A Finger in Every Pie

Sugar High(Low) Friday #15: Wallflower (Date/Apricot/Walnut) Loaf

This time, I knew right away what I would make.  No indecision, no wavering -- I had this one ready to go, in more ways than one.    As soon as Sam (doyenne of Becks & Posh) posted the theme of Low Sugar for Sugar High Friday's 15th installment,  I was raring to get started.  This month's challenge for dessert lovers and makers was to use as little refined sugar as possible -- perhaps none at all -- and to present a sweet that would still satisfy.

As you're probably aware by now, I adore opulent desserts.  I don't like anything that's super sweet, but there's no question that I'm overly fond of my share of caramelly flavors, plenty of dark chocolate, and boy-oh-boy, do I love things rich.   Heavy cream, butter, crème fraîche -- the sinuous, lush combination of creamy and sweet is what's for dessert, as far as I'm concerned. 

But I do have one dessert morsel in my arsenal that not only contains no refined sugar -- it also has no butter, no cream, no oils.  And it's one of the most popular desserts I make.  What does this modest little miracle contain?  It's a simple yet compelling confection with the chewy sweetness of dried fruit and a bit of honey, balanced with a crisp counterpoint of toasty walnuts (which are the only source of fat in this dessert).    

It's not fruitcake.  It sort of looks like it could be one, and I always have to tell people "It's not fruitcake."  After one bite, they get it.  I discovered this moderately healthy dessert miracle many years ago at an almost forgotten workplace.  My office was hosting a reception, and one of my co-workers brought me a slice of something she'd baked for the occasion.  "Eat this," Ronnie said to me.  "I don't eat fruitcake," I told her, trying to fend off the advances of this dark baked thing and its maker.  I wanted to be off in search of some other sort of dessert platter, filled with cream puffs or brownies.  "It's not fruitcake."  I still must have looked hesitant.  "Just try it," she insisted.  She was a large, imposing, pushy sort of gal, and it seemed that my only way toward any other part of the room would be to take a bite of this fruitcakey-looking thing, so I did.  "Wow."  My senses were flooded with the perfect balance of tanginess and sweetness, and then the happy chew and crunch factors kicked in.  My reaction was immediate.  "Ronnie, can I please have that recipe?"  Having made several of the loaves that day, she knew it by heart. 

Since then I've never looked back.  I make several of these loaves every holiday season, and I slice them into neat bars to go on platters and nestle alongside more lavish sugarplums like chocolate-dipped espresso shortbread and pecan butterballs.  Despite their proximity to those sexier sweeties,  they always end up being sought-after.  Workmates say "Are there any more of those fruity chewy nutty things?"  My friend Ernie, a fabulous baker who introduced me to my favorite scented madeleines, is mad for them.  When I did a cookie-swap by mail several years ago, sending out a dozen different sweets to a dozen people I'd never met, this was the most requested recipe. 

A slice of this virtuous cake will be your best friend when you're home alone with a hot cup of tea, curled up on the sofa on a chilly, windy, rainy afternoon.  But don't just leave this little loaf at home -- despite its shyness, it really does know how to socialize.  I bring these sweet slices to parties and at first, they seem like the lonely wallflowers on the platter, watching as the florentines and dulce-de-leche bars are asked to dance.  But then someone gives them a whirl, word gets out, and their popularity is no longer in doubt. 

There's a lesson in there somewhere.  Like a Wallflower Loaf, we should all just be our modest, innocent, sweet selves.  Soon, soon, we'll be discovered and appreciated for the very subtlety of our charms.

Wallflower Loaf
adapted from Ronnie, wherever she may be

The challenge here is to regulate the baking of this loaf.  It does have a bit of a tendency to burn, due to the honey in the batter and the dates that press up against the sides of the pan and blacken too soon.  Watch it carefully -- you want the center of the loaf to get completely cooked before the edges get burned. I sometimes cook it for longer at a lower heat, but this depends on your oven.  If it does burn slightly on the sides and bottom, don't worry.  Wait till it's completely cool, and then use a thin serrated knife to shave off the burnt parts.  Once it's cut into lovely mosaic slices, no-one will ever know the difference. 

