Thinking of Curry, Apples--and Chutney

   Over the past month, Indian spicing has figured large in my life. A couple of weeks ago came a pot-luck Indian dinner and a laugh-out-loud showing of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Next was the discovery of a new Indian restaurant in Mirepoix. We ate more Indian food at a friend's a week ago, and I left with his Maddhur Jaffrey cookbook. Copious stains and stuck-together pages gave away which recipes he'd used.
   I grew up with curry, but not curry as you or I know it. Chicken tikka masala may be the UK's second most popular dish these days (knocked off its pedestal early this year by "Chinese stir-fry") but fancy dishes like that came late to the English table. In the early 1960s, "curry" was shorthand for a ring of steamed rice, not necessarily basmati, surrounding a hillock of cooked mince and onion made yellowy-brown with curry powder. It wasn't particularly spicy, but you could "cool it down" by helping yourself from the inevitable side dishes of yoghurt, cucumber and, curiously, raisins. Today, the UK has around 9,000 Indian restaurants--that's a lot of chicken vindaloo and mountains of roti under the bridge.
    Spicy dishes have never featured much in French cuisine but Indian food is slowly making inroads. When I made a batch of shrikand for the Indian pot-luck recently, I thought I might find cardamom in the local Intermarché--and I did. (Wandering off track, "shrikand" is a thick, luscious and aromatic Gujarati dessert made from drained yogurt, chopped pistachios, saffron and cardamom.)
    And, of course, you can find curry powder everywhere in France., and that was what I needed yesterday morning. A rainy Sunday, a perfect time to make curried apple chutney.

   Before she left ten days ago on her vacances, my neighbour told me to help myself to as many apples as I wanted, which I had. I peeled, cored and chopped about 1.5 kilos, added brown sugar, cider vinegar and raisins..

      ...and then spooned in coriander, cardamom, chili flakes, cinnamon and, of course, curry powder pondering, not for the first time, why so many spices begin with "c".
     Compared to making jam, chutney is a doddle. All you do is bung everything in a saucepan, bring it to the boil, simmer it until it thickens, pour it into jars, label it (one chutney looks very much like another) and let it age. Right now I've got six jars maturing in the pantry, and another half-jar maturing in the fridge. Should be nice with baguette, cheeses, tomatoes and radishes for lunch. Wonder what they call a "ploughman's" in France? My enormous dictionary says it's an "assiette de fromage et de pickles."

Precisely Planned Chutney & Impromptu Duck Confit

Food shows up everywhere in France. Last week I picked up a crafts magazine, its pages filled with dauntingly ambitious projects, its front cover sporting a small book of recipes for jams and chutneys.

Chutney de courgettes (zucchini) sounded intriguing so, Monday, I assembled all the ingredients at Mirepoix market and at SuperU (the local supermarket which had courgettes on special: two kilos for 1.95 euros). I couldn't find a bird's eye chili so I bought a Spanish one instead, as scarlet and glossy as a tart's patent leather shoes.

The only mistake I made, I think, was the vinaigre blanc. Bottom shelf stuff, it came in the same kind of plastic bottle that you find turpentine and bleach in and, when I unscrewed the cap, it gave off such an eye-watering whiff that I used white wine vinegar instead. The recipe filled five Bonne Maman jam jars (which tells you something about our confiture consumption) with a bit left over.

At about 10 a.m. yesterday morning, I heard the toot-toot of the butcher's truck announcing that it had arrived at the end of Impasse de l'église. Some of the village's older residents were already there when I arrived, buying little packages of this and that from the young woman behind the counter.

I asked her if she had any of the meat mixture used for stuffing vegetables at this time of year. Peppers, aubergines, courgettes, tomatoes... Yes, she said, pointing to a fat coil of homemade sausages. I bought a length, and she carefully sliced it open and packaged the contents to make my life easier. Speaking of making life easier: right now, she also sells sausage-stuffed quail wrapped in bacon, all ready to go in the oven.

Later, the same day. Plans easily go awry here. Having a big glass of red with friends in their garden meant it was 7:30 p.m. before we walked in the door. Possibly later Anyway, too late to start faffing around with stuffing courgettes. 

A staple in our pantry is a big tin of duck confit. Peter opened it (the peculiarities of French can openers are a whole other separate post, as is their curious take on plastic wrap) and two legs went into the frypan to warm through and crisp. 

Meanwhile, I boiled some potatoes. Most of the duck fat that melted off the confit went into a small jar, to be stored in the fridge. That way, the duck skin could get golden and crunchy. Around the duck, I arranged cooked potato wedges so they could do the same. The new chutney de courgettes was very good with it all in a sweet/duck à l'orange sort of way, and a green salad added a bit of desirable edge to all that richness.