DARLING CLEMENTINE

We have always tried to eat in season. My grandparents grew vegetables in their potagers; Mom visited the bi-weekly market and the maraîchers; most of the time I favor the fruits and vegetables available at the Farmers’ markets.

One desirable advantage of living in a rural area is having easy access to produce from the surrounding farmland. In France, we call it circuit court, where intermediaries between producer and consumer are almost eliminated. I truly love being so close to my food sources but our climate is quite different from California, even though we live in southwestern France. For the first time in many years, I didn’t have access to local citrus this past winter. In Modesto, I could pick a Eureka lemon from my own tree to accompany sole meunière, or harvest some sweet Meyer lemons in my in-law’s backyard to candy some zests. And there was always someone bringing a full bag of oranges because they didn’t want them to go to waste.

Unless you have a serre (or an orangerie like at the château de Versailles…) it is extremely difficult to grow citrus trees in France and expect to harvest anything. The only area where you may see citrus en pleine terre is along the Mediterranean coast, particularly between Nice and Menton: the city close to the Italian border has organized a Fête du Citron for 86 years. During two weeks each February, you can stroll among citrus replica of fantastic animals or famous buildings like Notre-Dame Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower or a gigantic Taj Mahal.

Clementines from Corsica

A bit further South, Corsica produces the only clementine in France. The groves are located on the eastern plains of the island. The small fruit is juicy and seedless, with a good balance between sweetness and acidity. The skin is thin and shiny. In 2007, la Clémentine de Corse was granted an Indication Géographique Protégée to recognize its quality and specificity. Among the 70 criteria that producers must respect: the clementines have to be harvested by hand; plucked at maturity with at least two of their leaves attached to the stem; and not be subjected to any treatment that would alter its color.

I’ve enjoyed plenty of delicious clementines during my California years. Are the Corsican ones better? It’s a bit hard to tell unless you eat them side by side but I really like their floral tanginess. They are sold in small wooden crates or in bulk: choosing each fruit topped with a couple of green leaves enables you to appreciate how fresh they are. I mostly eat them out of hand; they yield an eye-opening breakfast juice; and, like other clementines, they make delicate desserts.

Vocabulary
Le potager: vegetable garden
Le maraîcher: an individual who grows and sell his own produce; usually on the outskirt of a city.
Le circuit court: lit. short circuit; short supply channel
La sole Meunière: the classic dish of sole in a butter lemon sauce
La serre: greenhouse
L’orangerie: orangery, a dedicated room or structure where potted trees are moved to protect them from freezing temperatures.
En pleine terre: in the ground, as opposed to grown in pots

TARTELETTE A LA CRÈME DE CLEMENTINE
Tartlets with clementine cream
Makes 8 tartlets

 
1 sheet of pastry (homemade or store-bought)
2 eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
8 clementines
1 tsp corn starch

Preheat oven to 375ºF. Roll out the pastry; cut out circles the same diameter as the tartlet pans; line the pans with dough rounds. In a salad bowl whisk the eggs, 1/4 cup of sugar, and vanilla extract until pale and creamy. Zest one clementine; juice four of them. Add zest, juice and corn starch to the egg mixture and mix well. Pour into the tartlets and bake for 20 minutes. Let cool. Cut eight slices in the remaining clementines. In a small saucepan, heat half a cup of water and the remaining sugar. As soon as the syrup starts boiling, add the clementine slices and cook until they start caramelizing. Remove from the heat and allow them to cool completely. Drain. Top each tartlet with one slice before serving.

CANDIED MEYER LEMON STRIPS

At the beginning of December, Mom would always buy a large box of boules praliné to usher in the holiday season. She stored the box in the dining room buffet and would pull it out at the end of dinner so we could all enjoy a sweet treat: a sure sign the holiday season had started. I was also very fond of marrons glacés and she would purchase a box of them as well, along with the less expensive brisures, not as presentable but just as tasty. Historically, the purpose of candying fruits was not to celebrate Christmas but to extend their shelf-life by replacing their moisture with sugar, a natural preservative. Fruits confits (also called fruits glacés) are not difficult to make but they are labor intensive and require space. The basic principle is to immerse the fruit in syrup, simmer it for a while, pull it out, let it dry, and repeat the operation over several days until the fruit has been saturated.

I confess that I’ve never attempted to candy my own chestnuts but there is a prolific Meyer lemon tree in my mother-in-law’s backyard. Last weekend, I decided to make a batch a candied lemon zest. It’s an easy and tasty introduction to home-made candied fruits: because the zest is thin, the whole process can be completed in a couple of days. Pack the candied strips in pretty tins or cellophane bags closed with a festive ribbon: they make irresistible hostess gifts.