I generally use Turkish apricots and Medjool dates.  California apricots would be tangier, but not as soft and lush. 

1 1/2 cups apricots
2 cups dates
3 cups walnuts
(all in big pieces)

3/4 cup flour
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt

1/2 cup wildflower honey (any fragrant, flowery honey works well here)
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
Grated zest of 1 orange, or 1/2 tsp. orange oil

Combine coarsely chopped fruits and nuts in a large bowl. Combine dry ingredients and whisk together in a small bowl.  Beat honey, eggs, vanilla and orange zest or oil together.  Combine lightly with dry ingredients to make a thick batter. Mix into bowl of fruits and nuts until they appear thinly coated with batter. It will seem to you that there's barely enough batter to cover the fruits and nuts, but don't worry -- the batter rises up around them.  Press the mixture lightly into a greased, parchment-lined 9" x 5" loaf pan. Bake at 350F. for approximately an hour, or until a cake tester comes out clean.  Cool completely.  Slice thinly and serve, or cut each slice into small bars before serving.

Optional additions to the batter are cinnamon and/or freshly grated nutmeg.   Lately I prefer the simple purity of nut and fruit, with no extraneous flavors. 

Tagged with: SHF # 15 + Low Sugar

Blog Birthday Soup

"Mother Bear, Mother Bear, where are you?" calls Little Bear. "Oh dear, Mother Bear is not here, and today is my birthday. I think my friends will come, but I do not see a birthday cake. My goodness--no birthday cake. What can I do?

"The pot is by the fire. The water in the pot is hot. If I put something in the water, I can make Birthday Soup. All my friends like soup.

"Let me see what we have.  We have carrots and potatoes, peas and tomatoes; I can make soup with carrots, potatoes, peas and tomatoes."

So Little Bear begins to make soup in the big black pot.

First, Hen comes in.

"Happy Birthday, Little Bear," she says.

"Thank you, Hen," says Little Bear.

Hen says, "My! Something smells good here.  Is it in the big black pot?"

"Yes," says Little Bear, "I am making Birthday Soup.  Will you stay and have some?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," says Hen.  And she sits down to wait.

    "Birthday Soup," from Little Bear, by Else Homelund Minarik

A year ago yesterday, a meeting I was supposed to attend in Boston was cancelled due to a big snowstorm.  So I stayed home that weekend instead, and started A Finger in Every Pie.  Yes indeed, January 22nd was AFIEP's first birthday -- or anniversary -- or maybe blogaversary.  My blog is an Aquarian baby, just like myself and my sibling.  Even though I was conscious all day yesterday that baby blog had completed its first year, I didn't manage to write a new post until today.  We had a bit of a whirlwind weekend -- up to Vermont and back in slightly over 24 hours, a marathon tutoring session with a student, planning and preparing for the week ahead.  Hopefully blogs are not as temperamental or demanding as people, and I will be forgiven for the belatedness of this celebratory post.  I did, however, manage to make a batch of birthday soup -- but more on that later. 

A Finger in Every Pie has given me many gifts over the past year.  First, and most important, it's renewed my desire to write on an on-going basis. Writing, and making time for writing have taken on much greater importance in my life -- which was an outcome I very much hoped for.  Over the past year I've gone on writing retreats where I've concentrated on fiction and memoir as well as professional writing, and I'm about to have an education-related piece published in a professional journal.

I've also had a renaissance of renewed contact with numerous family members, friends and colleagues who've become regular readers of this blog.  Creating and maintaining strands of connection and community around food and other topics continues to be both enjoyable and deeply fulfilling.  Other delightful benefits have included books and food parcels, in exchanges, as prizes and as gifts, from individuals or from publishers.   My little radio spot was great fun too. 

