A fruit as furry as a pet

A recipe for apricot jam

Apricots are a bit of a Marmite fruit - there are those who can’t stand them, though it beats me why not. While English writer John Ruskin described it as “shining in a sweet brightness of golden velvet", others talk of its too-scented aspect, or an unpleasant slumping and juiceless texture.

But for those who love them, this is the time of year to make jam. If you're in a country where they grow, the ones still left in the markets, though soft and sweet and full of flavour, are past their best for eating raw and lose their shape when poached, so producers sell them off by the box-load cheap. In street markets in the UK where costermongers shout out “Any bowl for a pound!”, apricots are generally not suitable for uses other than jam. As with so much produce, modern shipping and marketing schedules require apricots be harvested before fully ripe. So they go from rigid to wool as you fumble for your coins. All they’re fit for is jam.

And apricot ‘jam' isn't only restricted to toast.

In one of those unforeseeable treats of life, I was once invited on a private tour of Georgia by Mrs Shevadnaze, wife of Foreign Minister ედუარდ ამბროსის ძე შევარდნაძე, ​as his name is written, just to make absolutely clear which Georgia we’re talking about here. Driving out of Tbilisi through lush autumnal countryside, we found ourselves ‘unexpectedly’ in a village where a wedding was taking place. (In a similar fashion, we had found ourselves the night before at a restaurant where ‘unexpectedly’, Georgian Army dancers had sprung through an upper storey window to leap along our refectory table and bound up and down, legs flaring, the waiters having fortuitously not yet placed any food upon it. Such acts of spontaneity tend to occur when Western journalists appear.)

At this wedding, we were warmly welcomed to a long table set out in an orchard and surrounded by family and friends. From the farmhouse, a line of women emerged, large platters borne aloft. Dish upon dish was piled upon the table. When there was no more room to set down any further food, a second layer of dishes was created, stacked on top of the lower plates, with further platters of wonderment above those, until they towered like a Jenga game of food, three and four levels high of Georgian specialities.

Above all the extraordinary explosions of flavour conveyed into my mouth that glorious afternoon of amber sun and what felt like genuine hospitality even if government directed, the most outstanding was a glistening forkful from a dish of plov. Known in other countries as pilaf or pilau, it was a vast plate of savoury rice, cooked in a meat broth with pulled strips of spiced and slow-roasted lamb tumbled upon the crown of it. Over that tangle of meat had been ladled a thick and glossy sauce of jammy cooked apricots that languidly dripped down the mountain of rice like a melting glacier. It is still one of the best food memories of my life.

As well as creating defenders and detractors of its qualities, apricots provoke argument among food historians and food geeks about their origins. One group contends they were first found in Armenia. Given that kernels have been discovered in an archaeological site dating back to the period between the Neolithic and the Bronze Age, and that modern Armenians cultivate around 50 different varieties today, they have a strong case.

From the Arab camp is evidence from the long period between AD 750 and 1258 when the Islamic empire stretched from the Gulf to Sicily, that they imported apricots from Tus in northeastern Persia to their capital in Baghdad. When, in AD 711, the Moors invaded Spain, they planted apricot trees in Granada. One of the Arab cookbooks of the period gives a recipe for a lamb-and-dried-apricots stew called mishmishiya. It instructs: "Take fat meat. Boil it in a little water...Take dried apricots and remove their pits and replace them with blanched almonds. And when the meat is done, throw the apricots on it, and raisins...a stick of Chinese cinnamon, mint, mastic, saffron and jujubes, and sweeten it with sugar and honey." It’s a dish readily found in Middle Eastern restaurants today.

However, the Chinese and the Indians also lay claim to the origins of the apricot, the fruit migrating with merchants from China along the Silk Road around 2000 years before Christ.

Alexander the Great is punted by the Greeks as introducer of the fruit into their nation where they embraced it enthusiastically, as fond of apricots, fresh or poached, at breakfast with yogurt as the French are of apricots as jam on morning baguettes.

