The Fruits of Summer: Part One

This has been a glorious summer for fruits of all kinds. Here in northern California so many varieties are available that each trip to my favourite shop, The Monterey Market, has been a wonderful adventure: their bins are full of melons of every shape and colour, white and yellow peaches, even little ones shaped like doughnuts, Blenheim apricots, and luscious figs. There is simply so much to delight every gastronaut. In this short piece, I cannot possibly do justice to more than a handful of them and even then, I will split the essay up into two parts. This basket will contain cherries, nectarines, melons and figs. Apricots, plums, pluots, damsons, currants and berries will just have to wait for the next episode.

Cherries

To quote Jane Grigson “The precious unkeepable cherry was the fruit of paradise, the glimpse and symbol of perfection.” In medieval art, the Christ child is sometimes shown holding a cherry, perhaps as a reminder of heaven. The Romans may have brought them across the channel to England if they were not there before. The name is an interesting one. It derives from the French cerise but when translated into English as Cherris, it sounds like a plural. So the word ‘cherry’ was invented. But who can eat only one, I ask you?

They were widely sold in London usually by street vendors as this lovely drawing by Paul Sandby shows:

London Cries “Black Heart Cherries” by Paul Sandby 1760

Robert Herrick’s charming poem ‘Cherry Ripe’ is a play on the street cry of the fruit seller but it then morphs into the sensual attribute of ripe cherries: the kissable lips of one’s beloved:

CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come and buy.
If so be, you ask me where
They do grow, I answer: There
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.

There are so many recipes, from pies and ices to ratafias including George Washington’s favourite Cherry Bounce. Here is the recipe from the papers in Mount Vernon complete with the original spelling:

Extract the juice of 20 pounds well ripend morrella cherrys
Add to this 10 quarts of old french brandy and sweeten it with
white sugar to your taste—To 5 Gallons of this mixture add one ounce
of spice such as cinnamon, cloves and Nutmegs of each an Equal
quantity slightly bruisd and a pint and half of cherry
kirnels that have been gently broken in a mortar—After the
liquor has fermented let it stand close-stoped for a month or
six weeks then bottle it remembering to put a lump of Loaf Sugar into
each bottle.

There are modern and much more practical recipes of the first president’s favourite tipple to be found online.

The Hungarians make a wonderful cold soup which I have enjoyed often on my many visits there. Here is a terrific version that was made by our good friend Kati Kyme for a potluck feast only last week. She very kindly gave me the recipe and allowed me to print it here:

“I’ve used bottled Morello cherries most often, but this time, I used bagged frozen cherries, 3 bags, chopped fine in a blender, 1 bottle of pure cherry juice, cinnamon to taste, I cup of red wine and 1 cup of heavy cream.”

Other Hungarian recipes add lemon rind and juice, use Riesling instead of red wine, add sour cream rather than heavy cream, and splash in some brandy as well. If sour cherries are being used, then one should add some sugar to taste. We loved Kati’s version which was dark and rich. It was perfect as the starter for a feast on a hot summer evening. Thank you, Kati!!!!

Melons

Melons have long been prized both for their flavour and their frisson of sensuality. Poets, monks and monarchs have praised them for over a thousand years. Here is an extract from Sylvia Plath’s luscious poem ‘Fiesta Melons’:

In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full
Of innumerable melons,
Ovals and balls,
Bright green and thumpable
Laced over with stripes
Of turtle-dark green.
Choose an egg-shape, a world-shape,
Bowl one homeward to taste
In the whitehot noon:
Cream-smooth honeydews,
Pink-pulped whoppers,
Bump-rinded cantaloupes
With orange cores.

The amateur artist Sir Nathaniel Bacon grew them on his estates in East Anglia. He was a member of the illustrious Bacon family that included the philosopher Sir Francis and the politician Sir Nicholas.

Cookmaid with still life of vegetables and fruit by Sir Nathaniel Bacon 1620-5

On a hot day, there is almost no lunch more refreshing than a melon salad. My ideal recipe includes a mix of watermelon and cantaloupe, salty feta cheese and mint. For the dressing I like to use white balsamic vinegar and a little amount of light olive oil. There is no need to add extra salt. I like to prepare the melon first and put it in the fridge for about half an hour. Just before serving, add the dressing and mint. It is best eaten outside under a large umbrella with a glass of rosé (or two!)

Nectarines

I love nectarines, though I don’t remember eating them when I was a child in the UK. Clearly, they have been there for several centuries since the poet John Keats loved them too. In 1819 he wrote to his friend Charles Dilke:

Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine—good God how fine. It went down soft, pulpy, slushy, oozy—all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large beatified Strawberry.

Painters have not been as fond of them as they are of peaches, perhaps because they do not have such a lovely slightly fuzzy skin. Of course, one can make a pie or a galette with them but almost nothing beats eating them just as they are. My grandmother would have delicately eaten hers with a tiny mother of pearl handled knife and fork but for me that spoils the fun of getting the juice all over one’s chin.

