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THE APRICOT AND FRENCH CUISINE
FranceToday.com
May 26 2014
by Susan Herrmann Loomis
May 26, 2014
Apricots have just entered the market for the year, their brushed
orange and red skins like a soft, tender cheek to plant a kiss upon.
The apricot has an allure that is hard to define, for it's
self-contained, keeping its true self hidden from view. Its skin is
beautiful -ranging from a pale orange to an almost angry, red-tinged
sunset hue - but unlike a peach or nectarine, the apricot emits
little perfume.
Roast guinea hen with stuffed apricots.
The truly wonderful aspect of the apricot is its soft flesh, which
drips with intensely sweet, slightly thick juice and tastes like a
cross between the finest honey and a wild, sun-kissed berry. What
might otherwise be a heavy, filling fruit is kept light and precious
by a pleasing touch of acidity. Apricots' short season makes them
doubly attractive - they arrive in June and are but a fleeting memory
by late August.
Well-Travelled
That apricots have a wild flavour is no surprise as they originate
from China, growing wild until some 2,000 years ago, when their
cultivation is first documented. From China, the apricot travelled
along the spice route, making its way to Armenia, Turkey and other
points in the Orient. Because the fruit flourished in Armenia, it was
thought to have originated there and it is said that the Romans who
gave the apricot its name, Prunus armeniaca. The Saracens introduced
the apricot to Spain and the Mediterranean in the 7th Century,
yet its cultivation only began in France during the 15th Century,
in the gardens at Versailles, under the watchful eye of Louis XIV.
Although Versailles may have been the apricot's first official French
home, it really thrives in warmer temperatures. Today, it's grown
from the Pyrénées Orientales, through Languedoc-Roussillon and
Provence, then up into the Rhône Valley. It tolerates cold nights,
but needs high daytime temperatures to burnish its skin and ripen
its juicy flesh.
Short Season
There are more than 200 varieties of apricots currently being
studied by French fruit researchers, for it's now the third most
cultivated fruit in the country. They're looking not only to develop
new varieties, but also to extend the apricot's short growing season.
The French are always so good at offering produce at the height of its
season, but trip up a bit with the apricot, through sheer impatience.
This is easy to understand, as France has two very bleak food months,
from mid-March to mid-April, when apples and pears have lost their
vigour, to be replaced by tasteless imports. This time of the year is
too soon for really good strawberries, cherries are still a half-season
away and France's citizens are champing at the bit for something fresh
and beautiful to eat, which will reassure them that summer is indeed
on the way. Producers oblige, but the first, pale-orange apricots to
show up in the market place, sometimes as early as mid-May, are as
hard as little rocks, boast high acidity and should be avoided. Sadly,
apricots don't ripen once off the tree so these early arrivals will
develop sugars and change texture, but remain hard and uninteresting.
According to Bruno Loquet, engineer at the Centre Technique
Interprofessionel des Fruits et Légumes in the Gard region, the trick
to ensuring excellent apricots is harvesting at the perfect moment.
Not the moment when they're most ripe, but that satisfies all
commercial criteria. Growers judge this moment by the colour of
the apricot - its background must no longer be green, but an even
orange-to-red.
Then, the apricots can be handled and shipped with ease, and will
evolve into fruit that is pleasing to the consumer. If apricots are
harvested too soon - as is the case with those early season 'rocks'
- it won't evolve.
How can you tell when an apricot is at its peak? There's no sense in
talking in terms of ripeness, unless you have your own tree. Instead,
we'll talk evolution, and it's all in the eye. An ideal apricot takes
on a certain luminescence, as though lit from within.
A really good apricot won't bruise if you touch it, but it should give
a little when lightly squeezed. Depending on the variety, as noted,
the skin should be a vivid orange-to-red colour. Oddly, perhaps because
the skin of an apricot is very slightly furry, it may feel almost warm.
Culinary Patience
Once you have determined the evolutionary state of the apricot, what
you plan to do with it enters the picture. If you want to eat it naked,
softer and redder is best, and the same goes if you're going to make
jam or compote. For a tart, or any other use where you'd like the
apricot to maintain some shape, slightly under-evolved is best. The
apricot will be a bit more acidic at this stage, though it will have
plenty of flavour.
