Wrap in clingfilm and chill for at least 30 minutes. Rub this into the flour, then stir in just as much cold water (about 1 tbsp should do it) as you need to bring it together into a dough. To make the pastry, mix the flour, sugar and salt in a bowl or food processor, and then grate in the cold butter. Photograph: Felicity Cloake/The Guardian Perfect apricot tartįor the pastry: 225g plain flour, plus extra to dust 2 tbsp caster sugar ¼ tsp salt 165g cold butter Cold waterġ10g butter 110g caster sugar, plus 1 tbsp 2 eggs 110g ground almonds 25g plain flour ½ tsp baking powder Zest of ½ lemon 9 medium apricots 20g flaked almonds I prefer more fruit than he puts in, but the combination is unbeatable, and lighter than Berry’s grated marzipan (though the latter is much quicker, and, in its own way, rather good too, especially if you happen to have some still hanging around from last Christmas). None can compare, however, to Slater’s frangipane base – a classic pairing for apricots, given almonds belong to the same family. Grigson steps things up a notch with a kind of tangy custard made with sour and double creams, eggs and sugar, which is lovely, but very rich indeed – I prefer a dollop of creme fraiche on the side as a contrast, rather than binding the two up together. I suspect this is an approach that would be better with concentric circles of overlapping fruit than the packed halves I go for, as the liquid butter would soak in to the apricots themselves, rather than sitting in the hollows between them. Peyraud, having simmered them into thick, sticky deliciousness, needs nothing more than a few silvered almonds (the wet, fresh sort preferably, but we’re several months too late for that, more’s the pity), while Child keeps it even simpler by simply topping them with sugar and butter. The real debate, however, isn’t over apricots at all, but about what else ought to accompany them in their pastry shell. Photograph: Felicity Cloake/The Guardian The filling This I can only attribute to the sugar that sits on top of them during baking, which must caramelise even as it draws out their liquid – but, whatever her magic touch, I’m stealing it. Unless these are very pitted, this seems a shame I rather like the chewiness they add, but oddly enough Child’s apricots are the best tasting of the lot, being both sharp and sweet at once. Of those who use apricots in their raw state, Nigel Slater macerates them in sugar and marsala wine before use, while Julia Child simply blanches them to remove the skins. Half an hour in the oven seems to be sufficient to cook all but the hardest of fruit through. Jane Grigson’s old-fashioned apricot tart, inspired by the ones served at the annual basil and garlic fair in Tours, uses fruit poached in a light syrup that doesn’t seem to make a great deal of difference to their flavour or texture. They will never have the acidity of their fresh brethren, so I would suggest adding a spritz of lemon juice to the fruit before cooking to help boost their flavour.Īt this time of year, however, there’s no substitute for the real deal, and it seems a shame to cook them down to a virtual jam as in Lulu Peyraud’s recipe in Richard Olney’s classic collection, Lulu’s Provençal Table, delicious as it tastes. They may be spilling from shelves right now, but should you have an uncontrollable urge for an apricot tart when they’re not in season, you could do a lot worse than Mary Berry’s “wobbly” version using the tinned variety. Photograph: Felicity Cloake/The Guardian The fruit If not, and if, like me, you can rarely resist their blushing charms on the market, then, as Grigson so wisely notes, “you will perhaps be wise to regard apricots as a fruit for the kitchen, then you will not be disappointed”. If you happen to have a good source of local apricots, picked at the perfect time, then, by all means, gorge yourself on fresh fruit – the British apricot season tends to go on longer than the European one, so we have a couple of weeks yet before they’re gone for good. And then, such fruit as manages to grow is picked early – and reaches us in a sadly underripe condition. Hence the name, which comes from the same Latin root as the word “precocious”, and means that the flowers are easily caught by frost. The problem, according to Jane Grigson, is the plant’s delicacy. The golden, softly glowing apricot is a fruit that promises much in the bowl, but often proves disappointingly bland and woolly in the eating, whether you buy them in Provence or Preston.
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