Strawberries, shortbread, cream; rhubarb, crumble, custard;
apple pie, ice-cream. Time after time, the most satisfying fruity puds
follow this neat formula: sweet-tart fruit, starchy, crisp or crunchy
carbohydrate and a luscious, creamy dollop on top (or underneath. Or
even in the middle). It's a tremendously treaty trinity that seems to
satisfy every sense, with each element pointing up the sheer loveliness
of the others.
This pattern can be repeated ad infinitum, with both familiar and innovative combinations. Trifle, in its simplest form, is an illustration of the principle at work: fruit, cake, custard/cream. But don't stop there: what about spiced, roasted plums crushed on to hot, buttered, sugared toast with a spoon of yoghurt? Or an intense blackcurrant compote with chocolate meringues sandwiched with cream? Or raspberries strewn over a vanilla cheesecake with a divinely dense, biscuit-crumb base? Or blueberries with sweetened mascarpone and a scattering of walnut praline? Or maybe golden scones topped with a thick cap of gooseberry and elderflower jam and clotted cream. Give me any of these for my afters and I will know that all is right with the world.
The same approach works with compotes and soaked dried fruit: try a luscious purée of tart bramley apples with yoghurt and a sprinkling of granola (or even cornflakes) for breakfast. Or dried prunes and apricots, soaked in orange juice or apple juice or tea until plump, with a dollop of crème fraîche and a scattering of toasted almond flakes.
Once you've got the formula down pat – and, let's face it, that's easily done – you will have an infinitely flexible template for improvisation. You need never be stumped for a pudding idea again. You can get fancy and whip up pannacottas and parfaits, mousses and syllabubs as the creamy element; you can lovingly make puff or choux pastry to give carb-backbone. Such culinary whiz-kiddery is very rewarding and certainly worthwhile, but it is not essential – a few berries, a spoonful of yoghurt and a handful of muesli can be just as satisfying.
We are about to enter the prime season for British fruit. Very soon, the strawberries will be fat and sweet and the raspberries zing-in-the-mouth delicious. Later, tart currants will darken on their bushes like jewels while plums and gages will be trickling their sweet juices down our chins. Before summer's out, the first pears and apples will start to weigh heavy on the branches.
So often, this homegrown bounty is overlooked in the pud stakes, passed over for imported kiwis and passion fruit, or simply superseded by lemon tarts and chocolate cakes. Sometimes, we're a bit stumped for ideas when it comes to cooking our native fruit, stuck down a cul-de-sac of crumbles and pavlovas. Both are fine puds, of course, and both manifest the magic of the three-piece sweet, but there's so much more that can be done if you play about a bit with the formula.
So stock up on frozen puff pastry and nice nuts; make a batch of my "independent" crumble (see this week's first recipe) and make sure the biscuit tin never wants for a few digestives and gingernuts; keep a tub of vanilla ice-cream in the freezer and a carton each of crème fraîche and full-fat yoghurt in the fridge. Then, when the fresh fruit starts dropping into your lap, you'll never be far away from a perfect pud.
400g strawberries, hulled and cut into smallish pieces
1 tbsp caster sugar
1 vanilla pod
200ml double cream
100ml plain yoghurt
2 tbsp icing sugar
For the 'independent' crumble
225g plain flour
A pinch of fine sea salt
200g chilled, unsalted butter, cut into cubes
150g granulated or demerara sugar
100g medium oatmeal, ground almonds or porridge oats
To make the crumble, which you can do well ahead of time, heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Put all the ingredients into a large bowl. Rub together with your fingertips until you have a crumbly dough. Squeeze the mix in your hands to form clumps, then crumble these on to a large baking tray that has an edge. Evenly spread out the lumpy crumble and bake for 25 minutes, giving it a good stir halfway through, until golden brown and crisp. Leave to cool, then transfer to an airtight container. You'll have more than you need for this recipe, but it stores well for a couple of weeks and can be used to top all sorts of fruity and/or creamy puds.
