Close cousins to jams and preserves, fruit butters—some of the better known ones being apple and prune—do not contain a smidgin of butter despite their name. The butter reference in this case describes the silky, spreadable, fondant (melt-in-your-mouth) texture which is achieved through simmering, sieving, blending, and reduction via a second simmering. It can also be regarded as a paste, similar to tomato paste, but sweet, not savoury and a bit less thick. It is an effective way to process the abundance of peaches streaming in from our potager. This peach butter can be kept in the fridge for a few weeks, or if longer conservation is required, it can be either frozen or canned.
Ingredients
makes around 500 ml (2 American cups of 8 oz)
- Peaches, fresh, 1.8 kg (4 lbs)
- Sugar, 8 T
- Lemon juice, fresh, 2 T
Peaches are beautiful in several ways: their fuzzy, round form with a circular seam connecting a dip on top and a tip on bottom says we are both friendly and substantial; their blend of warm-toned colours, we are drop-dead gorgeous; their fragrance, stay awhile, won't you? And you do, since their flavour is stupendous. How do I pick them? By shaking the tree! A few bounce off my head and the cats. But all in all most of them miss us and eventually get placed in the harvest basket none worse for the wear.
Rinse ripe peaches. Cut each in half (using the seam running around the peach as a guideline). Remove pits and discard them. Place fruit in a heavy-bottomed pot, preferably an enamelled cast-iron one. No need to peel because not only is time saved, the flavour and colour will be more intense.
Toss in sugar and lemon juice. Partially cover and simmer for about thirty minutes or until the peaches are falling apart and extremely soft. Stir occasionally. If peaches are not very juicy, some water may need to be added.
Working in batches, pass them through a Foley mill placed over a pot, that is, crank the handle clockwise three times and then one counter-clockwise turn to unclog. Repeat until the residue is no longer sopping wet. Remember to scrap off the bottom of the mill before using a hand-held mixer, blending well the mixture right in the pot. Rinse out the pot in which the peaches were simmered.
Pour the simmered, sieved peaches into the clean pot and reduce, partially covered, stirring fairly frequently to prevent sticking for around thirty minutes or until it's thick enough . . .
. . . that when a large spoon is dipped into the pot and that spoon is etched with a smaller one down the middle, the parting will stay. Let cool for five to ten minutes. Ladle into a clean jar. Keep covered in the fridge.
Oh, yes!
Almost too pretty for words, but how about translucent and the colour of rosewood?
Much closer to a sauce than a jam or jelly, it sinks deep down into the billowy bread folds. So good!
À la prochaine!
In late summer, when so many tempting fruits can be found in gardens and green markets, a nutritious, versatile, cooling smoothie is the way to go. It can be served as breakfast, lunch, supper, or a snack. Since I remember how ginger ale offered superb refreshment during my childhood summers, ginger often is added to our summer beverages. Lovely, luscious peaches and raspberries from the potager plus a banana, orange juice, and milk are the other ingredients. Ice is often added to smoothies, but since everything except the powdered ginger has been kept in the fridge, it comes out well-chilled on its own.
For 1 large serving or two smaller ones, using either a blender or stick mixer, blend together until smooth a large peach, rinsed, pitted, and cut small, a small handful of rinsed raspberries, peeled, medium cut-up banana, 1/8 to 1/4 tsp of powdered ginger, enough milk to cover, a good slosh of orange juice, and sugar to taste.
Delicious and packed with potassium which is essential for muscle strength, this smoothie is all I need to head back to the garden for digging some more beds so cover crops which function as green fertiliser will continue to be planted throughout this month and next. How many beds? Six!
À la prochaine!
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There's a paradoxical edge in the air. The pervasive mellowness of late-summer laziness when much already has been harvested, specifically rhubarb, asparagus, peas, potatoes, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries, is brushing against the beginning bustle of sowing for autumnal crops such as beets, carrots, kale, and tansy along with picking plus preserving peaches, plums, the second flush of raspberries, and figs. Watering and mowing chores are being replaced by weeding and clipping hedges such as ivy, laurel, and the wild area's brambles. Ivy covering walls/fences and pergola pillars gets about four trimmings per year chez nous. This one will be the last until late winter/early spring. When the cutting back is vigorous, dead leaves tucked deep into the vines will show. Through time they will flutter down on their own accord or be covered with new growth. This final trim was done a little too late as clusters of berries which sustain starlings through winter already had started developing so though some unfortunately got the axe, I made sure the ones up high were spared as on the ivy-covered wall in the below photo's bottom left-hand corner.
