A Spoonful of Sugar

Sometimes you just have to say to hell with food miles and buy what looks good.

While shopping this week, Lucas and I happened upon some beautiful fuzzy little apricots. Sure, they were from Tunisia, but they smelt wonderful when I flipped open the packaging. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do with them, but nonetheless, I stowed them away in my trolley.

By the time I got to the dairy section, I had a hazy memory of a recipe from John Campbell's book--Formulas for Flavour--involving roasted plums and a honey-yoghurt ice-cream, so I picked up a tub of low-fat Greek yoghurt and continued my trek around the shop, singing "The Wheels on the Bus" with Lucas as I went. (I never, ever thought that I'd be singing in public, much less singing nursery songs. But here I am, belting out the classics in the middle of the shop. Amazing what motherhood will do for a girl.)

Anyway! As I said, this is an adaptation of John Campbell's Roasted Plums with Hone Yoghurt Ice-Cream from Formulas for Flavour. I've had this book for several years and attempted only one recipe which was a bit of a failure—I really should have double-checked the size of my cooking rings—but still tasted beyond wonderful. (John's play on Rhubarb and Custard, if anyone is curious.)

I didn't want to make the ice-cream as I thought it would be a bit too cloying when combined with the sweetly ripe apricots. In its place I made a honey frozen yoghurt using the wonderfully toffee-ish eucalyptus honey that I always have in the cupboard. It was lightened with some French meringue into which I whisked the honey to ensure that it was incorporated properly. Freshly churned, the yoghurt was as light as a cloud and deliciously refreshing.

I couldn't get hold of any star anise or pink peppercorns--the herb and spice section at our Sainsbury's is really dire at the moment--so I opted to roast the apricots with cinnamon sticks and black peppercorns instead, along with bay leaves (fresh from the garden) and the vanilla beans from my jar of vanilla sugar. Enticing aromas wafted from the oven as they poached in the stock syrup, intensifying when I ripped open the foil pouch and let them colour up for a little while longer. Once cooled slightly they turned out meltingly tender with a certain je ne sais quoi to each bite.

I toasted some squares of brioche—not home-made. Once was quite enough—spread some apricot jam over each, then carefully placed thee apricot halves on each. I tried to make it pretty with some spices placed here and there and drizzles of the cooking syrup and bay crème anglaise before delicately balancing a quenelle of frozen yoghurt on top.

Loath as I am to use the word “sensational” when talking about food—shades of Gary Rhodes—this truly was sensational. I love desserts that have many different textures and here we had a slight crunch from the brioche, soft fruit and gently melting frozen yoghurt all on the spoon at the same time. Wonderful.

The bay creme anglaise must be singled out for special praise: it was fabulous. Admittedly I cheated and infused some good shop-bought custard with a few chopped bay leaves until it took on a green tint and a slightly spicy/fresh flavour, but I feel no shame for that. I'm determined to infuse the rest of the custard and churn it into ice-cream. It was that good. My eyes have been opened to new—and delicious—possibilities for my bay tree.

I think I'll be playing with this dessert throughout the summer, especially as it can be easily adapted to whatever stone fruit takes your fancy.