All posts filed under: fruit

peach clafouti oh my oh my, from A Raisin & A Porpoise

peach of mind

My daughters are each in their own way quite practical, especially when it comes to worrying, which—and I don’t mean to toot my own horn here at all–I raise to Olympic levels. They take after their father more in this regard, mercifully, being much more judicious in terms of what they worry over or tolerate others worrying about. After learning I was born on a Wednesday, some years ago one of them crayoned me up a sign that said “Just Say No to Woe,” which I would show you here but our photos are not at all organized, which I am pretty worried about. Anyway, back in the days when I kept a flower garden, I had a hibiscus plant. I may still have it. Hard to say. But when the girls were small it was glorious, several feet high and blooms as wide across as soup bowls. Every fall, I did as I was told (that right there should give you a sense of how long ago this was) and cut it straight back …

quince essential

Are you a quince resister?  We shall overcome. Here are a few points in their favor: 1. One of the greatest poems ever written, “The Owl & The Pussycat,” by Edward Lear, features a quince: They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. Need more? Really? I thought the poem would do it.  Okay: According to Plutarch, who ought to know, ancient Greek brides would sweeten their breath by nibbling on quinces before entering the bridal chamber, “in order that the first greeting may not be disagreeable nor unpleasant.” Plutarch may have overlooked some of the contributing factors to disagreeable encounters, but he was right on the money about the quince. Awesome dental refresher. How about its other ancient pedigrees?  The legendary golden apple of Hesperides that Paris gave to Aphrodite (remember that one?) was really a quince. …

saucy little tarts

  Would you like to know the secret to making good pie?  Well, don’t ask me.  I make lousy pie, so I can’t help you with that. What I can help you with, thanks to a devious workaround in my bag of tricks, is diverting attention—yours and anyone else’s–from your lack of pie-making skills. In my entirely unsolicited opinion, whomsoever came up with the phrase “easy as pie” has a little bit to answer for.  It’s easy as pie for me to make a cardboard crust that stays raw underneath the fruit but burns on the edges.  Easy as pie to underfill the thing so that the top crust collapses AND to overfill it so it blurps all over the oven.  It’s easy as pie for me to imagine I can flute and lattice and, heaven help us, stencil a pie crust, but tough as nails to translate that into reality on the plate. There is nothing like a pie, in my experience, to bring a person’s lofty fantasies regarding their personal superpowers sharply down …