Hull the strawberries, cut them into smallish pieces, sprinkle with caster sugar and leave to macerate for at least an hour.
Just before serving, split open the vanilla pod and scrape the seeds into the cream. Stir in the yoghurt and sift in the icing sugar. Beat with a balloon whisk or electric whisk until the cream thickens and holds very soft peaks (don't overdo it, or it becomes too hard). Add the strawberries to the cream and stir gently so you have a swirly, marbled mixture. Transfer to four dishes, top each with a generous scattering of crumble, and serve.
Honey-soaked almond cake with rhubarb compote and crème fraiche: Go
on, you know you want to… Photograph: Colin Campbell for the Guardian
This luscious, honeyed cake (which is gluten-free as long as you use a
g-f baking powder) is gorgeous with the sweet-sharp fruit and slightly
tart crème fraîche. Serves eight.
For the cake
225g soft, unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing
225g caster sugar
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
225g ground almonds
3 large eggs
125g polenta or fine cornmeal
1 tsp baking powder (gluten-free, if you prefer)
Large pinch of salt
100g honey
For the rhubarb compote
500g rhubarb
3 oranges
About 50g caster sugar
Crème fraîche, to serve
Heat the oven to 170C/335F/gas mark 3. Butter a 20cm round, springform tin and line it with parchment or dust with flour. (If you want to keep the cake gluten-free, use cornflour or another gluten-free flour.)
Beat the butter, sugar and lemon zest in a mixer, or with an electric whisk, for several minutes until pale, fluffy and light. Stir in the ground almonds, then beat in the eggs one at a time, incorporating each one fully before adding the next. Combine the polenta, baking powder and salt, and fold into the batter.
Spoon the batter into the prepared tin and bake for about 50 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean.
Warm the honey until very loose and liquid. Make holes all over the top of the hot cake with a skewer, then trickle over the hot honey. Leave to cool completely.
For the compote, trim the rhubarb, cut it into short pieces and put it in a large, wide pan – you want it in as shallow a layer as possible. Finely grate the zest of one orange on top.
Slice the peel and pith away from all three oranges: to do this, cut a slice off the base of each and stand the orange on a board. Using a sharp knife, cut down through the peel and pith, slicing them away completely in sections.
Working over a bowl to catch any juice, cut out the orange segments from the membranes. Squeeze the juice from the empty membranes into the rhubarb pan, along with the strained juice from segmenting the oranges. Put the orange segments in the fridge. Add 50g sugar to the rhubarb pot, stir, and leave for 15 minutes so the sugar starts to dissolve and draw some juice from the rhubarb.
Put the pan on a medium-low heat, bring to a very gentle simmer and cook the rhubarb just until tender – this can take as little as eight to 10 minutes. Turn the pieces gently so they cook evenly. The aim is to have the rhubarb hold its shape when cooked, but don't worry if it starts to break down. Leave to cool completely, then combine with the orange segments. Taste, add more sugar if necessary, then refrigerate.
Serve the cake in slices with a spoonful of compote and a scoop of crème fraîche.
350g gooseberries, topped and tailed
75g caster sugar
100g ginger biscuits, crushed to crumbs
100ml plain wholemilk yoghurt
100ml double cream
Put the gooseberries in a pan with a tablespoon of water and 50g sugar (if using defrosted gooseberries, don't add any water). Cook over a medium-low heat, stirring to help the sugar dissolve, until the gooseberries are soft and just a few of them have burst. This should take only a few minutes. If the compote seems very watery, strain off the excess liquid, simmer to reduce until syrupy, then recombine with the berries. Leave to cool, then chill until needed.
Set aside four tablespoons of the biscuit crumbs, and divide the rest between four glass tumblers or sundae dishes. Put the yoghurt, cream and remaining 25g sugar in a bowl and whisk until it holds soft peaks. Spoon over the biscuit crumbs in the dishes, top with gooseberry compote, sprinkle with the reserved crumbs and serve at once.
