Candied orange peel
I’d never even considered making candied fruit or peel. I imagined it involved complicated and elaborate procedures, that it was fiendishly difficult and bound to end in disaster. Then, a couple of years back, a fellow blogger called Molly with a knack for words made it sound not only delightful but doable, and I began making my own.
I’m bound to make it sound complicated and pernickety, but it isn’t. A flurry of activity demanding your full attention is needed to get started, but then it’s all about the long, seductive simmer that requires nothing more than a curious prod and satisfied nod every now and then. You slice both ends from each orange (6 is a good number, and make sure they’re organic), then score the fruit with a sharp knife so that you can ease away 4 arcs of peel. Now you need to blanch the peel three times: that is, put it in a pan, cover it with cold water, and bring it to a boil, drain it, re-cover it with fresh cold water, bring to a boil again, drain, re-cover, and re-boil.
Having blanched the peel, you need to simmer it in simple syrup (made from equal quantities of water and superfine sugar—I use 2 cups—heated in a pan until the sugar completely dissolves) until the arcs are tender and translucent. Tentative touch and taste are the best gauge; trust yourself, you are right. Mine took 1¾ hours. Once your orange arcs are candied, use a slotted spoon to scoop them out of the amber liquid and onto a wire rack placed on top of a piece of parchment paper. Leave them to dry for a day and a half, by which point they are no longer wet, but still a little bit tacky, and shine like polished leather. Leave them as they are or cut them into whatever shape you like, and store them in a screw-top jar. Don’t forget to pour the amber cooking syrup into a bottle and keep it in the fridge. It’s good on Greek yogurt or poured over sliced oranges, slivers of dates, and mascarpone.
Of course, you can eat the peel just so. I do. It’s heady stuff, the absolute essence of orange: sweet, fragrant, spicy, oily, and acerbic. Not for the citrus faint hearted. It’s good with an espresso and a square of Lindt. Or with tea—Darjeeling is particularly nice. You can dip the ends of your fat, fragrant matchsticks in melted dark chocolate to make scorzette d’arancia candite al cioccolato (orangettes). Alternatively, you could, and should, make what is possibly my favorite Christmas treat (which is saying something, considering the throng of heavily fruited cakes, suet-laced puddings, panettone, profusion of marzipan, and gaggle of spiced delights that clamor for attention during my schizophrenic Anglo-Italian festivities): pangiallo.
Pangiallo
Spiced fruit cake with saffron
Pan giallo, or “yellow bread,” isn’t bread as we know it at all, but a flat, rich, boldly spiced cake that dates back to medieval times. Don’t let its looks deceive! A dark, curiously bumpy appearance barely concealed by a saffron-colored glaze, pangiallo is a most delicious thing. I’ve described it as a cake but it’s actually more like soft, chewy, heavily spiced nougat with a whisper of cake that’s crowded with dried fruit, nuts, candied peel, heavily spiced and then painted with a glaze of egg yolk and saffron.
For a woman like me, with a weakness for toasted nuts, candied peel, heavily spiced confections, and medieval undertones, this is a pretty stupendous slice. Italian food historian Gillian Riley notes that in the 1500s, pangiallo, like panforte (which literally means “strong bread”), with its strengthening sweetness and stimulating spiciness, was considered an ideal gift for women after childbirth. Now I know it’s been a few years, but I’m still in need of strengthening sweetness and stimulating spiciness.
makes 2 small cakes that each cut into 8–10 slices
⅓ cup (100 g) golden raisins
⅓ cup (100 g) dried figs
1 cup (150 g) candied fruit or chopped peel
1½ cups (200 g) mixed nuts, such as almonds, pine nuts, hazelnuts, and walnuts
¾ cup (100 g) all-purpose flour
½ whole nutmeg, grated
a pinch of cinnamon
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ cup (150 g) honey
⅔ cup (80 g) confectioners’ sugar
for the glaze:
2 tablespoons warm water
2 egg yolks
1 tablespoon flour
1 tablespoon confectioners’ sugar
Soak the raisins in a little hot water for 10 minutes. Chop the figs into eighths and dice the candied fruit if it is in large pieces. Once the raisins are plump, squeeze out any excess water. In a large bowl, mix together the dried fruit and nuts, then add the flour, nutmeg, cinnamon, and pepper and stir again or toss with your hands so that each piece of fruit or nut is well coated.
Preheat the oven to 325°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In a small pan over medium heat, warm the honey with 1 tablespoon water, add the ⅔ cup sugar and stir until it bubbles at the edges. Pour the honey mixture over the fruit and nut mixture, then use a spoon or your hands to mix the ingredients until you have a lumpy and sticky but consistent mass. Divide the mass in half, then shape it into 2 round loaves about 1¼ inches deep and 6 inches wide. Sit them on the prepared baking sheet.
Make the glaze by dissolving the saffron in 2 tablespoons warm water, then add the yolks, flour, and the tablespoon sugar. Beat well until they form a yellow paste, then brush and dab it over the tops of the loaves and bake for 30 minutes, or until it is firm and golden at the edges, and the glaze is bright yellow.