But the bustle is not exactly a bustle. Even it is pervaded with a sense if not exactly of laziness, then one of satiety with the promise of more to come. This halo of contentment hovering over our little city plot is reminiscent of the much larger one that floated over a farming community we visited about ten years ago south of Grenoble. In exchange of our being custodians for a century-old country property while their owners went abroad we got to spend two weeks during late August in an active agricultural setting. The large house more in shambles than not is referred to on local maps as Le Chateau hence at one point in our stay a pair of hikers stared with confused disappointment over the chain-barred dirt road entrance at the rather dilapidated structure in process of being renovated. We made sure the horses got their daily water and the orchard's apples got picked and stored. As we hiked around fields dotted with bales of hay and walked through narrow village streets where workers were making sure roofs were in good repair for the coming winter, this dual sense of activity laced with satisfied fulfilment was everywhere.
At the moment in our urban garden, there's a bumper crop of peaches! As I pick up the fragrant ones volunteering easy harvesting by their dropping to the ground, I hear neighbours' chickens clucking, clucking, clucking along, in their own feathery universe, bringing memories of our stay in that farming village where the sounds of domesticated animals were everywhere, from horses to cows, and of course chickens.
The fig harvest looks to be a record breaker also.
Beets still have a ways to go in developing their roots, but a few leaves here and there have been plucked to go into minestrone.
It's a common saying among gardeners that the best crop yield often is found on the compost heap. Ours at present is covered with squash and tomato plants.
The front garden's lavender, abelia, purple plum tree, and potted heather are bathed in flitting shadows cast by the much taller and still fully leaved cherry plum and box elder trees. Within a couple of months the shadowy dance will become more subdued once those trees start to shed their leaves.
Companions to the heather are a solar lamp and floppy, chartreuse echeveria. The succulent will put out welcomed, cheery, bright-yellow blooms in late winter.
Lavender cradles pink, low-growing dahlias.
It will get a clipping after flowering.
Deadheading regularly will keep dahlias blooming right into autumn like these lovely, single, red ones set in a dramatic background of yucca with its sword-shaped leaves.
À la prochaine!
Boiling small, unpeeled potatoes followed by gently squashing with a fork and then stove-top roasting in an iron skillet not only doesn't involve turning on the oven in summer, but also results in a superbly roasted tater taking less time than a baked one.
Last week I dug up two beds of all-purpose potatoes, to be specific, Rosabelle variety which has pink skin and yellow flesh; they will find their way into stews, soups, the skillet, and as mashed/scalloped for the next three months. Though it is best to unearth potatoes when the soil is dry, sometimes it's not possible to do so when there's been abundant rain. In that case, clumps of earth adhering to the potatoes can be rinsed off using the garden hose. The ones in the below photo comprise about one-fifth of our haul.
When Rosabelle is harvested early in June, it is suitable for salads, but when mature in August, it becomes multipurpose because it loses some moisture. To summarise the different types, salad potatoes have the most moisture, baking potatoes have the least, and all-purpose are in between. A higher amount of moisture translates texturally into increased firmness and less moisture into more fluffy and floury. However personal preference does dictate as in my own where I shun firm, waxy potatoes even for salads. I am an all-purpose lass! Though I have been known to sneak a few potatoes just for baking into our grocery cart.
Using a spade or fork to dig them up usually results in some getting damaged. When just an end has been cut off, I still store them in the dark, cool cellier. However, when they are slashed lengthwise or on the diagonal, I usually discard them as they are a bother to clean and unsuitable for storage as they can introduce decay into the whole lot. That's why I am as careful as I can be when working around them. There's a specialised potato fork with blunt tips that someday I might get!
After they are clean and dried by the sun, I separate the smallest ones with which I will make mostly smashed potatoes. I love smashed potatoes because they are an easy and yummy way of eating potassium-rich skins which contain as much potassium as the flesh. Since the recommended adult intake is about 5,000 mg, most of us don't get what we need, hence we feel lethargic and experience muscle cramps at times. If made in a pan other than cast-iron, they will be better than OK, but they won't develop the same depth of flavour and crackly skin.
Ingredients for Lemon Basil Garlic Smashed Potatoes are in bold. For two side servings or one meal-sized, boil till tender ten small potatoes in their skins. Let cool. Put a thin layer of oil (I used safflower) in the skillet and turn the heat on to medium. While the pan gets nice and hot, flatten out each potato on a solid surface by cradling one by one with your thumb and index finger while pressing down with a fork. The motion needs to be steady and gentle as to keep the potato flesh intact and not broken into pieces. If that happens, the finished dish will be fine, just a bit messy looking and more challenging to flip over. Mince a garlic clove and along with a teaspoon of dried basil and a halved lemon put close to the skillet. Carefully position each potato with the side of the most intact skin face down in the skillet using a spatula. Keep some distance between each one. Let be for around five minutes or until the skin has developed a deep-golden crust. Sprinkle with salt, minced garlic (using a small spoon, place some on each one, then smoosh down with the spoon's back), and basil. Lower heat a bit and flip over and let be for another five minutes. Additional oil may be needed. Turn off the heat. Flip again (to the side where skin is most cracked) and carefully (don't splatter hot oil on you!) squeeze lemon juice over all. By the time the skillet is brought to table, the piping hot potatoes will have soaked up the lemon juice. A sprinkling of fleur de sel is the final touch.