And of course, I've encountered new people.  Some bloggers I've met, spent time with, and talk to regularly; they've become fixtures in my life, fast friends.  Other bloggers pass through town, look me up, and we have a lovely food-date of some kind or another  -- and feel a special sense of connection when we're once again commenting long-distance on each others' blogs.  Still others I know only virtually at this point, but look forward to meeting in the future -- or not.   I've discovered the rewards of online friendships as well.   So although I may at times be frustrated with myself for not posting as often as I'd like, or feel as if I'm bored with blogging or tired of food as a major topic, so far I've really enjoyed having my own little corner of the blogosphere.  Perhaps it will morph into something slightly different; I don't yet know.  I did have big dreams of re-vamping the site and giving it a birthday makeover, but that will have to wait, as I'm coming into yet another of the year's crunch times. 

In the meantime, there's no better way to celebrate than birthday soup.  Despite the eponymous "pie", soup is probably what I've made and will continue to make more often than anything else.  I do have quite a bit of baking coming up, since I'm slated to make baked goods for a work retreat this week -- and my darling brother has a birthday which will require cake rather than soup.   But in the meantime, what's more rewarding at the end of a hectic weekend than a bowl of glorious soup?  This one is very much a tonic, as far as I'm concerned.  It's chock full of wonderful anti-oxidant vegetables, fiber- and protein-rich beans, a bit of rib-sticking pasta -- and other than its last-minute garnish of freshly grated Parmesan, it's basically fat-free.  Eat a big enough bowlful -- hell, have seconds -- and you've done your five servings of veg for the day.  Both virtuous and delicious, it's an excellent way of toasting the blog's -- and everyone else's -- health during the coming year. 

Blog Birthday Soup
(approximately 16 servings)

My mother was first served this soup by a cousin of ours some years ago.  When she asked for the recipe, none of us could believe its simplicity.  It does require a fair amount of cleaning and chopping, but makes a huge quantity of soup (you may want to halve the recipe first time out) for what amounts to an hour or so of effort.  I've tried adding different ingredients several times, but the variations are never as good as the original.  I've added peppers, potatoes, herbs -- strangely enough, they don't enhance the flavor or texture, and they mess with the soup's own mysterious alchemy.  I have at times cooked dried little white beans rather than using tinned ones, which is quite good -- but when you're in a hurry, the canned ones are just fine.   I like to make the entire vat of soup, because then I have enough for healthy lunches during the week, some for the freezer, another dinner perhaps, and some to give to neighbors or family or friends. 

14 cups chicken or vegetable stock
2 large onions, finely chopped
2 - 4 large leeks, well-cleaned and sliced
6 cloves garlic, chopped
6 - 8 large carrots, peeled and sliced
1 28-oz tin crushed tomatoes with their juice, or 1 26-oz box of Pomi chopped tomatoes

Combine all these ingredients in a large pot and cook for 30 minutes.  Then add:

1/3 large head of cabbage, finely sliced or shredded

Cook for 10 minutes.  Add:

1/4 pound of orzo or other small pasta, or broken linguine or spaghetti

Cook for 5 minutes.  Add: 

2 cans small white beans, rinsed and drained or 1 1/2 cups dried white beans, cooked until tender
4 medium zucchini, sliced

Cook just until pasta is toothsome and zucchini has become barely translucent.  Adjust seasoning to taste with salt and plenty of pepper.  Serve with lots of

Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

 

Is It Any Wonder They're Going Bankrupt?

Never fly Delta.  I spent eight hours of my life in the Delta terminal at JFK airport on Friday -- eight hours in order NOT to fly to San Antonio.  Eight hours of my life I'm never getting back.  So this post is not going to be food-related, not even peripherally -- except perhaps for the fact that the best restaurant that Terminal 3 has to offer is Burger King.