This pattern can be repeated ad infinitum, with both familiar and innovative combinations. Trifle, in its simplest form, is an illustration of the principle at work: fruit, cake, custard/cream. But don't stop there: what about spiced, roasted plums crushed on to hot, buttered, sugared toast with a spoon of yoghurt? Or an intense blackcurrant compote with chocolate meringues sandwiched with cream? Or raspberries strewn over a vanilla cheesecake with a divinely dense, biscuit-crumb base? Or blueberries with sweetened mascarpone and a scattering of walnut praline? Or maybe golden scones topped with a thick cap of gooseberry and elderflower jam and clotted cream. Give me any of these for my afters and I will know that all is right with the world.
The same approach works with compotes and soaked dried fruit: try a luscious purée of tart bramley apples with yoghurt and a sprinkling of granola (or even cornflakes) for breakfast. Or dried prunes and apricots, soaked in orange juice or apple juice or tea until plump, with a dollop of crème fraîche and a scattering of toasted almond flakes.
Once you've got the formula down pat – and, let's face it, that's easily done – you will have an infinitely flexible template for improvisation. You need never be stumped for a pudding idea again. You can get fancy and whip up pannacottas and parfaits, mousses and syllabubs as the creamy element; you can lovingly make puff or choux pastry to give carb-backbone. Such culinary whiz-kiddery is very rewarding and certainly worthwhile, but it is not essential – a few berries, a spoonful of yoghurt and a handful of muesli can be just as satisfying.
We are about to enter the prime season for British fruit. Very soon, the strawberries will be fat and sweet and the raspberries zing-in-the-mouth delicious. Later, tart currants will darken on their bushes like jewels while plums and gages will be trickling their sweet juices down our chins. Before summer's out, the first pears and apples will start to weigh heavy on the branches.
So often, this homegrown bounty is overlooked in the pud stakes, passed over for imported kiwis and passion fruit, or simply superseded by lemon tarts and chocolate cakes. Sometimes, we're a bit stumped for ideas when it comes to cooking our native fruit, stuck down a cul-de-sac of crumbles and pavlovas. Both are fine puds, of course, and both manifest the magic of the three-piece sweet, but there's so much more that can be done if you play about a bit with the formula.
So stock up on frozen puff pastry and nice nuts; make a batch of my "independent" crumble (see this week's first recipe) and make sure the biscuit tin never wants for a few digestives and gingernuts; keep a tub of vanilla ice-cream in the freezer and a carton each of crème fraîche and full-fat yoghurt in the fridge. Then, when the fresh fruit starts dropping into your lap, you'll never be far away from a perfect pud.
Strawberry fumble
I do like a fumble. It's nothing more than a chilled fruit fool topped with separately made crumble. We came up with the idea at River Cottage a few summers ago, and I'm delighted to see it cropping up on other restaurant menus. Spread the love, I say. Its joy is that it can be adapted to pretty much any British fruit at pretty much any time of year. Serves four.400g strawberries, hulled and cut into smallish pieces
1 tbsp caster sugar
1 vanilla pod
200ml double cream
100ml plain yoghurt
2 tbsp icing sugar
For the 'independent' crumble
225g plain flour
A pinch of fine sea salt
200g chilled, unsalted butter, cut into cubes
150g granulated or demerara sugar
100g medium oatmeal, ground almonds or porridge oats
To make the crumble, which you can do well ahead of time, heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Put all the ingredients into a large bowl. Rub together with your fingertips until you have a crumbly dough. Squeeze the mix in your hands to form clumps, then crumble these on to a large baking tray that has an edge. Evenly spread out the lumpy crumble and bake for 25 minutes, giving it a good stir halfway through, until golden brown and crisp. Leave to cool, then transfer to an airtight container. You'll have more than you need for this recipe, but it stores well for a couple of weeks and can be used to top all sorts of fruity and/or creamy puds.
Hull the strawberries, cut them into smallish pieces, sprinkle with caster sugar and leave to macerate for at least an hour.
