Heart stuck on your sleeve? Can’t let go of the tricycle in the backyard? If only we could be forever young; everything to do with being a grown-up seems to involve complexity, uncertainty, periods of trial and error. Sure, we’d probably never know what it feels like to have perfectly and fully realised love, never have any lasting friends nor the chance to take our first rust-bucket sedan for a trip down memory lane. Still, it sure sounds swell being a knee-high cherub.
But that’s because being a kid meant not worrying about the grown-up stuff. It was, for many of us, a time to form memories of the food we enjoyed, of the kitchen with its myriad of silverware, cast iron cookware and fine bone china. But most importantly, the aromas and laughter that filled the house at the dawn of every season. Food brings families together and it is through the ritualistic passing of recipes from generation to generation that the spell-making method is preserved. And so I present to you a winter warmer dessert that’s low on complexity and full of nostalgic yielding.
As a member of the second generation of family, it is a duty to not only inspire my immediate family with this same fervour, but also assign myself the quest of ensuring that you, the reader, are given all the instructions you need to do the same with your own family and your own generation. We are all archaeologists of our vibrant heritage and should seek to preserve and embrace it.
Winter was a particularly coveted season for my family as a youngster, because it meant that all of the delicious desserts and ornate crockery would come out of a seemingly infinite period of dormancy. Here and there, in mixing bowls and bottles, plates and delicate parcels would be flour and eggs, sugar and salt, pinched and measured with absolute precision. My grandmother’s kitchen was an apothecary; I would watch in amazement as her whole arms would disappear into a floor-to-ceiling pantry and return with pinch after pinch, tablespoon and teaspoonful of spices, sugar sand sauces, pickles and vinegars to the correct portion and executed with immense flair.
There were many times when I would be wailing from the pain of antiseptic lotions after falling out of a tree and gashing my knee. It not only rhymed and hurt profusely but seemed to elevate us to the battlements of our own, private kingdom. Forever seeking that higher branch just out of reach, forever seeking some extra footing atop the chicken wire when pinching oranges and grapefruit from the gnarled branches.
But not all that glitters is gold. Not all that burdens the branches in the heat of summer bears a distinguished, tantalising sweet. The humble apple, a humble fruit that bears its blossoms practically all year round, presents itself here today for your practise and pleasure. The supermarket variety of this fruit, sadly, has lost the majority of its goodness and benefit to your body and your tastebuds. But as I like to think of it, it’s not really a lost cause at all; it’s just dormant, waiting for you to make the most of its cache.
It’s healthier than a self-saucing pudding and most certainly more versatile as well as delicious and warming. Simply parboil, core and bake. Best of all, it works a wonder with ice-cream or brandy custard and is sure to bring out the inner child in you. There’s something immensely fascinating in the act of watching the skins of the apple wrinkle and peel in the oven, as though they were large piñatas bursting with all of the sweet candied fruits as a surprise treat.
INGREDIENTS
4-5 well-sized Golden Delicious, Courtland or Pink Lady varieties (Red Delicious will not work well.
50mL boiling water
pinch nutmeg
pinch cinnamon
2 teaspoons caster sugar
150g candied fruit (packaged raisins, sultanas, orange peel, etc.)pinch of black pepper
The Wild Thyme and Sweet Pea project found its roots when it was plucked excitedly from the garden, washed briskly in a basin of water and lovingly left out to dry in a soothing marinade of vision and ambition ... More »
The Food of Italy, Kay Halsey
The Medieval Kitchen: Recipes from France and Italy, Odile Redon, Francoise Sabban & Silvano Serventi
The Silver Spoon, Phaidon Press
Jamie's Italy, Jamie Oliver
Italian Country Cooking, Loukie Werle
La Cocina de Mama: The Great Home Cooking of Spain, Penelope Casas
Hey Matt!
What a lovely recipe. I can just imagine the warm pungency of the baking apples and cinnamon: the culinary epitome of late winter and early spring. It reminds me of some of the compotes mum often makes, using cored pears, dried Turkish figs, raisins, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and orange juice. She usually cooks it in a pot on the stove, however, and not in the oven; and the pears never seem to need any sugar at all, thanks to the orange juice (I think pears might also have more natural fructose than apples, but I’m not certain of that!).