I had planned such a lovely post for you all.  It was going to be a sweet, clever little essay about how the Rose of Spanish Harlem was temporarily transplanted into the Yellow Rose of Texas or some such hooey.  And I still might get there, eventually, but for now I ask your kind forbearance as I use the best public forum available to me to express my displeasure. 

Now, I know that the weather is not anyone's fault (other than big business' responsibility for having created global warming).  At least Delta is not controlling the weather, as far as I know.  But their handling of a situation in which the airport was fogged in and nothing was flying in or out for several hours was, shall we say, less than optimal.  I arrived at the airport at about 8 a.m., in plenty of time for my 9:20 flight.  As  I sat in the waiting area of Gate 16, I noticed that it was getting nearer and nearer flight time, and the flight wasn't being announced.  It was still listed at 9:20 on the monitor.  Finally, I joined the line at the desk and asked the same question everyone else was asking.  "The flight's been pushed back to 12:30 because of the fog," we were told.  "The plane is coming from Ohio, and hasn't been permitted to leave the airport because nothing can land at JFK right now."   Finally, at some point, they changed the monitor to a 12:30 departure time.  But 12:00 loomed, and no flight was announced.  I finally spoke to someone who was supposedly a Delta manager.  "That flight's been pushed back to 1:30," he said.  "The guy will announce it in a minute."  As time moved forward and I tried to alleviate my mingled ennui and rage, it suddenly occurred to me that I had my computer.  I ran up to a Delta employee who was putting on a sweater.  "I'm leaving, I'm off duty," she snarled at me before I could say anything.  Sometimes a good offense is the best defense, I guess.  "I just wanted to find out if there's an Internet hub in this terminal," I said meekly.  "Honey, this building was built in 1961, and it's never been updated,"  said she with a smirk. 

1:30 came and went.  Engrossed in alternating between my current fiction obssession (Chang Rae Lee's remarkable  Native Speaker) and  Mike Rose's wonderful  The Mind at Work,  I suddenly looked up and realized that there were fewer people sitting around Gate 16.  There was, however, a long line by the desk.  I asked another Delta employee who just happened to be passing by if there were any information about my flight.  "Oh, that flight was cancelled," she told me, like a schoolmarm telling me facts I should have long ago mastered.  "Go back to check-in, they'll help you out."  "Where?"  Check-in was back behind security -- why would I go there?  Finally I just got on line with everyone else.  I was offered a flight to Austin that was leaving in less than an hour.  "Will Delta arrange my transportation from Austin to San Antonio?"  "No ma'am.  Cancellation due to weather.  We're not responsible."  But wait -- the Austin flight hasn't been cancelled, and it's the same weather for that plane as it is for mine.  "Or you could take a series of flights that would get you in to San Antonio at midnight."  No thanks.  Since I would still have to travel at least 40 minutes by shuttle to my destination, that didn't seem like a good option.  Finally I re-booked my flight for the following morning. 

I called G, my knight in shining armor, and although he was out in Orient Point planning to work with his business partner and spend the night out in Long Island, he changed his plans and drove 2 1/2 hours in traffic to come get me and take me home so I could at least have a decent night's sleep before doing the airport dance all over again. 

And it didn't matter that I had to wait so long for him, since they couldn't find the bags from the cancelled San Antonio flight for hours anyway.  Good thing I didn't try to take the Austin flight or some other flights out of LaGuardia that I was offered.  Everyone from our cancelled plane who booked those flights missed them anyway, because they couldn't collect and re-check their luggage.  There was no joy at Delta that day. 

They did finally get me here, 24 hours later.  I'm now in Boerne, Texas, where I was invited to come to a posh resort and spend three days (two in my case, as it turned out) working on a piece of writing for publication -- not food writing, since I do that just for love.  I'm writing a piece about teaching and standard English for an esoteric education journal that none of you will ever read except for my brother, since I'll proudly send him a copy.  Sadly I don't have much food info to report, other than having eaten several mammoth pieces of Texas beef (including an absolutely melting hunk of prime rib last night at the Limestone Grill).  Otherwise, the food here at the resort is neither the worst of its kind nor the best, but certainly encourages one to overeat with its brimming buffets and Texas-sized portions. 

