{"id":1710,"date":"2005-10-27T05:38:00","date_gmt":"2005-10-27T05:38:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2005\/10\/27\/the-semantics-of-stewing"},"modified":"2015-09-24T03:54:14","modified_gmt":"2015-09-24T03:54:14","slug":"the-semantics-of-stewing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2005\/10\/the-semantics-of-stewing\/","title":{"rendered":"The semantics of stewing"},"content":{"rendered":"
In the English language, there are only a handful of phrases that come with their own built-in <\/strong>laugh track<\/strong><\/a>, and sadly, \u201cstewed prunes<\/strong>\u201d is one of them. Witness the following exchange, tearfully recorded by yours truly during a phone conversation earlier this week:<\/p>\n Molly: I\u2019m thinking of making stewed prunes.*<\/p>\n Brandon: [Giggle<\/em>].<\/p>\n Molly: Why are you laughing? Have you ever eaten a stewed prune?<\/p>\n Brandon: [Giggle<\/em>]. No, but it just sounds funny. I mean, steewwwed pruuune! [Giggle giggle<\/em>].<\/p>\n It is a dark, dark day, dear reader, when you learn that the man you love\u2014and whose genetic material you would like to help perpetuate, even\u2014is a prune skeptic<\/strong>.<\/p>\n In his defense, Brandon claims that he dislikes all dried fruits, the unfortunate result of being forced to eat too much \u201chippie trail mix\u201d as a child. Now, it\u2019s bad enough that the delicious prune\u2014or, to use its new, marketing-friendly name, the dried plum<\/a>\u2014has to work an unglamorous side-job as a laxative, but for it to be discriminated against on the basis of childhood trauma is simply unfair. And anyway, if we really get down to semantics, stewed<\/em> prunes aren\u2019t dried fruits anymore. They\u2019re soft, swollen, gushy pockets of heady, sweet-tart juice<\/strong>.<\/p>\n Today I prefer a method that\u2019s a little more conventional but every bit as effortless: a short, gentle simmer over low heat, with no stirring, poking, or prodding required. You\u2019ll know that your prunes are properly stewed when an almost liqueur-like aroma wafts out of the saucepan<\/strong>. The fruit should slump on the spoon, and its skin should yield to the tooth with a gentle, dainty pop<\/strong>. Its silky, juicy pulp should be both warming and wintery<\/strong>, a deep, round, heartening flavor that\u2019s delicate but deathly serious.<\/p>\n If I have my way, even the most hard-boiled of prune skeptics will be stewed into submission.<\/p>\n *Thank you, David Lebovitz<\/a>, for believing in prunes.<\/p>\n<\/a>
I like to think of prunes as plums that have been bettered by hardship, plums made wiser by old age and wizening, and I consider myself lucky to have been schooled in the simple art of stewing from an early age. My father<\/a>, a fan of cook-while-you-sleep breakfasts, used to load up a late-night saucepan with prunes, water, and thin slices of orange and lemon, bring it to a boil, cover it, turn off the heat, and let it sit until morning. The Food Safety and Inspection Service<\/a> would likely look askance at such a method, but it did make ours a relatively happy, mainly healthy, pro-prune household.<\/p>\n