
Chef Thomas
Apple Chutney
A spiced autumn chutney made from a glut of apples and a quiet afternoon, simmered down until the kitchen smells of October and the jars line up on the counter like a small, useful insurance policy.
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A long, slow cook of late-September damsons reduced to a deep mahogany paste firm enough to slice, made for the cheese board on a cold evening when you want something that tastes of the orchard.
Damsons arrive at the market for about three weeks at the end of summer and then they're gone. Small, dusty-blue, sharper than plums, almost too sour to eat from the hand. But cook them down with sugar and time and they turn into the most extraordinary thing: a deep, dark, perfumed paste that sits quietly next to a wedge of cheese and makes the whole board feel deliberate.
This isn't jam. It's firmer, denser, more concentrated. The Spanish make membrillo with quinces and the principle is the same. You cook the fruit until almost all the water has gone and what's left is pure, sweet, slightly tart fruit reduced to its essence. It takes a couple of hours of gentle attention. The kitchen smells extraordinary by the end. The colour shifts from bright purple to something closer to old wine, and the spoon starts to leave clean trails across the bottom of the pan. That's the moment.
Make it in late September when damsons are cheap and abundant. Pot it up, let it set overnight, and you'll have something on the shelf that lasts for months and turns any ordinary cheese board into the kind of small celebration that doesn't need announcing. I wrote it down in the notebook the first year I made it: damsons, sugar, time, patience. Nothing else needed.
A word of warning about the spitting. As the fruit cheese thickens, it stops bubbling politely and starts erupting in slow, hot blops. Wear long sleeves and a apron, and stand back when you stir. We're only making dinner, but this particular bit of dinner can bite.
Quantity
1kg
washed, stalks removed
Quantity
200ml
Quantity
roughly 750g
weighed after the fruit is cooked and sieved
Quantity
small knob
Quantity
for greasing
for the moulds
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| ripe damsonswashed, stalks removed | 1kg |
| water | 200ml |
| granulated sugarweighed after the fruit is cooked and sieved | roughly 750g |
| unsalted butter | small knob |
| flavourless oilfor the moulds | for greasing |
Tip the damsons into a wide, heavy pan with the water. Set over a low heat and let them collapse slowly, stirring now and then. After fifteen or twenty minutes the skins will split and the flesh will give up its stones. The kitchen will smell sharp and purple, the colour of late September. Don't rush this part. Damsons reward patience.
Pass the cooked fruit through a fine sieve or a mouli, set over a bowl. Push it through with the back of a wooden spoon. The stones and most of the skins will stay behind. What you're left with is a deep purple puree, thick and glossy, smelling of plums and autumn rain. Scrape every bit from the underside of the sieve. That's the good stuff.
Weigh the puree. For every 500g of fruit pulp, add 375g of sugar. It sounds like a lot. It is a lot. But this isn't jam, it's a fruit cheese, and the sugar is what gives it the firmness to slice. Tip the pulp and sugar back into the cleaned pan.
Set the pan over a low heat and stir until the sugar has dissolved completely. Then leave it to cook gently, stirring often as it thickens. This takes a long time. An hour and a half. Sometimes two. The puree will darken from purple to a deep, almost mahogany red, and it will start to spit lazily like a small volcano. Stand back when it does. Wear long sleeves. A wooden spoon dragged across the bottom of the pan should leave a clean trail that holds its shape for a moment before closing again. That's when it's ready.
Take the pan off the heat and stir in the small knob of butter. It melts into the fruit and gives the finished cheese a quiet gloss. Not essential. Worth doing.
Lightly oil two small jars, ramekins, or a shallow loaf tin lined with cling film. Scrape the hot fruit cheese into the moulds, smoothing the top with the back of a spoon. Cover loosely and leave to cool, then refrigerate overnight. By morning it will be firm enough to slice with a knife and turn out cleanly.
Turn the damson cheese out and slice it into thin slabs or small cubes. Put it on a board with a wedge of hard sheep's cheese, a piece of mature cheddar, or something blue if you've got it. Oatcakes alongside. A glass of something dark. That's the whole evening, sorted.
1 serving (about 20g)
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