green leaves of the tree. Its light red flesh is a bit juicier than the Reine Claude.

Two weeks ago, I found myself in the middle of the perfect plum storm: I actually had baskets of all three varieties at the same time! Not wanting to play favorite, I felt under obligation to celebrate them all in one dish.

THREE PLUM TART
Tarte aux trois prunes
Serves 6 to 8

One sheet of pastry (home-made or store-bought)
2 lbs plums, three assorted varieties
4 tablespoons almond meal
2 tablespoons brown sugar

Preheat oven to 375º F. Drop the pastry into a 12” tart mold. Wash, half and pit the plums. Spread the almond meal evenly on the surface of the dough. Arrange the plums in crust; sprinkle with brown sugar. Bake for 30 minutes or until crust is golden brown.

Vocabulary
Le retour aux sources: lit. return to the origins, homecoming
Le maïs: corn
La betterave: beet
Le topinambour: Jerusalem artichoke
La pomme de terre: potato
Le haricot vert: green bean
L’asperge (f): asparagus
Le petit pois: green pea
La fève: fava bean
Le potager: the vegetable garden
Equeuter: to trim the ends of the beans
Le fruit à noyau: stone fruit
La quetsche: damson plum
Le bouilleur de cru: private distiller
L’eau de vie (f): brandy

FRAISES AU VIN

Living in California has its advantages: one of them is the abundance of fresh produce, which makes it a paradise for cooks. I got an early education in that field, pun intended: my paternal grandparents returned to a farming/gardening life when they retired and I spent countless vacation hours helping them in the vineyard, harvesting asparagus, shelling fresh peas, trimming green beans for canning, gathering potatoes for winter storage, and picking strawberries to be served that very evening. For me, there were only two kinds of strawberries: the plump round ones that I picked in grandpa’s garden and the tiny elongated kind that grew wild in his woods.

The Gariguette is the most popular strawberry variety in France

The latter (fraises des bois) I would just enjoy on the spot while hunting for mushrooms as it took a lot of time and effort to gather enough for a family dessert! The strawberries grown in the garden received more consideration: they could turn color and ripen quite quickly and had to be closely monitored. I always wanted to harvest them at their finest, late in the afternoon, after they had soaked in the warmth of the sun. I would rinse them in the cool water from the well, hull them, then set them up in grandma’s white saladier until it was time for dessert. We ate on their own, perhaps with a bit of sugar or paired with the fromage blanc made by Monsieur Adam, our neighbor. Grandpa being diabetic, sugar was off limits for him; he usually enjoyed his berries in a bowl, doused with the red wine he made from his own grapes.

Mara des Bois, a cultivated strawberry with a flavor reminiscent of wild strawberries

I didn’t pay that much attention to which variety of berries he grew back then: why would I bother when they always tasted so delicious, freshly plucked from the garden and consumed within hours? As I got involved in the specialty food business, it became my duty (et mon plaisir) to quiz my suppliers about what kind of strawberries they used in the various jams, preserves or conserves I sold.

Cigaline is a variety derived from the Gariguette but with a touch less acidity than its "sister"

Since I usually fly back to France every May, I’ve had many opportunities to linger at the outdoor markets and study what is displayed on the stalls. There are more than one hundred different varieties of strawberries but three of them are top-ranked in France. The Gariguette is a real star: medium-sized and elongated, with an orangey red color, it’s an early variety that’s sweet with a touch of acidity. The Mara des Bois is also much sought after: it’s fleshy and juicy, exhibiting a brilliant deep red color and a round shape, with the sweet and musky aroma of wild strawberries. The Charlotte is a favorite among children: bright red color, heart-shaped, firm, sweet, and juicy, it makes beautiful tarts and jams. Once in a while, you might even find white strawberries like the Anablanca, one of the oldest varieties (white strawberries were brought back to France from Chile in 1728 by explorer Jacques-Cartier.) Surprisingly, their taste is reminiscent of… pineapple!

