Spring blossom and an Apple Tarte Tatin

And a very good trick for the tarte

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I’d been waiting for the tightly packed buds to show me the first sign that they might be about to open and show that spring had indeed arrived. Weeks of me grabbing at low branches on my walks through the grounds here, pulling them down low, inspecting, looking to see if the tight knots of unfurled promise were ready to show me what they might become. Nature’s pledge of blushed pinks and delicate whites, of pollen for bees, of petals that fall in the wind, carried away to lay on the grass for a day like snowfall in spring, though within one day they’ll turn brown and then the next they will be gone. The expectancy of that ethereal pink scent that cloaks your world as you walk through the rows of the ornamental cherry trees that stand here, fills the afternoon with a rich sweet scent that takes your breath away for a moment as you walk into the invisible perfume of the blossom.

Cherry blossom

The horsetails that grow under the yew hedge, poke their tips through the earth, and soon the sunken garden will be filled once again with their long, tall fuzzy tails, pushing through the old thick broken slabs of centuries-old, lichen-covered York stone. On the path, there are patches of Sticky Bob with its straggly stems carpeting the sides of the walkway that heads towards the small gate that leads to the kitchen garden with its huge wooden raised beds full of spiky artichokes, bushy deep green fronds of celeriac root, purple sprouting broccoli, rows of radishes and golden beetroots, wild currant bushes, ornate bay trees, marjoram, tarragon and rosemary that sways in the wind. In the distance by the overflow from the lake that gushes over the stones into a small stream, the wild clumps of verdant hemlock stand, at a glance very much like celery to look at, though you’d not want to make that mistake.

It is most definitely spring.

Cobalt skies rise behind the ornate clock tower that stands on top of the roof of the old Georgian coach house with its bell that still strikes a reminder of the hours after all these years, once upon a time busy with horses and footmen. The sharp crunch of their footsteps on gravel, now framed with the quiet florescence of white plum blossom against the grass curve of the stone-covered track with its ornamental cherry trees thick with their precious blushed blooms, that today when you stand underneath and you tune your ear to the sound, you can hear the frenzied buzzing of honeybees as they gather spring pollen to carry back to their hive to feed their brood.

I have not yet inspected the hives since closing them down for winter, though as I wrote in Chapter Two of ‘A Story of a Year’, we lost one hive to the cold. I knew there was a chance that it might fail to see the winter through, as it was the hive that was on the back foot after a difficult summer. I felt so sad for the loss of those bees in those early days in February, as in some ways I felt responsible, that I’d failed them. Though against the heavy frosts, a hive that was weakened by varroa mites and despite treatment and with dwindling numbers the cold was too much. Our other hive went into autumn with tens of thousands of bees and so stood a fine chance of a successful winter, the other (when I knew they had gone), I gloomily took apart one afternoon, section by section, frame by frame, breaking it down into its basic wooden parts looking for any clues that might give me an answer as to why they had died. Was there enough food? Had there been mice? Were there parasites? Nothing was apparent and when reaching the bottom box I found what looked like only a few hundred dead bees at most on the wooden floor at the base. I brushed them softly away into the long grass near their home. The cold had overwhelmed their small numbers it seems.

“I sat and watched both hives over a couple of afternoons that week usually around mid-afternoon when the bees are usually at their busiest, a small number of cleansing flights from the first colony, bees that finally take the opportunity to fly freely after months of keeping warm.

I saw nothing from the second hive.

I suppose I knew really.

Beekeepers say that you have to have faith, but little can be done to assuage that feeling of duty to these little insects. The responsibility I have of helping these small creatures as best I can.

I told myself that I must check them.

As I lifted the wooden lid, tin-lined on top, tacked in with small pins to make it weatherproof, underneath was the fondant block I had placed at the end of last autumn, still mostly untouched…”

From Chapter Two - A Story of a Year

New small shoots from the neatly pruned branches of the pear and apple trees unfurl their small green tips to the sunshine. Blackthorn and early hawthorn are bright with flowers in the hedgerows despite the winter rains that have seemingly not stopped here for what feels like an eternity. Today though is glorious. To a backdrop of the complexities of blackbird song, the shrill shriek of buzzards and kites as they swoop high, wings outstretched as they turn and glide on the winds, looking for movement of mice in the fields below, it is a day full of promise. Awkward fat bumblebees drowsily buzz past my head, dropping low as they navigate the parkland diving back down to the ground to bury themselves once again in the undergrowth. A large Queen wasp sits on a wall, waking slowly in the warmth of the sun, perhaps emerging a little too early from where she has been sleeping her winter away, nestled in a small crack in the brickwork perhaps, now looking for somewhere to build her new nest.

