Clafoutis aux cérises

I received some terrible news this weekend.  Local sweet cherries are done for the season.

After all of my harping on cherries for the last few weeks, it's probably just as well they're almost done.  We'll still be able to get them for a few more weeks from the orchards up North, around Traverse City, but after that it will really be time to start focusing on peaches and plums and apricots, which have arrived just in time to distract me.

But for now, though, I'll take advantage of the few cherries I can still get a hold of and make a clafoutis.

I can't very well talk about clafoutis without talking about Catherine, my host mother during my time in Paris in 2008. It was Catherine, after all, who served me my first clafoutis.  Like so many of the dishes Catherine prepared, I had no idea what to expect from a clafoutis, but I was pleased to discover it's kind of like a super custardy cake, loaded with tons of fresh fruit.  My first clafoutis was light and eggy and studded with chunks of rhubarb from Catherine's garden. During dessert, Catherine explained that clafoutis was traditionally made cherries, but could be made with just about any fruit.  In this case, the rhubarb was chosen just for me, since I had mentioned a few weeks earlier how much I loved rhubarb, and Catherine had promised to bring some back from her garden after her next visit to her country home.  Traditional fruit or no, the clafoutis was delicious, and I was smitten.

After dinner, I asked Catherine for her recipe, and she did me one better: she handed over her self-assembled cookbook, an alphabetized journal in which Catherine, her children, and even occasionally her husband Jacques had jotted down their favorite recipes – my favorite kind of family heirloom. I held onto the book for a few days, during which time I copied down dozens of recipes.  After work one day, I remember meandering down to the park between la Bourse and the Forum des Halles, stopping on the way to pick up a couple of rose and passion fruit flavored guimauves, or fresh marshmallows, for snacking.  In the shady summer evening, I set myself up on one of the long curving stone benches, with Carla Bruni playing on my iPod and Catherine's cookbook and my own journal propped carefully in my lap.  If my back hadn't been sore from a couple of hours spent hunched over, slowly copying in an unpracticed Paris-style cursive hand (you never see Parisians write in anything but cursive, and I was determined to embrace all aspects of Parisian life that I could), it would have been a perfect evening.

I came back to the states a few weeks later with big plans to keep up my French cooking.  And I do, sometimes, but to be honest, I probably haven't made even a tenth of the recipes I jotted down.  Quel dommage !  It must be time to start reviewing those recipes in earnest.  And for starters, I can't think of a better place to begin than with a cherry clafoutis.  Light and refreshing, dotted with pockets of sweet, juicy cherries, there's no better way to finish a summer meal.  So if you've still got any cherries available at your local market, snatch them up and make yourself a clafoutis before they're all gone til next summer.

Clafoutis aux cérises de Catherine

Clafoutis is traditionally made with sweet cherries, but it could be made with any fruit - I've had it with plums, rhubarb, apricots, strawberries... the possibilities are endless.  Just be sure all fruit is in bite-size bits. 

Intriguingly, the cherries in a traditional clafoutis are never pitted.  I can understand the desire to avoid spending lots of time pitting cherries, but I can also appreciate not wanting to deal with the pits while you're eating the dessert.  I pitted my cherries for my clafoutis today, but if you don't want to expend the extra labor, just explain to your guests that you're following tradition.

1 pound cherries or other fruit, washed, and pitted (or not - see note above)
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar
pinch salt
4 eggs
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 cups whole milk

Garnish
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1/4 cup sugar
1 egg

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.  Butter a deep baking dish.

Mix together the flour, sugar, and salt.  Mix in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the oil and milk carefully to avoid lumps, mixing until just combined.  Pour the batter into the baking dish, then carefully drop in the fruit.

Bake the clafoutis for 35 minutes.  Meanwhile, prepare the garnish by mixing together the butter, sugar, and egg.  Pour the garnish over the clafoutis, then continue to bake for another 10 minutes, or until puffed, golden brown, and set - it should jiggle only slightly in the middle when shaken.  Serve warm or cold, sprinkled with powdered sugar, if you desire.

Serves six to eight