Fruit fools
June is the month when fruits and berries tumble onto summer stalls, scenting the air of farmers market streets. Nostrils flaring, we abandon the thought of the pies and crumbles we made during winter which worked to disguise the poor quality or tedium of the only fruit available then for us to eat. We’re now well into the season where we should stop meddling with fruit and allow it to shine on its own or at most sprinkle it with sugar and maybe dribble it with cream. But if you do want to tizzy it up a bit, or improve a fruit such as apricots which may not be quite ripe, or stretch the fruit to feed more people, a good fool is the way to go.
A ‘foole’ is undoubtedly an English, not a French, tradition. The pudding is first mentioned in 1598. But there is a suggestion that the gooseberry fool - the classic fool flavour - may go back to the 15th century.
Sadly, gooseberries seem to have fallen out of fashion in our supermarkets. If you want them, you pretty much have to grow your own or haunt high end fruiterers for their limited supplies. Instead, raspberries (but not strawberries), rhubarb, blackberries, blackcurrants, apricots, even apples, have all been associated with fools. Pruneaux d’Agen that have been macerated for weeks in Armagnac (or cheap port) make a marvellous fool. Mango fool is almost a staple in India. If you want to make it, and why not, it works better with tinned Alphonso mangoes than with fresh ones.
Although the 1598 mention of the ‘foole’ talks of it being made with ‘clouted cream’, traditionally a fool was a puree of stewed fruit folded into a rich egg custard. These days, we have reverted to whipped cream, sometimes flavouring it with rose water, orange water, cinnamon or nutmeg, depending on which fruit is used.
No-one quite knows where the name ‘fool’ came from. The Oxford English Dictionary firmly rejects the suggestion it comes from the French verb ‘fouler’, to crush or press. Its argument is that it bears no relation to the early use of the word. But it doesn’t come up with an alternative.
Robert May, born in 1588 into a family of cooks in Buckinghamshire, was a cook from the age of ten to the English Roman Catholic aristocracy of the day. In 1660, he published the enormous and wide-ranging The Accomplisht Cook, the first cookbook to group recipes into sections, twenty-four of them. It was one of the few cookery books published during the Commonwealth of Oliver Cromwell and went big on recipes for two new American food imports to Europe, the potato and the turkey. His recipe for fool is unusual. He calls it the Norfolk Fool. It’s an odd recipe, mostly focused on a manchet, a small flat loaf of bread which he slices and covers in a thick boiled cream and egg custard with the fruit almost an afterthought. It’s more like a bread-and-butter pudding than a fool.
If you have children in need of entertainment, a fruit fool is a good way to start them on cooking. It’s a very quick and easy recipe to make and produces a delicious bowl for them to lick clean.
To serve 4, use 450g of any fruit to 400ml of double/thick cream, or, for a lighter version, 300ml of cream with 100ml strained Greek yogurt, and 4-5 tablespoons of sugar or more to taste.
Put your fruit in a medium pan with four tablespoons of sugar. Set the pan on a medium-low heat and cover. Cook until the fruit is soft. If it is surrounded by juice, take off the lid, turn up the heat slightly and leave it to bubble away until some of the juice has evaporated and the puree has thickened. Taste the cooked fruit and add more sugar if necessary. Lightly mash with a fork or, for a smoother finish, place a sieve over a bowl and press the fruit through it.
Pour the cream into a large bowl and whisk it into soft, floppy peaks. Lightly fold the cooled fruit into the cream for a rippled effect or more completely if you prefer a fully integrated fool. But take care not to deflate it with a forceful action that knocks the air out of the cream.
Serve with langues de chat or some other delicate biscuit.
This column written by Julia Watson originally appeared in the June 2022 edition of The Bugle.
A ‘foole’ is undoubtedly an English, not a French, tradition. The pudding is first mentioned in 1598. But there is a suggestion that the gooseberry fool - the classic fool flavour - may go back to the 15th century.
Sadly, gooseberries seem to have fallen out of fashion in our supermarkets. If you want them, you pretty much have to grow your own or haunt high end fruiterers for their limited supplies. Instead, raspberries (but not strawberries), rhubarb, blackberries, blackcurrants, apricots, even apples, have all been associated with fools. Pruneaux d’Agen that have been macerated for weeks in Armagnac (or cheap port) make a marvellous fool. Mango fool is almost a staple in India. If you want to make it, and why not, it works better with tinned Alphonso mangoes than with fresh ones.
Although the 1598 mention of the ‘foole’ talks of it being made with ‘clouted cream’, traditionally a fool was a puree of stewed fruit folded into a rich egg custard. These days, we have reverted to whipped cream, sometimes flavouring it with rose water, orange water, cinnamon or nutmeg, depending on which fruit is used.
No-one quite knows where the name ‘fool’ came from. The Oxford English Dictionary firmly rejects the suggestion it comes from the French verb ‘fouler’, to crush or press. Its argument is that it bears no relation to the early use of the word. But it doesn’t come up with an alternative.
Robert May, born in 1588 into a family of cooks in Buckinghamshire, was a cook from the age of ten to the English Roman Catholic aristocracy of the day. In 1660, he published the enormous and wide-ranging The Accomplisht Cook, the first cookbook to group recipes into sections, twenty-four of them. It was one of the few cookery books published during the Commonwealth of Oliver Cromwell and went big on recipes for two new American food imports to Europe, the potato and the turkey. His recipe for fool is unusual. He calls it the Norfolk Fool. It’s an odd recipe, mostly focused on a manchet, a small flat loaf of bread which he slices and covers in a thick boiled cream and egg custard with the fruit almost an afterthought. It’s more like a bread-and-butter pudding than a fool.
If you have children in need of entertainment, a fruit fool is a good way to start them on cooking. It’s a very quick and easy recipe to make and produces a delicious bowl for them to lick clean.
To serve 4, use 450g of any fruit to 400ml of double/thick cream, or, for a lighter version, 300ml of cream with 100ml strained Greek yogurt, and 4-5 tablespoons of sugar or more to taste.
Put your fruit in a medium pan with four tablespoons of sugar. Set the pan on a medium-low heat and cover. Cook until the fruit is soft. If it is surrounded by juice, take off the lid, turn up the heat slightly and leave it to bubble away until some of the juice has evaporated and the puree has thickened. Taste the cooked fruit and add more sugar if necessary. Lightly mash with a fork or, for a smoother finish, place a sieve over a bowl and press the fruit through it.
Pour the cream into a large bowl and whisk it into soft, floppy peaks. Lightly fold the cooled fruit into the cream for a rippled effect or more completely if you prefer a fully integrated fool. But take care not to deflate it with a forceful action that knocks the air out of the cream.
Serve with langues de chat or some other delicate biscuit.
This column written by Julia Watson originally appeared in the June 2022 edition of The Bugle.
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