One very interesting recipe I found and am longing to try is for a nectarine sauce for chicken.

nectarine sauce for chicken

Ingredients

½ lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts, halved lengthwise
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp pepper
1½ Tbsp olive oil, divided
Half an onion sliced
3 Tbsp white balsamic vinegar
1½ Tbsp honey
4 sprigs fresh thyme
2 nectarines, pitted and quartered
2 tsp fresh lemon juice

Instructions

Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper. Cook chicken in 1 Tbsp hot oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat 3 to 4 minutes per side or until done. Remove from skillet and keep warm.
Cook onion in ½ Tbsp hot oil in skillet over medium-high heat 5 minutes. Add vinegar, honey, and thyme. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer 5 minutes or until slightly thickened.
Discard thyme; stir in nectarines and lemon juice. Cook 1 minute or until nectarines are tender. Serve sauce over chicken.

Figs

To anyone who grew up in northern Europe, figs represent the joys and pleasures of the south. They do grow in England but are only successful in walled gardens protected from the wind. The Romans loved them as this marvellous fresco, preserved for ever by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79AD shows. It was discovered in the Villa Poppei Sabina in Oplontis, close to Pompeii.

The story of Cleopatra VII’s suicide in August 30BC caused by the bite of an asp concealed in a basket of figs is probably a myth. To begin with, an asp (viper) can be over two feet long, so one would need a big basket and an awful lot of figs to hide one successfully!

Figs have been for ever linked to life’s more decadent pleasures beginning in the Garden of Eden. Did Eve eat an apple or a fig from the Tree of Knowledge. If I were Adam I would certainly find the fig more tempting and the leaves make useful underwear too! Simply eating a fig is a sensual act as D. H Lawrence shows us in his wonderful poem about figs. Lawrence attended the same school as I over seventy years before me. I am thrilled that he is listed directly above me in the list of notable alumni!

Here is the opening:

The proper way to eat a fig, in society,

Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,

And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower.

Then you throw away the skin

Which is just like a four-sepalled calyx,

After you have taken off the blossom, with your lips.

But the vulgar way

Is just to put your mouth to the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite.

Every fruit has its secret.

Later in the poem, he is more explicit:

Folded upon itself, and secret unutterable,

And milky-sapped, sap that curdles milk and makes ricotta,

Sap that smells strange on your fingers, that even goats won’t taste it;

Folded upon itself, enclosed like any Mohammedan woman,

Its nakedness all within-walls, its flowering forever unseen,

One small way of access only, and this close-curtained from the light;

Fig, fruit of the female mystery, covert and inward,

Mediterranean fruit, with your covert nakedness,

Where everything happens invisible, flowering and fertilization, and fruiting

In the inwardness of your you, that eye will never see

Till it’s finished, and you’re over-ripe, and you burst to give up your ghost.

Till the drop of ripeness exudes,

And the year is over.

No wonder he could write Lady Chatterley’s Lover!

For all their luscious sweetness, figs can be made into glorious savoury dishes too. Recently, I made a fig, onion and feta tart, as you can see in this photo:

Fig and feta tart with thyme and caramelised onions

Ingredients

12.35 oz puff pastry block
1 egg
3 big white onions
1 Tbsp vegetable oil
2 tsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
5.3 oz fresh figs
2.8 oz feta Greek cheese
1 tsp dried thyme
Honey (optional)

Instructions

Heat the vegetable oil over medium-low heat. Slice the onions finely and add them into the pan.
When the onions start to soften, add sugar to speed the caramelising process.
Stir frequently making sure the onions are not burning or sticking to the bottom of the pan. Cook for at least 40 minutes.
When the onions are caramelised, add balsamic vinegar, wine or water to deglaze the pan and stir one last time. Add a little salt to taste.
Preheat the oven to 200Cº or a little under 400F
Place pastry on a surface and roll out the puff pastry. Keep turning the dough while rolling. When using frozen puff pastry, leave it out and allow to thaw. Work while the pastry is still cold. Place pastry dough on surface and lightly dust it and the rolling pin with flour.
Transfer the puff pastry onto a baking tray and using a knife, score a border (about thumb-size) around the edge of the puff pastry sheet to create a crust. Whisk the egg and using a baking brush, brush the egg wash over the border.
Add evenly the caramelised onions covering the whole dough, except the egg-washed corners.
Wash the figs with cold water and cut into quarters. Add evenly on the tart. Using your hands, crumble the feta cheese and sprinkle on the top of the tart.
Add the thyme and bake for about 20-25 minutes or until the crust is golden.

I used fresh thyme. Some recipes add a glaze of honey but I found the tart sweet enough already.

That is enough for one fruit basket but in a couple of weeks I’ll follow up, as promised, with another one. Then later in the year when it is the season for apples, pears and quinces, there will be a third one more.

Bon appétit!