Juicy Post: Consider The Prune

Childhood Prejudice

My youthful introduction to prunes was less than felicitous. Since I had been diagnosed with an illness that precluded any citrus, my morning juice was not sunshiny orange but rather sludgy prune. As a special dessert, instead of forbidden lemon meringue pie, which was one of my mother’s specialties, I got prune whip. Trust me on this — there was no comparison. And, although it is a myth, I was sure there was prune extract in Dr. Pepper when we were adolescents, which cemented my loathing of that beverage. It was not until I first went to France with the Resident Wine Maniac that I had a revelation.  We were in a little country hotel with a restaurant (which we later discovered was a Relais & Chateau member) and after a wonderful dinner, we were served “mignardises” – little sweet treats to have with coffee. One of these was a prune stuffed with a pistachio and almond marzipan. And in that moment of epiphany,  I grew up about prunes. 

Prune History & Sci Fi

Since  the word “prune” in the US is still tainted with all the detriments I detested as a child, the wrinkly little things have have been rechristened “dried plums” by PR geniuses — evoking associations with pleasant company like dried apricots, dried apples, and dried cherries. In France, plums are prunes and prunes (or dried plums) are pruneaux. And the best ones we can get are labeled Agen. These prunes are the highest grade out of 46 of the Ente prune, which has a history going back to the Crusades, according to an article by Florence Fabricant in the New York Times. French soldiers brought a species of plum back from Damascus. They were planted by monks near Toulouse, who discovered how good the  shriveled ones were that fell  and were left on the ground. These Damascus plums were crossed with  a local one, yielding what is now named the Ente plum, and these have been grown exclusively for the production of the famed Pruneaux d‘Agen.  Ente plum trees were replanted in the area of Agen in the 17th century after severe frost decimated crops. These Agen prunes have been shipped world wide for over two centuries. Prunes need a little help from their friends, and Armagnac is a good bestie. Grab a large canning jar, fill it with the prunes of your choice, and top off  with Armagnac. Try to wait a about a month before spooning them over ice cream, or making one of the two dessert recipes below. And if you still turn up your nose at prune juice, look at this encounter between a Klingon and Bartender Whoopi Goldberg: 

Warrior Recipes

Rick Stein and his family run a small chain of top-notch restaurants in the UK. He also is a prolific cookbook writer.  His restaurants are justifiably noted for their seafood. Should you be in a Rick Stein neighborhood, add it to your dining out list. I think you will be pleased with their menu, service and prices. I am still trying to make my Sole Meuniere as good as the one served in his Winchester restaurant. This recipe, however, is a chicken recipe from one of his cookbooks, Rick Stein’s Long Weekends.

It is poached, and then added to a sauce of red onions and prunes, which you will begin constructing as the chicken thighs are simmering in a saffron bath. Criminally easy.  This main course can be a mid-week meal or doubled up to be the main course for a party. It reheats easily and can be served with bread and a salad or with rice. 

I know, I know, he is the head of a fancy, schmancy restaurant empire, but this title has many recipes that are truly  accessible to the home cook. Look at the blueberry sauce, for instance, or his Hanger Steak With Shallots (now my go-to recipe). His technique for the regional dessert called Far Breton is my favorite version.  He has a few extra steps that make subtle differences in this very straightforward  custardy cake, which uses prunes soaked in an Armagnac-based syrup. I use almond powder instead of flour to coat the butter in the pan or gratin.  Having the ingredients at roughly the same temperature does indeed make a much silkier batter. And yes, like popover batter, it is better to let  it rest several hours. I think it is important to either strain the batter before letting it rest overnight, or you could mix it in a food processor. Once you pour the batter in the pan, you add the prunes – and they stay somewhat suspended rather than gathering in a clump at the bottom.  It really is a snap. Not bad for breakfast either. I have made this in a metal cake pan as suggested in the book and also in a ceramic gratin. The metal cake pan gives more of a crust, whereas the Far Breton exterior is softer when baked in a ceramic container.  The cake pan version I unmold but the one in the gratin, I just serve as is.

This last recipe is my mash-up of the classic pot-de-crème recipe I learned from Mary Bond and a dessert that my husband adored at the now sadly closed restaurant, Racine, in London  – one of the lamentable results of posh neighborhoods being engulfed by wealthy absentee property holders He was so upset about its closing that he has vowed to search for the restaurant whereabouts of the chef Henry Harris. But let’s talk about happier subjects – prunes, Armagnac, and silky custard cream. If you follow my advice about storing some prunes in a jar of Armagnac, this is the perfect recipe to start with.  When I learned how to make a proper pot-de-crème, you beat the eggs, milk and cream with the paddle blade in the mixer so as not to create too much foam. Before ladling the mixture in tiny cups   (I use ramekins now) you got rid of any foam or bubbles using a skimmer or spoon. I pop any remaining bubbles before sliding the pan into the oven.   This recipe is super easy, but again the devil is in the details.  Originally pots-de-crème were served on individual trays or plates in curved lidded cups: each person got three – mocha, lemon, or vanilla were the usual flavors.