Eliabeth, Richard and me: summer pudding, and a love story (for Charlie Beale)

I've just come out of the kitchen from making nectarine ice cream. The nectarines, from Frog Hollow farm, are the most expensive nectarines in the world, and without question, the tastiest. I was making it to go alongside a dessert that teaches us all that the simple can be sublime. A British classic, summer pudding.
So, what's the connection above with all these names? Well, the Elizabeth is Elizabeth David, probably the unarguable queen of British cooking, and perhaps the great granddame of good European cooking. Richard is Richard Sax, who taught me how to cook desserts. And here's how it all came about.
When I was first learning to cook - with more interest than "chops," I went to a class that Richard was teaching in Macy's big old demonstration kitchen. I don't remember whether I paid more attention to the lesson or to Richard, because he was an extremely handsome, engaging, genial man, but I know I enjoyed the class immensely. Afterward, I stayed around to ask some questions.
No one can ever predict how or why things like what follows, happened, but Richard asked me if I would like to come by his loft, and study cooking with him.
No "uh huhs" and "MM HMMMS" now, boys and girls. He was serious. That was clear from the very first time I walked into the loft, on Bleeker Street, and he smiled and said "you really are green, aren't you? No apron?" Well, soon I was in one of his cooking smocks (tight on me, loose on him), and I was plunging peaches into boiling water so I could peel them to make sorbet. And for about six months, we cooked together, once a week, occasionally joined by his partner Jack. Jack was always home, and usually asleep when I got there. Richard would tell me that was because he worked at night. Well, it may have been the one time that Richard lied to me.
One of the things that Richard taught me, was how to respect a recipe, while you changed it. That happened when we made summer pudding together. Richard told me that this is a classically British dessert. What he didn't tell me, because I bet he thought it was self evident, was that it is a classic British FARM HOUSE dessert. When you see how this comes together, and think of what is available to a farmer, in summer, you'll see what I mean. We started with what he felt was the standard recipe: one from Elizabeth David in her book "Summer Cookery." Now, I never met Ms. David, but every account of her talks about her eccentricity, her wit, her lack of patience with stupid people. Indeed, when you read her books, you can see that. Her recipe, for summer pudding, which I still have, states that "everyone thinks they know this dish but there are few recipes for it, so I make no apology for including it in this book."
Indeed! Her ingredient list is : day old bread, raspberries, and red currants. With optional cream. She calls for 1 pound of raspberries and a quarter pound of red currants. At that time i my life, I didn't even know what a currant was. I soon did, as it was my job to pull the fruit off of the little stems they're on, and then to go back and pull out the stems again because I didn't do a good enough job. I recall Richard smiling "you don't want those stems stuck between your teeth now, do you?"
Well, Richard started talking to me about this recipe "you know, raspberries are great, and this recipe is wonderful as it is. But what if we changed it and used a few types of fruit?" He told me that he was thinking of a classic southern German dessert "rote grutze," or "red grits," which is essentially any kind of small red fruit you can find, cooked slightly, and combined with a custard. He suggested we do something like that. And so we did. We changed the pound of rapsberries to a quarter pound of each of raspberries and blackberries, and a half pound of strawberries (I still remember hulling those little dears). We kept the currants. You need the currants because, as you'll see, this dish does not have anything in it that appears to bind it. Currants are loaded with pectin, and that is what holds this all together.
In summer pudding, what you do is line a mold with bread slices, pour in cooked fruit. Cover the fruit with more bread, weigh it down and let it sit in the fridge overnight. The next day, all of the bread has soaked up the juices of the cooked fruit and has a rather pretty mauve color. You unmold it, cut it into slices, and serve it with thick cream, that you might sweeten.

Cream, berries, bread. You seeing "farmhouse " dessert now?

Well, what I learned , after Jack had died, was that the reason why he was home was because he had late stage AIDs. This was the early 90s, and survival was not a question. If you had it, you almost inevitably died, fast. All I knew at the time was that Richard called me and said we wouldn't be able to work for a while, and he'd get in touch with me when we could.

He never did. But his book, which remains a classic, on American Desserts, came out in the meantime. The recipe he taught me that day is in the cookbook. When I look at it I still smile.

Four months later, I read his obituary. It seems that the stress of Jack dying, had pushed Richard back to smoking. He had already had one lobe of a lung removed for lung cancer (something else I didn't k now), and the smoking pushed him over the edge, and he died of emphysema. He was younger then than I am now. I miss him every day.

Well, Richard, I changed your recipe, so I changed Ms. David's too. I know that if you're watching, you would approve. Thank you for teaching me about unsalted butter, about large eggs versus medium eggs, parchment paper, sanding sugar, and so many other things. Thank you for all of the smiles, and all of the patience. And thank you for the initiative to change what is good, and at least make it different.

Here's mine. I hope you like it. First, you start with a loaf of an egg bread : brioche or challah. Get one that is in loaf form, rather than twisted or topknotted, and cut away the crusts (grind them into crumbs to use to line your cakes). Then, get a mold that holds about a quart. A glass bowl, a souffle dish, anything like that is fine. Cut about 1/2 inch thick slices of the bread, and line the mold COMPLETELY. Cut off small pieces to hide holes in the pan if you have to (you will. Also put slices up the sides of the mold. Put that aside now, as you cook the fruit.

I use a more generous filling mix. I use 2 half pint containers of red raspberries, one half pint container of red currants, off the stems (and I'm careful about it these days). Then, if I can find blackberries, a half pint of them. If not, either a half pint of black raspberries, or blueberries. Put all of that fruit into a pan, turn the heat to low, cover it, and cook it for no more than five minutes. While that's happening, stem a pint of strawberries. Cut them in half if they're really big, but if they're not, don't. When the fruit has cooked, stir in the whole strawberries, strain the fruit from the juices then pour the fruit into the lined mold. Next, cut more slices of bread, cover the top completely, and pour a little of the reserved juice on it. Cover it with a plate and put a heavy weight, like a can of tomatoes on it, and refrigerate it. The next day, like I described above, run a knife around the thing about twenty minutes before you plan to serve it, and unmold it onto a large plate, preferably one that flares upward so that extra juice can be caught. Pour the reserved juice over the "pudding," and concentrate it on spots that may not have picked up enough color.

Cut slices of this and serve it forth. With whipped cream or heavy cream. Or nectarine ice cream. Or creme fraiche. Or if you're abstemious, nothing. Look at what we didn't add: we didn't add sugar, we didn't add butter (although in my version, the bread is very rich. Use plain farmer's style bread if you like). And we still have a pretty darn good dessert.

So, thank you Ms David. Thank you Richard. You both inspire me to this day.