The skin was crunchy, the insides soft and cushiony, and everything was gorgeously seasoned as if the lemon, garlic, and basil were a natural part of the potato flesh and not upstart additions. Also a serving offers around 1000 mg of potassium—probably more because there is increased skin surface with several small potatoes than for an equivalent large potato—for the summer road when our requirement goes up even further because of perspiration and increased activity.
À la prochaine!
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All that frenzied, early morning watering done during the canicules (heatwaves), one in June, the other in July, paid off. The garden has held on to most of its lushness. The basket of lobelia which was sowed early spring still captivates as it moves gently with the breeze under the pergola and looks that it will remain doing so through August and September. Perhaps a moderate trim, about one third up from the bottom, will be in order to keep it looking fresh.
Sitting in the pergola's low recliner enables my seeing a nice slice of sky framed between two spruces located on a neighbouring business property and the tops of two pots, each placed on an upturned urn, flanking the start of our back garden's central path.
The pot closest to me is one of black-eyed Susan vine nestled in a rose of Sharon which self-seeded very close to an ivy-covered pillar. A much more robust rose of Sharon is in the right-hand corner of the below photo.
After doing some strenuous gardening like digging up two sunny beds of mid-season Rosabelle potatoes (yellow flesh, pink skin, all-purpose), I rush to the shady pergola and collapse on a lounge chair, removing my sun-protection gear of hat and glasses.
As I catch my breath and cool off with a glass of iced coffee, I can see the lovely blue and green glass balls placed in the blueberry pot situated across from me on the sunny part of the patio. They are hand blown and originally were used to float fishing nets. The blue one most likely is from Norway and the green one from Japan. The former was bought in a Grenoble flea market twenty years ago and the latter from an Oregon shop ten years earlier than its Norwegian companion. Both of these breakaway floats took decades to reach French and American shores. They managed not to shatter during our many relocations. This was the season they were liberated from a dusty sous sol corner, cobwebs wiped off, and washed with the garden hose. They are happy and so am I.
Part of my rest is an amble around the house. The pergola flanks the west side, so up I go and say hello to pots of lobelia on a series of grilled sous sol window sills.
Making a sharp turn at an intersection of the side and front gardens, I mosey on up the front stairs leading to the entrance balcony. On the way I stoop to get a whiff of the fragrant, cascading tuberous begonia comfy on a small sous sol window sill.
Onto the balcony where pots of lobelia and Japanese holly are doing well.
The lobelia is flourishing in its big container.
Back down the stairs I go and make a sharp right onto the small, undulating path just shy of the overhanging balcony where I see late-blooming lavender 'Hidcote Giant' on the left and a pink hydrangea on the right. This lavender is much taller than 'Hidcote' which finished putting out its blue spikes a month ago. The taller variety hasn't bloomed much since our arrival ten years ago. I had blamed the dearth of flowers on its somewhat shady location. Since I started watering consistently and everywhere last summer, boy, what a flower display this month of August! Almost as abundant as the shorter bushes. Don't ever underestimate the power of water for a garden. Further down, across the driveway, is a potted collection of shade-loving gardenia, tuberous begonia, hellebore, and various heucheras with differently coloured foliage from lime green to paprika sheltering themselves from the sun under a cherry plum tree and a box elder. Mostly shady, that is, until late afternoon, when that spot gets a sudden burst of short-lived sunlight.
À la prochaine!
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Luscious green beans keep coming in. They are young, smooth, slender and succulent, that is, with hardly any bumpy beans forming within the pod which is perfect for tender, battered fries. Don't wrinkle your nose in health-conscious disdain at deep frying because when it is done right, the food is closer to being steamed.
How to do deep frying correctly? Choose oil that is fresh, but add a large slosh of used oil. Heat it to the right temperature which is around 177 to 190 degrees C (35o to 375 degrees F). No thermometer? Then insert a wooden skewer or end of a wooden spoon into the oil from time to time. Eventually a steady stream of tiny bubbles will be noticeable at the skewer's/spoon's bottom tip which takes about ten minutes. Make sure excess oil is swabbed off the fries with paper towels before serving. The fluffy quality of the batter which resembles bits of baking powder biscuits/scones sticking to the green beans is that way because baking powder is one of the ingredients.