So once you've got your apricots, what will you do with them? Well,
you have to make apricot jam, and when you do, save a pit for every
jar. Inside of an apricot is a rock-hard pit which envelopes a bitter
almond. Crack the pit - using a hammer, not a nutcracker - and put a
bitter almond in each jar of jam to lightly scent it with a haunting,
alluring almond flavour that will elevate it well above the ordinary.
If you're going to make a tart, choose the prettiest, most reddish
orange apricots you can. Or for stuffed apricots, to roast with fowl,
fish or meat, pick a firm specimen that won't disintegrate during
the cooking process. Should you feel adventuresome, I recommend the
recipe on the right - use slightly firm apricots.
Above all, when it comes to the apricot, patience is the operative
word. Use your patience and the rewards are rich and satisfying:
a luxurious, honeyed flavour and a sensuous juice that is like
nothing else.
Roast Guinea Hen with Stuffed Apricots
Pintade aux abricots farcis
Serves 4-6
One whole farm-raised guinea hen (3-4 pounds, 1.5-2kg) at room
temperature, giblets removed but reserved Fine sea salt and freshly
ground black pepper 1 lemon, cut in half
Several bay leaves 1â~A~D4 teaspoon ground cardamom 1 tablespoon
unsalted butter, softened
For the Apricots:
12 apricots 1 clove garlic, peeled 1/3 cup pistachios, salted 1
large egg yolk 1 scant tablespoon mild honey 1â~A~D4 teaspoon ground
cardamom Fine sea salt 2 tablespoons (30g) unsalted butter, chilled,
cut into 12 equally-sized pieces
1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F (230 degrees C).
2. Season the cavity of the guinea hen with salt and pepper, then
stuff it with the lemon, the bay leaves and the giblets.
3. Blend the ground cardamom with the butter. Loosen the skin from
the breast meat of the guinea hen. Reaching carefully under the skin,
rub the meat with the butter mixture. Truss the guinea hen.
4. Place the guinea hen in a roasting pan and pour 1 cup of water
around it. Roast for 45 minutes, checking once to be sure there's
liquid in the bottom of the pan. If necessary, add more water, to
keep at least 1â~A~D4-inch of liquid in the pan.
5. While the guinea hen is roasting, make a short slice in each of
the apricots and remove their pits, leaving the fruit as intact as
is possible. Reserve the pits.
6. Crush the garlic in a mortar and pestle with a large pinch of salt.
Add the pistachios and continue crushing until they're nearly minced.
Stir in the egg yolk, honey, cardamom and a pinch of salt. Divide
the mixture among the apricots, stuffing it into the space left by
each pit. Place the apricots around the guinea hen, with the 'cut'
pointing upwards, along with the reserved pits. Add water around the
guinea hen so the pan isn't dry. Roast for 15 minutes.
7. When the guinea hen is roasted - to test for doneness, pierce
the thigh joint with a sharp knife and the juices should run clear -
transfer it to a cutting board with a trough around it, to catch the
juices. Sprinkle the guinea hen all over with salt, then turn it on
its breast so that the juices run into the meat, and let it rest.
8. Dot the apricots with the chilled pieces of unsalted butter, pushing
the butter down into the softened flesh of the fruit, and return
them to the oven to roast until the apricots are softened and golden,
this should take 10 to 15 minutes. When done, discard the apricot pits.
9. To serve, cut the guinea hen into serving pieces. Remove the
giblets, lemon and the bay leaves from the cavity. Discard the bay
leaves. Place the guinea hen and giblets on the platter and squeeze
over the lemon. Arrange the stuffed apricots around the guinea hen
and serve.
Susan Herrmann Loomis teaches cooking classes in Normandy and Paris.
Find her cookbooks online in the France Today bookstore.