I chose an airline poised on the brink of bankruptcy not because I was hoping to get a good deal, but because it was literally the only direct flight offered from NYC to San Antonio.  Let's just hope they get me home safely tomorrow -- 'cause after that, I hope never to fly Delta again.  Even if they don't go into bankruptcy. 

Overshopping and Overstocking

These spoke to me, a week or so before Christmas.  They were at my favorite Fairway market, sitting innocently on a shelf of lovely imported holiday foods from the British Isles, when I heard their siren song.  "Buy us," they sang as I wheeled my cart in their direction.  "You know that you have a secret longing for mince pies to go with your hot mulled wine over the holidays.  No one else likes mincemeat, no one even makes it.  This is your one and only shot at mince pie this holiday season!"  Not only did they talk, but just look at them.  They're little and cute -- and they're festive!  It's in their very name, Festive Mince Pies!  How could I possibly resist?

Well, had I known that three weeks later they'd still be sitting unopened on the kitchen counter,  I might have held back.  It also would have been helpful if I hadn't been visited by the case of temporary amnesia I always seem to experience while I'm food shopping -- the one that causes me to forget that I already have plenty of similar items at home.  In this case, for example, we already had lots of sweets -- homemade cookies in eleven varieties, Italian torrone, caramels, boxes of candy I had been given for holiday gifts.  Obviously I didn't need mince pies.  And once the immediate yen had left me, I didn't even want them enough to have opened them up over the past several weeks.  Clearly I have a bit of a problem:  an unfortunate tendency to both overshop and to fall prey to impulse purchases, especially if I'm hungry.  And somehow, I often end up grocery shopping when hungry. 

The fact that I have not one but two pantries in my kitchen leads not only to overshopping but to overstocking as well.  My one comfort is that in the event that we do experience some sort of disaster that prevents us from leaving the house (heavens forfend), we could live sealed in our apartment for quite a while.  In fact, we could probably feed our small, 9-unit building as well.  I won't list all the kinds and varieties of  legumes, the grains and pastas, the nuts, the canned tuna (each time it goes on sale in one of our local markets, G asks if I don't want to buy some to go with the 20 other cans we have sitting in the pantry), the specialty oils and vinegars, flours and sugars, the jams, the tinned tomatoes and the spices, herbs, rubs, pastes, sauces and condiments.  The fridge usually holds numerous cheeses as well as everything else you can think of, and the freezer, while not large, is brimful with a careful geometrical arrangement which I re-do every time I put something new in.  We certainly don't like to imagine or dwell on disaster,  but G, who loves cold weather, has a fantasy of being snowed in.  Honestly, we'd do just fine if we couldn't get to the store for a while. 

The bad part about overshopping is that I do end up throwing away far too much food -- especially fresh food.  Yesterday I thought I might make some lovely fresh prosciutto and provolone tortelloni I'd purchased a while earlier.  Quite a while earlier, it quickly became apparent.  In my defense, I had had the idea that I would get to the tortelloni much sooner than I did, which is why I didn't freeze it.  Anyway, when I dug it out of the back of the fridge in the morning, it had started colonizing.  New life forms, new empires -- but nothing you'd want to make for dinner, trust me.   

In all likelihood, we could feed a lot of folk on what we end up throwing away.   So my New Year's resolution is to buy less and waste less.  But I feel so profligate and isolated, having made this confession.  Surely I'm not alone out here -- please share some stories of your own lonely, rarely-used ingredients or impulse buys that have yet to be eaten...