For two ample servings, the ingredients are in bold: For a large fistful or two of trimmed and rinsed green beans, beat an egg with a dash of vinegar and a large pinch of baking powder. Put in a shallow bowl. Mix 1/2 cup of white flour with salt and freshly ground black pepper (I used a couple of large pinches of each) to taste on a plate. Dip all the beans at once into the egg and then scoop them up and heap on the plate with flour. Toss till mostly coated. Repeat, that is, toss them again in the egg mixture followed by the seasoned flour. Add more flour and seasonings if necessary. I used my fingers for mixing but the tossing and coating can be done with two forks. A heavy bottomed pot or in my case a cast iron casserole was filled with 5 cm (2 inches) of vegetable oil (no olive please as it doesn't get hot enough without smoking). Heat to the right temperature using a thermometer or with the trick described above. Tip the battered beans into the hot oil and fry for around four to five minutes or until golden brown. Fish out with a metal mesh strainer or a metal strainer spoon. Drain on paper towels. A few of the fries will stick together and can be coaxed apart. I prefer some clumping, more bang for the taste buck!
The fries are fine are their own, especially if well seasoned, but kissed with the blue cheese dip, oh my, another realm of pleasure is for the taking. For the dip, mix two heaping tablespoons of crème fraîche into two heaping tablespoons of well-mashed, good quality blue cheese (I used Bleu d'Auvergne) and add enough cream (I used 3 T) to get the desired consistency. The final blending can be done with a stick mixer. If by hand, blend any lumps by mashing them against the side of the bowl with a spoon.
These were delicious and fun to eat. The texture is a cross between crunch and soft scone. The salty dip brought out the sweetness of our garden's green beans. The ingredients for both the fried green beans and dip can be increased to make a bigger quantity.
À la prochaine!
Roquefort, a sheep milk cheese, has been in the spotlight since Charlemagne chose it to be his favourite and late medieval French kings gave this culinary marvel special status which was way before the Enlightenment philosopher Diderot decided to plonk the title of The King of Cheeses—don't tell Roquefort, but quite a number of cheeses are considered kingly including Parmesan and Comté—upon its unsuspecting head. The eponymous village and surrounding area certainly needed a royal boost as it was described as being the land where neither vineyards nor corn will grow. By the 20th century Roquefort was enjoying international appreciation.
The famous Combalou caves lined with fleurines (fissures) which ensure the air is kept consistently fresh and cool are referred to as the cabanes, hence the women employees are called the cabanières. To this day some work is mostly done by women because wrapping the cheese for affinage requires a gentle hand. However, in large part, the manufacture is highly technical and mechanised, but without violating any of the strict parameters necessary to keep its special designation.
Nuts and dried fruit in general go well with cheese. A totally fabulous way to present that tasty duo with Roquefort is to serve fruit/nut cake with it.
With that in mind, I went ahead and ordered such an item from The Simply Delicious Cake Company situated in Shropshire, UK. Unlike them I can be immodest and say that their name could conceivably be replaced in a New York minute with a way more appropriate one of The Mind-Blowing Delicious Cake Company. Among their many offerings is a fruit cake just for cheese. This masterpiece contains figs, dates, raisins, apples, and apricots with walnuts and ground almonds thrown in for good measure and is held together by a nearly skeletal structure—no skimping on fruit and nuts at this bakery—of moist, butter-rich cake. Though sweetened with brown sugar and molasses which deepens its fruity, nutty flavours even further, it isn't sweet enough to grace a cup of tea. But it is a perfect companion for cheese, especially cheddar and blue cheese.
France is in the middle of its second canicule, that is, heatwave, for the season. One advantage? It does not take long to bring Roquefort to room temperature! Like all good companions, the cake brings out the best in the Roquefort, and the Roquefort does the same for the cake. Saltiness and sweetness are perfect foils, but also the comforting solidity of the cake takes on the crumbly tanginess of Roquefort like a champ.
Roquefort makes an easy and wonderful dip for crackers and crudités. Mash it with some crème fraîche and enough cream to get the desired consistency. The dip also can be mixed into pasta. With all the green beans streaming in from the potager, a quick meal lately has been a salad of green beans, capers, Roquefort, and chunks of French bread, all tossed together with olive oil, vinegar, salt, and freshly ground black pepper.
Le Livre du Fromage (Éditions des Deux Coqs d'Or, 1968) advises that all wines go well with Roquefort with the exception of sweet ones so if you are considering champagne go brut. But for a sublime pairing, choose from the great red wines like Pape Clément, Châteauneuf du Pape, Chambertin, Clos Vougeot, and Haut-Brion.
À la prochaine!
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