An essay by Glenny Brock
Prunes have a bad reputation.
Really, is there anyone under the age of 40 for whom the fruit doesn't conjure up images of old people discussing regularity? My grandfather used to heap them into a bowl of Bran Flakes every morning at the breakfast table, then cover the mix with two-percent milk (the thinness of which, when I was 5, also gave me a gross grandparent vibe).
"Glenny Lou, you want some prunes?" he'd ask cheerfully. "They're good for you."
I would scowl and shake my head and wrap one arm protectively around my own bowl of cereal. Who would want her Fruity Pebbles ruined with actual fruit?
Besides, the prunes just looked like bathroom business. I'm sure I heard the argument that they tasted good — just like big raisins — but I was having none of it. Raisins started out as grapes, which I liked, and in my child-mind, they got so wrinkled from staying in the tub too long, which always also happened to me. The dainty size of raisins meant I could fit a dozen in my fist. A prune filled up my whole hand and its ugliness gave it the menace of a fruit from a fairly tale, as if one bite might make me a withered old woman who had to run to the bathroom.
Fast forward almost 30 years and I find myself facing another man extolling the virtues of prunes, praising their natural sweetness and urging me to purge my scatological associations.
"Prunes aren't just for the elderly," Brad tells me. He is scooping gooey handfuls of them into a pie pan, preparing to cover two layers of them with a sweet batter made of flour, cream, eggs and sugar. In my opinion, the use of prunes is going to ruin his perfectly good clafoutis recipe. The Joy of Cooking calls for making the French fruit dessert with cognac and cherries, but Brad is trying a variation that involves vanilla and prunes.
I'm sure the childhood scowl on my adult face makes me look like a prune, but I'm facing Brad with a glower just the same. "I just don't like them," I say.
And yet an hour later, when the clafoutis comes out of the oven, I have to eat my words. The prunes have a pervasive mellow sweetness, and baking the batter in a thin sugar crust gives every bite a chewy crunch. (A clafoutis is like a pie embedded in a thick pancake.) The dessert tastes like a fig newton ought to taste — like it might taste with real food ingredients instead of sulfur dioxide, high fructose corn syrup and soy lecithin emulsifier. Brad watches as I eat wordlessly. He is savoring the fact that he has changed my mind with a dish when words wouldn't do the trick.
"Maybe you can call them dried plums," he says.
Prune Clafoutis
Ingredients:
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 eggs
1 1/4 cup sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
seeds from 1 vanilla bean or 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2-3 cups pitted prunes
butter and sugar for pan
Almonds (whole or slivered) for topping
Technique:
Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
Soak the prunes in warm water for 10-15 minutes to soften. GENTLY squeeze out some of the water, but be careful not to crush the prunes completely.
Coat the inside surface of a pie pan with butter. Pour in about 1/4 cup of sugar and swirl the pan until it is coated with a layer of sugar embedded in butter. Use more or less (butter or sugar) as necessary.
Beat the eggs, cream, 1 cup sugar, and vanilla together with a whisk. Then beat in the flour until the mixture has formed a thick batter.
Layer the prunes on the bottom of the pan. Pour the batter over the prunes and jiggle and shake the dish to fill in any gaps. Top with whole or slivered almonds.
Bake for approximately 30 minutes, until the clafoutis is nicely browned and a knife or toothpick inserted into it comes out clean.
Allow to cool before eating.
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