New Toys

When we were children, the period of time after the holidays always felt like such a let-down.  More than anything, I think, it was that the delights of anticipation were over.  There was nothing to look forward to for what seemed an interminably long time (although my brother and I both have winter birthdays, so that was only really true in a child's chronology). 

Now, however, as a pretend grown-up (really only a somewhat bigger child), I can appreciate the holiday's aftermath as much as or perhaps even more than the hols themselves.  In other words, we finally get a breather when the crush of parties, cooking, gifting, being gifted, entertaining, being entertained, etc. is finally over.  And I can actually play with my new toys, since I like using them even more than unwrapping them, now that I've grown up a little.   

My incredibly significant other showered delightful gifts upon me, ranging from a flash drive/pen knife, to a beautiful and slinky handmade skirt and lacy jacket, to concert tickets and an overnight in DC, as well as some adorable unmentionables that, as I reminded him, were at least as much a gift for him as for me.  He also shed his general holiday persona of the Grinch Who Stole Chrismukkakwaanzastice (yes, now you know what G stands for), and was quite insistent that we get ourselves a little tree -- a live potted green baby, an Italian stone pine, our first tree.  At first I resisted -- I haven't had a tree for at least five years, since well before my mother passed away, and I was rather ambivalent about trying to recreate holidays that could never be the way they once were.  Somehow, that sweetly Grinchy guy cut through his own holiday grumpiness in order to do something about my mild seasonal melancholy.  He had seen through me, and knew that in my heart of hearts, I really wanted a tree -- and a chance to bring in some of my own family holiday custom (cookies! hot mulled wine! the old ornaments from my childhood tree!) as we create our own new holiday rituals.  And he made a point of giving me romantic gifts rather than culinary ones...

Others, however, took on the job of keeping the kitchen fires burning.  My darling brother and sister-in-law presented me with the promise of the sleek chrome beast pictured above -- and a few days later my very own KitchenAid stand mixer arrived at our door.  A bit of a Luddite in the mixer department, I've been baking for decades and never, ever had a stand mixer.  I still remember my mother, revving up her arm muscles with the hand-held eggbeater (aka rotary mixer) when we needed stiffly beaten egg whites or whipped cream.  When she got tired, we'd each take a turn.  I've finally moved on to a cheap hand-held mixer from the housewares section of a drugstore -- but I don't even always use that, often preferring to mix batters by hand with a trusted old wooden spoon.  However, some of the bakers I most admire assure me that the KitchenAid is not cheating -- and that it will enable me to have things come together with undreamed-of speed.  The promise of speed in our time-crunched lives is an inducement that can sway even Luddite me.  So I may have just passed the last holiday season during which I bake more than a thousand cookies by hand.  But cookie season doesn't come around again for quite a while, so I'm looking for an inaugural recipe for the big new machine.  Ideas, anyone? 

Then there's the gift I bought just for my mean selfish self.  I'm generally not much on cooking personalities and their lines of kitchenware, but ever since Nigella came out with her own couscoussier, I've been coveting its matte brushed stainless and soft-bellied curves.  I've looked many times at couscoussiers in Moroccan shops and in Middle Eastern emporia on Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue, and never quite found one that felt like mine.  Something about the shape of this one as well as its cleanly-made sturdiness spoke to me.  When I saw it drastically reduced at an online venue, with an additional 20% off for pre-New Year's purchases, plus free shipping -- well, like any good consumer, I couldn't resist.  So couscous, savory stews, steamed veggies and other goodies are all in our future as well.

Finally, there's the gift that G and I got for ourselves.  While not kitchenware, it will enable us to market more easily, go on food jaunts in obscure locales, and just get the hell out of the city when we need to.  Yes, as the game show hosts would say, it's a NEW CAR!  Sorry about the grainy picture -- I haven't taken an actual pic of this baby, but instead just downloaded a bad car dealer's photo.  But you get the idea.  We're already looking forward to a Vermont trip in a couple of weeks, followed shortly by our DC/Baltimore weekend, and in February, an excursion to Montreal.  So our good fortune is that this year, we don't feel the least sense of let-down that the holidays are over (though of course we miss the long lazy vacation days of sleeping in and leisurely breakfasts).  Instead, we're looking forward to new adventures with our new toys. 