When you have access to freshly picked fruits, simple preparations are best to showcase their flavor. There is a produce stand on my way home from work and that Chinese family has been growing strawberries for decades: the strawberry beds sit right behind the tiny shed and the fruits are picked daily. As soon as the harvest starts, I stop by and pick up a pint or two: they are so perfectly ripe, they don’t keep more than a day or two. Most of the time, we just eat them out of hand. Sometimes, I add some cream. And sometimes, I tip my hat to Grandpa and serve them with red wine.

Fraises au Vin
Strawberries in Wine
Serves 6

1 1/4 lb strawberries
2 cups red wine
3/4 cup sugar
1 stick cinnamon
1 star anise
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp crushed pink peppercorns
Mint or basil leaves for garnish

Wash, dry, and hull the strawberries; halve or quarter them depending on size and reserve in a large bowl. Pour the wine into a saucepan; add sugar, cinnamon, star anise, and balsamic vinegar. Bring to a boil then simmer 5 minutes. Remove cinnamon and star anise; pour over the strawberries. Let cool then refrigerate until ready to serve. Divide into 6 individual bowls and sprinkle with crushed pink peppercorns.

Sylvaine’s tips: use a light red wine (Beaujolais, Gamay, or Cabernet Franc, for instance.) Pour the wine mixture on the strawberries while it's hot: the fruit will be slightly poached. If pink peppercorns are not available, you can replace them with freshly ground black pepper. 

Vocabulary
La fraise des bois: wild strawberry
Le saladier: salad bowl
Le fromage blanc: French “cottage” cheese
Mon plaisir: my pleasure

CANDIED MEYER LEMON STRIPS

At the beginning of December, Mom would always buy a large box of boules praliné to usher in the holiday season. She stored the box in the dining room buffet and would pull it out at the end of dinner so we could all enjoy a sweet treat: a sure sign the holiday season had started. I was also very fond of marrons glacés and she would purchase a box of them as well, along with the less expensive brisures, not as presentable but just as tasty. Historically, the purpose of candying fruits was not to celebrate Christmas but to extend their shelf-life by replacing their moisture with sugar, a natural preservative. Fruits confits (also called fruits glacés) are not difficult to make but they are labor intensive and require space. The basic principle is to immerse the fruit in syrup, simmer it for a while, pull it out, let it dry, and repeat the operation over several days until the fruit has been saturated.

I confess that I’ve never attempted to candy my own chestnuts but there is a prolific Meyer lemon tree in my mother-in-law’s backyard. Last weekend, I decided to make a batch a candied lemon zest. It’s an easy and tasty introduction to home-made candied fruits: because the zest is thin, the whole process can be completed in a couple of days. Pack the candied strips in pretty tins or cellophane bags closed with a festive ribbon: they make irresistible hostess gifts.

Vocabulary
La boule praliné: a chocolate confection with a hazelnut ganache center
Le marron glacé: candied chestnut
La brisure: a broken piece
Les fruits confits: candied fruits

Candied zests waiting to be rolled in sugar

Candied Meyer Lemon Strips
Zestes de citron confits

6 large Meyer lemons
2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup water
½ cup Meyer lemon juice
½ cup granulated sugar to coat the zests

Cut both ends of the lemons. Quarter the lemons and cut each quarter into 4 or 6 strips: each strip should be about 3/8” thick. With a spoon, scrape the membrane and pulp away from the strips of zest and reserve. Fill a saucepan with water and bring to a boil. Add the lemon zest and blanch for 5 minutes. Strain and repeat the process two more times to remove the bitterness. Set the peels in a colander and drain. Meanwhile, squeeze the juice from the reserved pulp (yes, you may use your hands or pack the pulp in a square of cheesecloth and extract the juice.) Place the sugar, water, and lemon juice in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add the lemon peels. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for about an hour. Drain the peels and set them on a wire rack for 24 hours to air dry. Save the lemon syrup to jazz up a glass of Champagne or moisten a pound cake. Place the sugar in a shallow bowl and roll each peel in the sugar to coat. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to one month.

Of course, you can use the same recipe with oranges or another citrus.