Vocabulary
La boule praliné: a chocolate confection with a hazelnut ganache center
Le marron glacé: candied chestnut
La brisure: a broken piece
Les fruits confits: candied fruits

Candied zests waiting to be rolled in sugar

Candied Meyer Lemon Strips
Zestes de citron confits

6 large Meyer lemons
2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup water
½ cup Meyer lemon juice
½ cup granulated sugar to coat the zests

Cut both ends of the lemons. Quarter the lemons and cut each quarter into 4 or 6 strips: each strip should be about 3/8” thick. With a spoon, scrape the membrane and pulp away from the strips of zest and reserve. Fill a saucepan with water and bring to a boil. Add the lemon zest and blanch for 5 minutes. Strain and repeat the process two more times to remove the bitterness. Set the peels in a colander and drain. Meanwhile, squeeze the juice from the reserved pulp (yes, you may use your hands or pack the pulp in a square of cheesecloth and extract the juice.) Place the sugar, water, and lemon juice in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Add the lemon peels. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for about an hour. Drain the peels and set them on a wire rack for 24 hours to air dry. Save the lemon syrup to jazz up a glass of Champagne or moisten a pound cake. Place the sugar in a shallow bowl and roll each peel in the sugar to coat. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to one month.

Of course, you can use the same recipe with oranges or another citrus.

MILOU'S RASPBERRIES

We had a ritual: on our way home to Paris every August, we would stop in Angoulême and spend a day at Mom’s parrain. Milou was an avid and precise gardener. His potager was stunningly reminiscent of Le Potager du Roy in Versailles: purposeful and artistic. Just like a general commandeering his troops, he seemed able to order his blue-green leeks to form straight rows and his fuzzy carrot tops to reach the exact same height. Even his radishes were methodically thinned out so that gorgeous red half moons peeked out from the dark soil in an orderly fashion. Galvanized watering cans stood at attention at the end of the rows, ready to be commissioned to water the colorful vegetables each morning and evening.

While thoroughly impressed by the love, work, and attention he devoted to his garden, my sister and I were mostly attracted to the far side of his yard, all the way back. It was a jungle, a far cry from the manicured rows and alleys that led to it. But it was a jungle of berries. Tall sturdy canes covered with bright green leaves rose randomly, almost menacingly, but the thick bushes revealed the plumpest, sweetest framboises on earth. Françoise and I would just pluck them off the vines and pop them in our mouth, not caring whether we stained our hands, our cheeks, or our clothes. Pigging out on the gorgeous red gems had to be the best way to spend an August afternoon.

Raspberry charlotte
Charlotte aux framboises

½ cup milk
3 egg yolks
2 envelopes unflavored gelatin
24 oz raspberries
¾ cup heavy whipping cream
2 tbsp raspberry syrup
2 tbsp raspberry liqueur
24 boudoirs, ladyfingers, or biscuits roses

In a heavy saucepan, bring the milk to a simmer. Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks and the sugar until white and foamy. Add one-third of the hot milk to the egg mixture, whisking constantly. Pour the egg/milk mixture back into the saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the cream thickens. Do not allow to boil. When the cream coats the back of the spoon (like a crème anglaise), remove from the heat. Sprinkle the gelatin and stir 5 minutes. In a blender, puree 8 oz of raspberries and strain to leave the seeds behind. Mix this raspberry coulis with the cream. Reserve in the refrigerator. Whip the heavy cream until stiff, then gently incorporate into the raspberry cream with a rubber spatula. Line an 8" charlotte mold with 2 or 3 layers of plastic wrap (they should overlap the edges of the mold). Mix the raspberry syrup, ½ cup of water and 2 tbsp of raspberry liqueur in a deep plate. Quickly dip one ladyfinger on both sides and set vertically on the side of the mold; repeat until the whole perimeter is lined with cookies. Cover the bottom of the mold in the same fashion. Ladle one layer of raspberry cream and sprinkle with whole raspberries; repeat; finish with one last layer of cream. Top with another layer of dunked cookies. Layer a sheet of plastic wrap on top of the cake and cover with a plate: the flat bottom should be of the same diameter as the mold. Set a weight on top of the plate and keep in the fridge for 6 hours. When ready to serve, remove the top layer of plastic wrap, invert the charlotte onto a platter. Garnish the top of the cake with remaining raspberries.

Raspberry syrup and biscuits roses can be purchased from Frenchselections.com

Vocabulary
Le parrain: godfather
Le potager: vegetable garden
La framboise: raspberry