style="font-size:15px;"> past. The French – in the Southwest where they are
cultivated, in the Loire Valley where they often accompany
pork, or in the Northwest where the dish below originates
– highly esteem the prune. The Far Breton may not be
French nursery food but it certainly inhabits a similar
realm where food provokes a kind of reverie of the past.
‘Far’ is a sort of cake, originally quite savoury, and possibly
a stuffing. It is an abbreviation of the dialect ‘farz’, itself
surely derived from ‘farce’ (in the sense of forcemeat rather
than trouser-dropping stage comedy). Being a simple
batter pudding, it is similar, I daresay, to a clafoutis, but
it is superior in as much as it is best eaten cold and is
comparatively delicate and distinctly moreish. It is also
childishly easy to make.
39
January
FAR BRETON, or CUSTARD CAKE WITH PRUNES
A large cake that will feed ten, or be very acceptable when
left around as a teatime snack.
Place the prunes in a saucepan with the tea bag and cover
with boiling water. Leave to stand for 20–30 minutes
before removing the tea bag, bringing to a simmer, then
allowing to cool in the liquid. Preheat the oven to 180°C
(350°F, Gas Mark 4).
Butter a deep pie dish of 28–30cm (11–12in) diameter, or
a rectangular ovenproof dish about 20 x 30cm (8 x 12in),
very well with the butter.
Beat the flour and sugar in an electric mixer, continuing
to beat as you pour in the milk to make a smooth batter.
Beat the eggs in a separate bowl before adding them to
the butter, followed by the vanilla and rum. Pour into the
prepared dish. Drain the prunes and distribute them in the
batter at even intervals.
Bake in the oven, turning the oven temperature down
to 150°C (300°F, Gas Mark 2) after 30 minutes. Cook for a
further 30 minutes, or until set, which is best judged by
giving the dish a little shake; a knife or skewer should
emerge clean from the centre.
Serve when completely cooled but not refrigerated.
It needs no additions.
Serves ten.
WINE: Although not strictly necessary, most sweet wines
will accompany the cake. A Quarts de Chaume or sweet
Vouvray would be ideal.
500g (1lb 2oz) stoned prunes
1 black tea bag
25g (1oz) unsalted butter
300g (10½oz) plain flour
150g (5½oz) golden caster
sugar
1 litre (13⁄4 pints) milk
6 eggs
A few drops vanilla extract
2 tablespoons dark rum
(optional but highly
recommended)
40
Not Just Marmalade
Seville Orange Tart
A gentleman told me that he had cut out my recipe for
pumpkin risotto from the Financial Times and was going
to ‘do it soon’. People often tell me that they cut out my
recipes for later use. It is very flattering, and it is
comforting to think that in countless homes there are
these scrapbooks crammed with greying (can pink ’uns
grey?) or at least fading pieces of my culinary wisdom
stored up, but with their instructions sadly not followed.
I am not sure why, unless it is sheer inertia, some of
these recipes languish uncooked. I always plan them to be
seasonal, to the letter if possible. I didn’t have the heart to
explain that the pumpkin risotto would have to wait for
the autumn. Similarly, while I try to make these recipes
as simple as possible, inevitably some can seem a bit
complicated: I avoid deploying too many ingredients, but
I’ll also admit I have never advocated the quick and easy
for its own sake.
This lengthy preamble serves as a warning. If you are
to follow the recipe below – and it is not kindergarten
simple – you have to act NOW. Seville oranges have a very
short season. There are cooks who remember that it is time
to make marmalade just after the season has finished.
Those of you with a capacious freezer may, I suppose, buy
yourselves some time, but your frozen Seville oranges will
nag your conscience until the moment is seized.
We in Britain are the only ones who really ‘get’ Seville