Apricot jam is, for me, the ‘Madeleine memory’ of France - a slow wake-up to cold unsalted butter on warm crusty bread, smeared thickly with apricot jam. A spoonful in winter brings back memories of summer. It’s worth stewing up large batches since, with Christmas leering over the horizon (sorry for pointing that out but less than 130 shopping days left…), jars of it make welcome presents bound up with ribbon. Novice jam-makers fearful of the setting process will get a head start using sugar specifically developed for jams that contains a quantity of pectin to guarantee a jam will set.

For about 3-4 jars

1.5kg/3 1/4lbs fresh apricots
800g/1lb7oz jam-making sugar or regular sugar
1 vanilla pod
juice of 1 lemon

Halve and stone the fruit, keeping back a cupful of the stones.

Put the fruit and the sugar into a preserving pan. Run a knife down the vanilla pod to expose its seeds. Add to the fruit and sugar with the lemon juice, stir together and leave to steep overnight.

Crack open the stones and remove the kernels. Blanch them in boiling water for 1 minute, plunge into cold water and remove the skins. Split the kernels in two by rubbing them between your thumb and forefinger and add to the fruit for an almond-y aspect.

Place a saucer or small plate in the freezer to chill. 

Put the pan of sugar and apricots over a low heat and stir until the sugar has completely dissolved. Turn up the heat and boil fast for 20-25 minutes, until the mixture is thick and setting point is reached, 150C/300F on a sugar thermometer. To check this without a thermometer, remove the frozen saucer from the freezer, dribble a spoonful of jam onto it and see if the jam wrinkles when you push it with your finger. 

Allow the jam to stand for 20 minutes, remove the vanilla bean, and carefully pour the jam into hot sterilised jars, ensuring that the kernels are divided between them. While still hot, top with a disc of wax paper or baking parchment, seal with a lid, then leave to cool and set. The jam will last for 6 months unopened in a cool, dark cupboard. Once open, store in the fridge.

You can also make apricot jam with dried apricots.

500g/1lb dried apricots, roughly chopped
Juice 3 large lemons
1.5kg/3.30lbs jam-making sugar

Put the apricots in a large pan. Cover with 1.5 litres/2.6 pints water and leave to soften overnight.

Add the lemon juice and bring the apricots and water gently to the boil and simmer for 45 minutes to an hour, till the apricots are beginning to disintegrate. 

Place a saucer or small plate in the freezer to chill. 

Remove pan from the heat and add the sugar, stirring until it dissolves then return to the heat and boil rapidly for 20 minutes or until setting point is reached, testing it as suggested in the recipe for fresh apricot jam.

While hot, bottle the jam according to the method above. The jam will last for 6 months unopened in a cool, dark cupboard.

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I’ve only just found a key correction to my instructions posted onto my Facebook page by fine cook and writer Zora Margolis, for which I’m very grateful:

I have been making fruit preserves and jams for many years and refining my techniques as i learn more from the experts. There are a couple of significant errors in your essay on apricot jam-- the soft-ball stage to set jam without pectin is 220 f. not 300. Not necessary to boil that hot if using pectin. I never use pectin with pulpy fruit like apricot. And it is no longer considered safe to store jars with "open kettle" techniques like jar flipping, or sealing with wax (or wax paper). Jams must be waterbath canned for 10 minutes after filling in order to be shelf stable. If not waterbath canned, they must be refrigerated. I started out using melted wax, moved to jar flipping, and then learned several years ago, that those techniques are not considered safe. Here's a link to the USDA Guide to Food Preservation as a reference. https://nchfp.uga.edu/publications/usda/GUIDE01_HomeCan_rev0715.pdfhttps://nchfp.uga.edu/publications/usda/GUIDE01_HomeCan_rev0715.pdfhttps://nchfp.uga.edu/publications/usda/GUIDE01_HomeCan_rev0715.pdf