All Things Apricot

Zorba came upon an old man planting an apricot seedling and asked why he, an old man, was planting a new tree. "I live as though I would never die," was his reply. "And me, I live as though I might die tomorrow," said Zorba, "which one of us is right?"
    - Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba The Greek

I like to think that I live as both the old man and Zorba  -- especially when it comes to apricots. I plant metaphorical apricot seedlings for the future, and eat as many apricots as I can today, since I don't know what tomorrow may bring.  Right now, in the depths of early winter, I find myself with severe cravings for the golden acid-sweet burst of an apricot.  I've always loved them.  I love the blush-sweet image they conjure in my mind, little orbs so glowingly peachy, but with a tad more perfume, a bit more piquant bite.  I love the words for apricot in other languages:  abricot in French, albaricoque in Spanish, and my favorite of all, Arabic -- mishmish.  Mmmmmm.....mishmish.  I'm sure that I didn't read Collette Rossant's gorgeous memoir with recipes, Apricots on the Nile, merely because of its title...but then again an evocative title is certainly part of what draws us to a book. 

As a child, most of my apricots were eaten dried, since we never seemed to get good fresh ones.  These days, with the happy advent of farmers' markets to our cities and fresh local produce at our fingertips, I revel in apricot season.  It seemed to run almost through the entire summer this year -- from mid-June through August.  I made a tart, a cake or two and developed a passion as well as a recipe for apricot curd.  Mostly, though, when they're fresh and seasonal, I eat them as they are -- hopefully with perfumy juices dripping down my face -- but even when they're not that juicy, quite happily. 

But it's January, and so I'm back to my old friend the dried apricot.   I toyed with the idea of slow-roasting our New Years' Eve shoulder of pork with apricots -- but knew that G, that inveterate apple fan, would be wishing for spiced sauteed apples with the roast, and I didn't want to disappoint.  Instead our sweet course to ring in the new year was a spin on bread-and-butter pudding that was light, pillowy, creamy as a dream -- but with a lusty apricot tang.  I unearthed the last jar of apricot curd I'd frozen back in August and plumped up some of my favorite French dried apricots from Fairway with a nice splash of Grand Marnier.   Then it struck me -- the golden pandoro I'd bought some weeks ago, taken a taste of and promptly abandoned could be put to good use here.

So the pandoro was sliced, buttered and spread with apricot curd (you could easily use apricot butter or good apricot preserves here too), layered in a buttered dish with snipped apricots plumped in Grand Marnier, and then covered with a custard of eggs, more cream than milk, not too much sugar, and a liberal grating of nutmeg.  I baked it until just set, about 40 minutes, and it was quite perfect -- and even better on New Years' Day.   

But that was not enough to satisfy my midwinter apricot mania.  The same book I mentioned earlier, Apricots on the Nile, had provoked the idea of an apricot flavor insinuating itself into more savory fare -- specifically, Ms. Rossant's description of and recipe for delicate little lamb meatballs in an apricot sauce.  That recipe remains for the moment in my mental to-try file, since I'm just a little iffy about meat-and-fruit combinations.  In the meantime I happened across a recipe for linguine with apricots.  At first glance, I dismissed it.  Pasta in a fruit sauce?  Must be dreadful.  But I went back for another look.  There's practically as much garlic as apricot in the recipe, as well as olive oil, dry white wine, rosemary -- lots of savory counterpoint to the sweet tang of the fruit.  I realized that the reason I don't like most sweet-and-savory combinations is that the sweet too often outweighs the other flavors.  I can't stand my sweet potatoes with sugar or syrup or even sweet spices.  Their natural sweetness needs no heightening -- instead it demands the contrast of salted butter and plenty of pepper, to my palate.  In anything other than outright desserts, a whisper of nutmeg is reserved for savory potato and spinach dishes, hints of cinnamon and allspice for tagines where cumin and garlic balance the sweetness of the other spices.  In this recipe, apricots are the only sweet element, playing against other sharp and savory flavors.  I decided it had possibilities.

