
Chef Thomas
Apple Charlotte
Buttered bread baked to a deep mahogany around a filling of spiced Bramley apples, turned out at the table in a small moment of drama, cold cream poured from a jug alongside.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A long-boiled Scottish pudding of spiced fruit and suet, wrapped in a floured cloth until it grows a dark, papery skin, served in thick wedges with cold cream on a winter night.
This is a pudding for the shortest days. The windows fog up within the first hour of cooking, the kitchen smells of treacle and cinnamon and something darker, and the pot on the hob keeps up a low, steady mutter for most of the afternoon. Hogmanay is the traditional night for it, but any cold evening between Christmas and the end of January will do. It needs the weather. It needs a house that has been shut against the wind.
This isn't my tradition. I'm English and I learned the clootie from a Scottish friend years ago, who showed me how to scald the cloth and dust it with flour before it went anywhere near the dumpling, and who was firm about the skin being the whole point. She was right. That papery jacket, where the cloth pressed and the flour tightened in the boil, is what separates a clootie from any other steamed pudding. Without it, you've just made a wet Christmas pud.
The method takes time but almost no attention. You mix the batter, wrap it up, lower it into a pot of simmering water, and leave it alone for three and a half hours. The work is in the waiting, and in remembering to top the pot up with boiling water now and then so the dumpling stays covered. Everything else is the kitchen doing its quiet job while you get on with the rest of the day.
I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I made one. Cloth, string, patience, cream. That was the whole note and it's still about right.
Quantity
250g
plus extra for dusting the cloth
Quantity
150g
Quantity
150g
beef or vegetable
Quantity
150g
Quantity
150g
Quantity
150g
Quantity
100g
Quantity
50g
Quantity
1 medium
peeled and grated
Quantity
1 small
peeled and grated
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
2 teaspoons
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
half a teaspoon
Quantity
half a teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
1
beaten
Quantity
about 200ml
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| self-raising flourplus extra for dusting the cloth | 250g |
| fresh white breadcrumbs | 150g |
| shredded suetbeef or vegetable | 150g |
| dark brown soft sugar | 150g |
| sultanas | 150g |
| currants | 150g |
| raisins | 100g |
| mixed candied peel | 50g |
| eating applepeeled and grated | 1 medium |
| carrotpeeled and grated | 1 small |
| black treacle | 2 tablespoons |
| ground mixed spice | 2 teaspoons |
| ground cinnamon | 1 teaspoon |
| ground ginger | half a teaspoon |
| bicarbonate of soda | half a teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| large eggbeaten | 1 |
| whole milk | about 200ml |
| double cream or custard (optional) | to serve |
Find a clean cotton cloth, a square of old tea towel or muslin about 50cm across. Plunge it into a pan of boiling water and let it scald for a minute, then lift it out with tongs and wring it as dry as you can bear. Spread it flat on the worktop. Dust it generously with flour and a good pinch of sugar, rubbing them into the weave with the flat of your hand. This is the skin, waiting to happen. The floured cloth is what turns into the papery jacket once it meets the boil.
In a large bowl, tip together the flour, breadcrumbs, suet, brown sugar, sultanas, currants, raisins, mixed peel, spices, bicarbonate of soda and salt. Stir it all through with your hands so the fruit is properly coated and the spices are evenly spread. The kitchen should start to smell of Christmas even before anything is cooked.
Make a well in the middle and add the grated apple, grated carrot and black treacle. Pour in the beaten egg, then most of the milk. Mix with a wooden spoon, then your hands, bringing it together into a soft, stiff batter. It should hold its shape but not feel dry. Add the last of the milk only if it needs it. You're after something between a thick cake batter and a loose dough.
Scoop the mixture onto the middle of the floured cloth and shape it roughly into a round. Gather the corners of the cloth up over the top, then the sides, pleating as you go so the pudding is snug but not strangled. Tie tightly with kitchen string just above the dumpling, leaving a little room for it to swell. A loose tie and water gets in. A tight tie and the pudding can't breathe. Somewhere in between is what you want.
Place an upturned heatproof plate in the bottom of your largest, deepest pot. This keeps the dumpling from touching the base and scorching. Lower the dumpling in, pour over enough boiling water from the kettle to cover it completely, and bring back to a steady simmer. Cover with a lid, leaving it slightly ajar, and let it go for three and a half hours. Check it now and then and top up with boiling water from the kettle so the dumpling stays submerged. The kitchen will smell of spiced fruit and dark sugar, and the windows will mist over properly.
Heat the oven to 180C/160C fan. Lift the dumpling out by the string and dip it briefly, a second or two, into a bowl of cold water. This loosens the cloth from the skin. Set the pudding on a heatproof plate, snip the string, and carefully peel the cloth back. Go slowly. The skin is delicate at this point and the cloth wants to take bits of it with it. Slide the plate into the hot oven for ten to fifteen minutes. The damp, pale surface will tighten and darken into that distinctive papery jacket. That's the clootie. That's the whole point.
Carry it to the table whole, on a warm plate, and cut it in thick wedges. Pour cold double cream over the top, or hot custard if that's your preference, and let the sweet, spiced steam do the rest. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate of this in front of someone on a cold night. Any leftovers are worth keeping. Sliced and fried in butter the next morning, a clootie is better than it has any right to be.
1 serving (about 190g)
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