Life may be more complicated than any bowl of cherries. But leave it to the French, as with so many things, to use them best when they are in season.
The cherries, that is. Not the French.
Sharing taste and especially some textures with pancakes, flan and custard, the French dessert oddly named clafoutis started out only in the central region of Limousin. But after a while, the entire French republic was craving a larger and larger slice. Now that summer is upon us – with a vengeance in Europe and in certain parts of the United States – it feels high time to deal with all those fresh cherries that are coming onto the market.
In the United States, of course, many of us were taught that George Washington was not only the father of our country but that kid who refused to lie to his father about chopping down a cherry tree. Cherries do grow in Washington’s native Virginia and especially farther north, crossing the nation from New England to the Pacific Northwest. With harvest in June and July, they tend not to do well in the even hotter Deep South, where peaches and their kin supply the sweet taste of summer.
I have to fess up – the first few times I was served clafoutis, it struck me as just white cake with whole cherries in it. And I would be the last guy to complain about that. But when I started to learn a bit more, both from history and from tasting, the word “custard” kept turning up, sparking my curiosity. One recipe pretty much nailed the concept: use only enough flour that the thing, whatever it is, holds together. So much for cake.
Turns out, in the Limousin/Correze region of France, cherries are anything but generic. The fruit is even known as a Limousin cherry, though more official names include Franche Noire. As the “noire” implies, these cherries are not bright red but verging on black. And the trees took root in the area precisely because they could stand up to long cold winters. This helps place them in the United States as well.
The agriculture of cherries in France first gained attention in the Middle Ages, but it took Louis XV to fall under the product’s spell. He became a cheerleader for cherries and played a role in spreading their fame and their farming beyond the boundaries of their original region. Napoleon got excited about the fruit a bit later, even insisting a variety be named after… himself, of course.
And while no one wrote down the moment somebody turned cherries from the trees into clafoutis from the oven, we know the dessert’s fanbase had gone national by the 19th century. For versions made with fruits other than cherries, somebody (who no doubt was a picky Frenchman) decreed that the same basic recipe would forever be called a flaugnard.
The name clafoutis (with the silent s), by the way, is interesting all on its own. If it doesn’t look like any French word you’ve ever seen, that’s because its linguistic roots are in the deep south of France, before the modern language formed. It comes from a much older language known as Occitan, in which “clafoti” meant “to fill.” I always smile when scholars point out that the Occitan word for “yes” is pronounced “ock,” rhyming with block or dock. The western slang “OK” comes from this, according to these scholars.
As for the cherries themselves, they were traditionally baked in a batter unpitted, meaning that each orb had to be eaten somewhat carefully. There are stories of 19th century French farm wives counting the pits left beside each plate after dessert. The more pits left behind, the story goes, the more the diner enjoyed his or her clafoutis.
Now that I’ve applied my very finite baking skills to making clafoutis a few times, I’m happy to sing the classic Gershwin tune: Summertime, and clafoutis is easy.
VIN SANTO CLAFOUTIS
Since many of you, even in summer, will use frozen pitted cherries in this recipe, I’ll write it that way. It does help to thaw, rinse and drain before they go into the baking pan. Like many clafoutis fans, I like the dessert both sprinkled with powdered sugar and topped with homemade whipped cream. I also like to add a little Italian vin santo or any other late harvest dessert wine. You can drink the rest.
1 tablespoon butter
2 cups pitted cherries
3 large eggs
½ cup sugar
1 cup whipping cream
½ cup milk
¾ cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons vin santo
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon almond extract
Whipped Cream:
1 cup whipping cream
2-3 tablespoons powdered sugar
1 tablespoon vin santo
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a baking dish and spread the cherries around the bottom. In a bowl, using either a mixer or a hand whisk, combine the rest of the ingredients other than those for Whipped Cream. The batter should be smooth, but stop when it is. Pour the batter over the cherries. Bake in the oven just until golden brown on top, 35-40 minutes. Remove and let cool a bit (or completely to room temperature). Serve sprinkled with powdered sugar plus a dollop of the Vin Santo Whipped Cream.
Vin Santo Whipped Cream: Combine the 3 ingredients in a chilled metal bowl. Use a mixer with chilled beaters to beat the cream until it thickens and soft peaks form.