So tonight I gave pasta with apricots and garlic a spin.  Magic.  I let the apricots simmer in the garlicky, winey olive-oil broth until they began to melt into the liquid.  Then the sauce was tossed with hot linguine and sprinkled with fresh chopped parsley.  It still needed just a little something, so toasted pine nuts were sprinkled over.  My mind prohibited grated cheese at first, but I knew that when G saw pasta, he would probably want cheese.  Then I thought of fruit's natural affinity for cheese -- and it occurred to me too that these apricots were, in a way, operating as if they were simply slightly sweeter tomatoes in the sauce.  A bit of freshly grated pecorino romano was a delicious if not strictly necessary addition. 

And so I live not just for time to come, nor solely for today -- but to taste apricots and conjure summer while enjoying winter as well.  I hope too that all of you are enjoying your favorite aromas and tastes as you enter a new year that will hopefully bring us all closer to the future, as well as inviting us to live right here, right now.

Apricot Bread-and-Butter Pudding

Serves 6

6 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup coarsely chopped moist dried apricots
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier
8-10 small slices pandoro or other golden egg bread, i.e. challah or brioche
1 cup apricot curd or butter or preserves
3 eggs
1 egg yolk
1/4 cup sugar
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
1 tsp. good vanilla
1/4 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.  Butter a shallow baking dish with a capacity of about 1 1/2 quarts.  Put the chopped apricots in a little dish and sprinkle the Grand Marnier over and leave them to macerate.  Make little sandwiches with the pandoro, butter and apricot curd or jam; there may be some butter left over to dot on the top later.  Now cut the sandwiches in half  or even quarters to facilitate fitting them into your dish; arrange them evenly along the bottom of the dish. Sprinkle over the apricots, tucking them into the spaces between the little sandwiches.  Sprinkle over any unabsorbed liquer that remains in the bowl.

Whisk the eggs and egg yolk together with the sugar, and pour in the cream and milk.  Add the vanilla and nutmeg, and mix all together well. Pour this over the bread sandwiches and leave them to soak up the liquid for about 10 minutes, by which time the pudding is ready to go into the oven. Smear the bread that is poking out of the custard with the soft butter.

Place the dish on a baking sheet and put in the oven to cook for  about 40 minutes or until the custard has set and puffed up slightly.  Remove and let sit for 10 minutes before serving.

Linguine with Apricots (adapted from the Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook)

1/2 cup best-quality olive oil
15 - 20 fat cloves of garlic, half minced, half cut into thin slivers
1 generous tablespoon fresh rosemary, finely minced
1 cup dry white wine
3⁄4 cup plump moist dried apricots, cut into slivers
Salt and pepper
1 pound linguine
1⁄2 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/4 cup snipped fresh chives

Toasted pine nuts
Grated pecorino romano cheese

Heat the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat.  Add the minced and slivered garlic and sauté until just browned.  Stir in the white wine.  Reduce the heat and simmer uncovered for 5 minutes.  Add the rosemary and apricots.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Simmer for about 15 minutes, until some of the apricots start to dissolve and the sauce emulsifies.  If the oil stays separate, stir a little hot water in to encourage the emulsion.

Cook the pasta al dente and drain, reserving 1 cup of the pasta's hot cooking water.  Use as much of this as seems necessary to loosen and re-emulsify the apricot-garlic sauce. 

Place the pasta, sauce, parsley and chives in a large serving bowl and toss to coat.  Sprinkle with toasted pine nuts. Pass grated cheese at the table.