These are the days of early spring and to be part of it, to be able to see it in all of its splendour is a true privilege.

Apple

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A recipe

There is a saying about buses, that you wait ages for one and then two or more come along at once. And there was me barely one month ago, moaning to you about not just being here to write recipes, yet again here we are today with me wanting to share another that I think you might like.

Weeks without a recipe then two or three in as many weeks.

First, there is blossom, then there are apples and then there is Tarte Tatin or some such nonsense.

Tarte Tatin

I have no doubt that most of you have at least attempted to make what is generally regarded throughout the cookery world as one of the finest desserts around. I have a tip to share with you though. One that you might not know, and one that will ensure that when you turn it out, your forearms are not covered in half a pint of hot caramel.

There is a trick to it you see, a small detail that if you didn’t know, will forever change the way you’ll make it.

(I also discovered quite recently something else about Tarte Tatin. A two-star Michelin restaurant, The Clove Club does something that is most strange to the pastry. They encase the pan with the dough whilst the apples, sugar and butter are still uncooked, then set it on the stovetop for an hour at a low heat whereby the pastry balloons up into a giant quivering dome under the steam from the apples in caramel as they cook, only placing it in the oven after the pastry looks well and truly soggy and weird. It then crisps up as it bakes to a thick, chewy, golden crust that I can only say is astonishing. Let the purists amongst us weep quietly, though I will say it is extraordinarily good, but not for the nervous)

Let’s forget about this strange technique from one of the best restaurants in the world, save to say that if any of you are in the slightest bit curious, then send me a message and I’ll give you the specifics.

Back to how I (normally) make Tarte Tatin, with the inclusion of my trick to ensure it is not a pool of hot oozing caramel when you turn it out.

Tarte Tatin, a very good recipe.

Let’s not begin by me making you nervous that you should make your own puff pastry. That would be a very nice thing to do, isn’t that difficult to be honest and will invariably be better, but no. We will use the pastry that you can buy. Just try to find the one that is made with butter. The palm oil one sticks to the roof of your mouth in an unnerving, claggy way.

You will need

• Six Braeburn or Cox’s apples, peeled, cored and cut into neat quarters

• One Hundred grams of caster sugar

• Seventy grams of unsalted butter, diced

• Twenty-five grams of unsalted butter, melted for later

• A sheet of butter puff pastry rolled into a twenty-five-centimetre disc. It should be about half a centimetre in thickness and you should prick it with a fork a few times.

How to

First things first, turn on your oven to 180°c / 160°c fan

Use a heavy-based saute pan with a handle, a good frying pan will work perfectly well, something around twenty-five cm.

Put the pan on the stovetop and add the diced butter and sugar, leaving it to cook to a thick golden caramel, whisking it every now and then. Let it go dark, but don’t burn it. Add the apple quarters starting at the edge, making sure that the core side of each piece faces up. Pack them tightly and neatly to fill the pan.

Place the pan in the oven for about half an hour, then take it out and put it on the bench in front of you. The apples will be beginning to be soft, fragrant and should smell excellent. Brush them with the melted butter.

Take the disc of pastry and lay it over the apples, using a palette knife or a spatula to tuck in the pastry. Neatly work around the tart so everything is encased. Pierce a couple of holes in the centre of the pastry. This will let the steam out as the pastry becomes crisp.

Place the tart back in the oven for another forty-five minutes.

The pastry will become quite crisp and deeply golden. If your oven has hotspots, watch out. You could loosely place a piece of foil over it if you think that it might burn. There is nothing worse than eating half-cooked puff pastry, (well, there is but we won’t go there today) my point is that you must ensure that the pastry is cooked.

Now for the trick.

When you take it out of the oven, don’t try to emulate what you see on TV.

Don’t turn it out.

What in fact you must do is leave it where it is for about forty-five minutes. This way the caramel will soak back into the cooked fruit, start to cool, and the pectin from the apple will help to set everything nicely so that when you do invert the pan, it should just turn out quite neatly with the minimum of fuss. The only thing you might have to do is to loosen the edges a little first, invert it onto a plate or a board and as you do so, give it a a sharp wobble.

You are not covered in hot caramel.

Congratulations.

Until Easter,

William