Just before serving, split open the vanilla pod and scrape the seeds into the cream. Stir in the yoghurt and sift in the icing sugar. Beat with a balloon whisk or electric whisk until the cream thickens and holds very soft peaks (don't overdo it, or it becomes too hard). Add the strawberries to the cream and stir gently so you have a swirly, marbled mixture. Transfer to four dishes, top each with a generous scattering of crumble, and serve.
Honey-soaked almond cake with rhubarb compote and crème fraiche
Honey-soaked almond cake with rhubarb compote and crème fraiche: Go
on, you know you want to… Photograph: Colin Campbell for the Guardian
This luscious, honeyed cake (which is gluten-free as long as you use a
g-f baking powder) is gorgeous with the sweet-sharp fruit and slightly
tart crème fraîche. Serves eight.For the cake
225g soft, unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing
225g caster sugar
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
225g ground almonds
3 large eggs
125g polenta or fine cornmeal
1 tsp baking powder (gluten-free, if you prefer)
Large pinch of salt
100g honey
For the rhubarb compote
500g rhubarb
3 oranges
About 50g caster sugar
Crème fraîche, to serve
Heat the oven to 170C/335F/gas mark 3. Butter a 20cm round, springform tin and line it with parchment or dust with flour. (If you want to keep the cake gluten-free, use cornflour or another gluten-free flour.)
Beat the butter, sugar and lemon zest in a mixer, or with an electric whisk, for several minutes until pale, fluffy and light. Stir in the ground almonds, then beat in the eggs one at a time, incorporating each one fully before adding the next. Combine the polenta, baking powder and salt, and fold into the batter.
Spoon the batter into the prepared tin and bake for about 50 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean.
Warm the honey until very loose and liquid. Make holes all over the top of the hot cake with a skewer, then trickle over the hot honey. Leave to cool completely.
For the compote, trim the rhubarb, cut it into short pieces and put it in a large, wide pan – you want it in as shallow a layer as possible. Finely grate the zest of one orange on top.
Slice the peel and pith away from all three oranges: to do this, cut a slice off the base of each and stand the orange on a board. Using a sharp knife, cut down through the peel and pith, slicing them away completely in sections.
Working over a bowl to catch any juice, cut out the orange segments from the membranes. Squeeze the juice from the empty membranes into the rhubarb pan, along with the strained juice from segmenting the oranges. Put the orange segments in the fridge. Add 50g sugar to the rhubarb pot, stir, and leave for 15 minutes so the sugar starts to dissolve and draw some juice from the rhubarb.
Put the pan on a medium-low heat, bring to a very gentle simmer and cook the rhubarb just until tender – this can take as little as eight to 10 minutes. Turn the pieces gently so they cook evenly. The aim is to have the rhubarb hold its shape when cooked, but don't worry if it starts to break down. Leave to cool completely, then combine with the orange segments. Taste, add more sugar if necessary, then refrigerate.
Serve the cake in slices with a spoonful of compote and a scoop of crème fraîche.
Gooseberry and ginger biscuit layer
This has all the elements of a cheesecake – crunchy biscuit base, creamy middle, tart fruity top – but there's none of the bother of getting it to set, turning it out and slicing it. In short, it's just pure, easy, greedy fun. Makes four.350g gooseberries, topped and tailed
75g caster sugar
100g ginger biscuits, crushed to crumbs
100ml plain wholemilk yoghurt
100ml double cream
Put the gooseberries in a pan with a tablespoon of water and 50g sugar (if using defrosted gooseberries, don't add any water). Cook over a medium-low heat, stirring to help the sugar dissolve, until the gooseberries are soft and just a few of them have burst. This should take only a few minutes. If the compote seems very watery, strain off the excess liquid, simmer to reduce until syrupy, then recombine with the berries. Leave to cool, then chill until needed.
Set aside four tablespoons of the biscuit crumbs, and divide the rest between four glass tumblers or sundae dishes. Put the yoghurt, cream and remaining 25g sugar in a bowl and whisk until it holds soft peaks. Spoon over the biscuit crumbs in the dishes, top with gooseberry compote, sprinkle with the reserved crumbs and serve at once.
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