Dried Fruits Quotes

“What's a soufflé?" I sigh, for that is how the word sounds. Soft and sweet as a summer breeze. I repeat the word in my head: Soufflé. Soufflé.
"You beat eggs as light as air. And you make a batter of cream and butter, very fresh and the butter as bright as possible and cut very small. Then you flavor it. Master Soyer likes to use an Italian cheese or sometimes the finest bitter chocolate. And into the oven, where it rises so tall you cannot believe it. And when you bite in, it's like having cloud upon your tongue." Jack smacks his lips together.
I stir absently at the gruel and wish we had a few currants to sweeten it. And as I think of currants, all manner of other dried fruits swim before my eyes. I've seen them at market in Tonbridge. Great mounds of wizened shining prunes and raisins, orange peel crusted white with sugary syrup, rings of apple like the softest, palest leather.”
― Annabel Abbs, Miss Eliza's English Kitchen

“How about lamb? I hadn't done anything with lamb yet, which was surprising, because it was one of my favorite meats. Lamb it is, then.
Being in a restaurant kitchen and having to get dish after dish out, I probably didn't want to spend a lot of time pan-searing lamb to order. Too easy to get stuck in the weeds. So what if I braised it? In red wine, the way Grandma Ruth used to, and with spices like cinnamon and coriander and ginger, the way... well, not the way my grandma used to, but the way Sephardic Jews---whose ancestors had lived in Spain and North Africa during the Diaspora---did? Sephardic Jews also liked to pair meat with fruits. Dried fruits like apricots and prunes would be meltingly delicious cooked in the wine with the lamb; my mouth was watering just thinking about it. It would need some spiced couscous to soak up all those delicious juices, and maybe something salty. I had sweet, sour, umami, and bitter, so maybe something salty. Something pickled? Pickled cherries could make the whole dish pop.”
― Amanda Elliot, Sadie on a Plate

“cardamom-laced hoşaf with apples and cherries (par-boiled and therefore more likely to float elegantly), bubbled in apple juice and freshened with a squeeze of lemon. A pink-hued quince variation with a little cinnamon. Simple prune, rich and dark. Apricot and orange blossom, with golden sultanas boiled with a spoonful of honey. Small, slightly unripe pears, peeled, then brought sweetly alive by heat and sugar. Whatever is in season or, in times of scarcity, dried fruit.”
― Caroline Eden, Cold Kitchen: A Year of Culinary Travels

“It is the simplest of recipes, after pralines and chocolate ganache. He calls them mendiants, those chocolate discs studded with raisins, and almonds and candied lemon peel. He tells me they're named after the mendicant orders of monks, who used to sell them door-to-door during the Middle Ages. It's a word I have heard before, though never in this context; instead, I remember it flung like stones in our wake as we passed through some long-ago village. It's a surprise to find this word-- this slur-- thus sweetened by circumstance, harmlessly translated into the language of chocolate.
First, melt the chocolate in a bain-marie. Strange, how the Virgin seems to bless even this most secular of baptisms. Then, on greaseproof paper, place tablespoons of the chocolate to make round discs, the size of the Host. On this still-cooling chocolate, add the traditional dried fruits and nuts that symbolize the Orders. Fat raisins; yellow sultanas; cherries; toasted almonds; pistachios and hazelnuts, like jewels on a medallion.”
― Joanne Harris, Vianne