Cherry and Apricot Combosta- Beauty is as Beauty Does

Late cherries from a mountain top, where the summer is slower to peak.

Who would pass up the last of a season's delicacy? Well, not I (to be honest, I rarely pass up anything at all). Only one stall at the market (of 80 or so, including fish and dairy) has cherries. They've been in for weeks, and we've loved them- fresh and cold, in tarts, warmed in the sun... I even skipped a week or two given the space the nectarines are commanding- and I'm relieved to have another shot at them. They're from a mountain, where the seasons hit a week or two later, the vendor explains. And so huge! So beautiful!

And when I get them home and taste them- so fat and lusciously hefty right from their paper sack- they're so... bland! Bland, but- shapely, and firm, and large. What to do, but flatter their comeliness, encourage that faint promise of flavor, finesse them. 

On market days, I rotate the fruits on the enormous 4 tiered tray that dominates the veranda and, in truth, a good portion of my produce budget as well. The apricots on the second tier are firm and tart, but blemished- ideal for a combosta.

The fruits and their towering tray.

Pitting cherries is no trouble at all, provided they are firm:

The stains on your fingertips, entirely worthwhile,
will anyway be gone by the next day.

The pits of the apricots come clean away. Combosta differs from "canned fruit" chiefly in the tremendous amount of sugar used. Before you object, let me speak of the usefulness of sugar in preserving the vividness of color and lusciousness of texture- there is nothing "boiled" or "limp" about the vibrant result, and the fruit- not cooked so much as warmed in its dense glossy bath, is still full of snap and verve, the sugar amplifying its lively flavor rather than masking it. Accordingly, I make a heavy syrup of 2 parts sugar (300 g/ cup and half) to one part water (by volume rather than weight), and simmer in this a vanilla bean (this turned out to be very important- pure vanilla extract would be fine in a pinch too) as I prepare the fruit. First the apricots go in, to soften just for a minute, then the cherries at the very last moment so they keep their lovely shape. As soon as the cherries are bathed and coated, and no later, I pour it into a large clear glass bowl so it doesn't overcook. And that's all there is to it. That, and a capful of dark rum to bring out all their depth and smoothness.

The apircots heating in their glossy fragrant syrup.

I had plans to use the combosta as the jewel of a topping on a Toulouse-Lautrec cake. And so nice would that have been. But the vanilla and luscious sweet fruit filled the house with their scent, and soon had everyone gathered curiously around the bowl on the veranda as it was cooling. There was nothing to do but get out little glass bowls and spoons.

The ample fragrant syrup- now rosy form the fruits- could be set aside for a cocktail.
But we didn't get that far- we just sipped it from the little bowls. 

Not everything and everyone comes to us in their ideal version. A little coaxing, cajoling, finessing, and sweetening can do wonders. It's usually worth it to bring out the best in everyone around us. Taking the same care with our produce though gives results generally more certain, and instantly gratifying.

Just like sometimes works with people, in coaxing the interest out of a shy fruit
just a whisper of liquor can often be useful.