Originally published in the August-September 2013 issue of France Today
http://www.francetoday.com/articles/2014/05/26/the_apricot_and_french_cuisine.html
From: A. Papazian
FranceToday.com
May 26 2014
by Susan Herrmann Loomis
May 26, 2014
Apricots have just entered the market for the year, their brushed
orange and red skins like a soft, tender cheek to plant a kiss upon.
The apricot has an allure that is hard to define, for it's
self-contained, keeping its true self hidden from view. Its skin is
beautiful -ranging from a pale orange to an almost angry, red-tinged
sunset hue - but unlike a peach or nectarine, the apricot emits
little perfume.
Roast guinea hen with stuffed apricots.
The truly wonderful aspect of the apricot is its soft flesh, which
drips with intensely sweet, slightly thick juice and tastes like a
cross between the finest honey and a wild, sun-kissed berry. What
might otherwise be a heavy, filling fruit is kept light and precious
by a pleasing touch of acidity. Apricots' short season makes them
doubly attractive - they arrive in June and are but a fleeting memory
by late August.
Well-Travelled
That apricots have a wild flavour is no surprise as they originate
from China, growing wild until some 2,000 years ago, when their
cultivation is first documented. From China, the apricot travelled
along the spice route, making its way to Armenia, Turkey and other
points in the Orient. Because the fruit flourished in Armenia, it was
thought to have originated there and it is said that the Romans who
gave the apricot its name, Prunus armeniaca. The Saracens introduced
the apricot to Spain and the Mediterranean in the 7th Century,
yet its cultivation only began in France during the 15th Century,
in the gardens at Versailles, under the watchful eye of Louis XIV.
Although Versailles may have been the apricot's first official French
home, it really thrives in warmer temperatures. Today, it's grown
from the Pyrénées Orientales, through Languedoc-Roussillon and
Provence, then up into the Rhône Valley. It tolerates cold nights,
but needs high daytime temperatures to burnish its skin and ripen
its juicy flesh.
Short Season
There are more than 200 varieties of apricots currently being
studied by French fruit researchers, for it's now the third most
cultivated fruit in the country. They're looking not only to develop
new varieties, but also to extend the apricot's short growing season.
The French are always so good at offering produce at the height of its
season, but trip up a bit with the apricot, through sheer impatience.
This is easy to understand, as France has two very bleak food months,
from mid-March to mid-April, when apples and pears have lost their
vigour, to be replaced by tasteless imports. This time of the year is
too soon for really good strawberries, cherries are still a half-season
away and France's citizens are champing at the bit for something fresh
and beautiful to eat, which will reassure them that summer is indeed
on the way. Producers oblige, but the first, pale-orange apricots to
show up in the market place, sometimes as early as mid-May, are as
hard as little rocks, boast high acidity and should be avoided. Sadly,
apricots don't ripen once off the tree so these early arrivals will
develop sugars and change texture, but remain hard and uninteresting.
According to Bruno Loquet, engineer at the Centre Technique
Interprofessionel des Fruits et Légumes in the Gard region, the trick
to ensuring excellent apricots is harvesting at the perfect moment.
Not the moment when they're most ripe, but that satisfies all
commercial criteria. Growers judge this moment by the colour of
the apricot - its background must no longer be green, but an even
orange-to-red.
Then, the apricots can be handled and shipped with ease, and will
evolve into fruit that is pleasing to the consumer. If apricots are
harvested too soon - as is the case with those early season 'rocks'
- it won't evolve.
How can you tell when an apricot is at its peak? There's no sense in
talking in terms of ripeness, unless you have your own tree. Instead,
we'll talk evolution, and it's all in the eye. An ideal apricot takes
on a certain luminescence, as though lit from within.
A really good apricot won't bruise if you touch it, but it should give
a little when lightly squeezed. Depending on the variety, as noted,
the skin should be a vivid orange-to-red colour. Oddly, perhaps because
the skin of an apricot is very slightly furry, it may feel almost warm.
Culinary Patience
Once you have determined the evolutionary state of the apricot, what
you plan to do with it enters the picture. If you want to eat it naked,
softer and redder is best, and the same goes if you're going to make
jam or compote. For a tart, or any other use where you'd like the
apricot to maintain some shape, slightly under-evolved is best. The
apricot will be a bit more acidic at this stage, though it will have
plenty of flavour.
