Nectarine clafoutis, gluten free

Being the daughter of a woman raised on a New Zealand orchard, it was my destiny to adore stone fruit of all types. Fuzzy floral scented peaches, delicate orange tinged apricots, plums of varying sour-sweetness, luscious ruby-red cherries (that also served as wonderful edible earrings) and of course fragrant white or yellow honey-fleshed nectarines. This abundance of stone fruit speaks directly to my heart of summer, sweet memories and our family history.

Once they start appearing at our local markets, bags of fruit appear in our household and are eaten ‘au natural’, sweet juices dribbling down chins or baked into various desserts and sweet treats. Mr Bagpipes (aka Dad, aka Sweet Tooth Pants) was coming for lunch, hence a fast and easy confection was called for. I whipped this up as quick as a flash (for much of my best work is done at the last minute dontcha know?) Procrastinators unite, is there a club I can join?

The fancy sounding clafoutis (pronounced klah-foo-tee), originates in France and is a sweet eggy batter that is poured over fruit (traditionally cherries) and baked into a light airy custard-like pudding. This would be delicious with any stone fruit but I had an oversupply of nectarines. It is best served straight from the oven as it does deflate rather quickly. (Much as my heart did when Donald Trump was elected President.) Enjoy this summery dessert, we did.

NECTARINE CLAFOUTIS

WHAT YOU NEED
3 eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup milk
60g butter, melted
90g gluten free plain flour
1/4 tsp vanilla bean powder (or 1/4 tsp vanilla essence)
4 nectarines, washed, sliced and de-stoned (300g once destoned)

HOW YOU DO IT
Preheat the oven to 180C.
Grease a pie or baking dish with butter (I used a 29cm X 20cm baking dish).
Whisk the eggs and sugar together until well combined. (If you are using vanilla essence add it here.)
Whisk in the milk then add the butter, sifted flour and vanilla bean powder, stirring until just combined.
Pour the batter into the prepared dish.
Arrange the nectarine slices over the batter in a pattern that is pleasing to your eye and heart.
Bake for 30-35 minutes until puffy and golden and a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. Best served straight after baking as it does deflate somewhat. Great with a wee dollop of ice-cream, cream or creme-fraiche.

A Cheergerm adaptation of a bunch of clafoutis recipes.

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Barcelona

The deafening roar of motorbikes, the bumble bee buzz of scooter type Vespa bikes, buses, cars and the frequent high pitched wail of emergency sirens were my lullaby for the requisite Spanish afternoon siesta.

Balcony doors flung wide open, provided a view of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia cathedral and the loud hum of traffic noise merged with the sound of children playing at the large school across the road. I was lulled to the blurred place that exists in the space between awareness and sleep.

Barcelona is a vast old city set out on a before its time grid structure, chock full of mind boggling modernist architecture, older style apartment buildings that speak of another era, attractive Spaniards with exquisite taste in bags and shoes, millions of tourists with varying degrees of taste in bags and shoes and of course, a motza of food and drink. Tapas, churros, patisserie, Catalan cuisine, Italian, Vietnamese, Portugese. Wine, beer, cava, sangria. All of varying quality.

We used Trip Advisor and a bit of nouse and managed to (mostly) enjoy good edibles at reasonable prices. The Yak did devour more than his fair share of patatas bravas (a potato tapas dish) and being in a bit of a ‘tourist area’, we probably would have done better going further afield more often. (Kid 2 ended up with a tummy bug/food poisoning case on our two last days, putting a bit of a kybosh on going further afield as we had planned.)

People really do eat late here, it’s no myth. We got into the rhythm of a slightly later start to the day. Heading out for coffee accompanied by delicate little creme patisserie stuffed pastries, followed by some serious sightseeing. Lunch consisted of fresh baguettes and jamon or tapas, then off we trotted back to the apartment for that siesta. We would devour a late afternoon snack then head out the door once more after eight. No self-respecting restaurant opens their doors before eight-thirty, although tapas and pinchos are served earlier. Unfortunately for the Yak, much of the pinchos (small snacks) are served on bread. The Spanish way of life would particularly suit our hot Australian summers although I fear that most of us would fail to return to work after the siesta, as the seductive lure of the pool or beach would prove far too tempting.

The man at the nearby jamon specialist shop was patient with our very poor Spanish skills (I use that word loosely) but we managed to order a few slices of Iberian jamon to go with our crunchy baguettes, tomatoes and Manchego cheese. Wine is plentiful and very reasonable if you visit a good, big supermarket and the tiny and interesting speciality wine shops are also worth a visit or two.

The La Boqueria market was overloaded by tourists, yet still a foodie fantasy land and worth a visit. Rows of perfect chocolates, piles of nuts, vibrant fruits and vegetables and hanging strands of every chilli you could imagine. A lovely local kindly tapped me on the shoulder and told me to beware pickpockets, I had stupidly placed my iPhone in my back pocket whilst buying some plump scarlet plums.

The Sagrada Familia, the iconic Gaudi cathedral was almost a religious experience. God or something akin to God talked to me via Gaudi’s visionary use of space, organic shapes and multi-hued incandescent light.

As I wrote this, it was 10.30 at night, and the Yak and lads were having a different kind of religious experience. They were perched, bums on edge of seat at a tapas bar around the corner watching a Barcelona soccer game with a bunch of passionate Barca fans. They had toured the football stadium Camp Nou earlier that day whilst I thoroughly enjoyed my lone Gaudi ‘La Pederra’ tour. Our little boys heads were full of soccer glory. Messi, Neymar Jr and Suarez. I instead chose to go back to the apartment and enjoy an extra sneaky tumbler of very good Spanish wine and a modicum of peace and quiet.

We made special memories, yet for the Yak and myself, it wasn’t all fun and games. The loss of our Jo bore down heavily upon us at times. However, what we do know is that she would have wanted our boys to experience this big wide world we live in. To laugh, love and shout at the soccer. To eat good food, to learn how to say hola, adios, bueno and bonita. And that is what we will continue to do, wherever and whatever we do, in the best way that we can.