So once you've got your apricots, what will you do with them? Well,
you have to make apricot jam, and when you do, save a pit for every
jar. Inside of an apricot is a rock-hard pit which envelopes a bitter
almond. Crack the pit - using a hammer, not a nutcracker - and put a
bitter almond in each jar of jam to lightly scent it with a haunting,
alluring almond flavour that will elevate it well above the ordinary.
If you're going to make a tart, choose the prettiest, most reddish
orange apricots you can. Or for stuffed apricots, to roast with fowl,
fish or meat, pick a firm specimen that won't disintegrate during
the cooking process. Should you feel adventuresome, I recommend the
recipe on the right - use slightly firm apricots.
Above all, when it comes to the apricot, patience is the operative
word. Use your patience and the rewards are rich and satisfying:
a luxurious, honeyed flavour and a sensuous juice that is like
nothing else.
Roast Guinea Hen with Stuffed Apricots
Pintade aux abricots farcis
Serves 4-6
One whole farm-raised guinea hen (3-4 pounds, 1.5-2kg) at room
temperature, giblets removed but reserved Fine sea salt and freshly
ground black pepper 1 lemon, cut in half
Several bay leaves 1â~A~D4 teaspoon ground cardamom 1 tablespoon
unsalted butter, softened
For the Apricots:
12 apricots 1 clove garlic, peeled 1/3 cup pistachios, salted 1
large egg yolk 1 scant tablespoon mild honey 1â~A~D4 teaspoon ground
cardamom Fine sea salt 2 tablespoons (30g) unsalted butter, chilled,
cut into 12 equally-sized pieces
1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F (230 degrees C).
2. Season the cavity of the guinea hen with salt and pepper, then
stuff it with the lemon, the bay leaves and the giblets.
3. Blend the ground cardamom with the butter. Loosen the skin from
the breast meat of the guinea hen. Reaching carefully under the skin,
rub the meat with the butter mixture. Truss the guinea hen.
4. Place the guinea hen in a roasting pan and pour 1 cup of water
around it. Roast for 45 minutes, checking once to be sure there's
liquid in the bottom of the pan. If necessary, add more water, to
keep at least 1â~A~D4-inch of liquid in the pan.
5. While the guinea hen is roasting, make a short slice in each of
the apricots and remove their pits, leaving the fruit as intact as
is possible. Reserve the pits.
6. Crush the garlic in a mortar and pestle with a large pinch of salt.
Add the pistachios and continue crushing until they're nearly minced.
Stir in the egg yolk, honey, cardamom and a pinch of salt. Divide
the mixture among the apricots, stuffing it into the space left by
each pit. Place the apricots around the guinea hen, with the 'cut'
pointing upwards, along with the reserved pits. Add water around the
guinea hen so the pan isn't dry. Roast for 15 minutes.
7. When the guinea hen is roasted - to test for doneness, pierce
the thigh joint with a sharp knife and the juices should run clear -
transfer it to a cutting board with a trough around it, to catch the
juices. Sprinkle the guinea hen all over with salt, then turn it on
its breast so that the juices run into the meat, and let it rest.
8. Dot the apricots with the chilled pieces of unsalted butter, pushing
the butter down into the softened flesh of the fruit, and return
them to the oven to roast until the apricots are softened and golden,
this should take 10 to 15 minutes. When done, discard the apricot pits.
9. To serve, cut the guinea hen into serving pieces. Remove the
giblets, lemon and the bay leaves from the cavity. Discard the bay
leaves. Place the guinea hen and giblets on the platter and squeeze
over the lemon. Arrange the stuffed apricots around the guinea hen
and serve.
Susan Herrmann Loomis teaches cooking classes in Normandy and Paris.
Find her cookbooks online in the France Today bookstore.
Originally published in the August-September 2013 issue of France Today
http://www.francetoday.com/articles/2014/05/26/the_apricot_and_french_cuisine.html
From: A. Papazian