Prunus armeniaca
Rosaceae family
Throughout North America in zones 5–8
IT IS A BAD IDEA TO EAT apricots around deployed marines who handle armored transport vehicles. According to a 2003 Wall Street Journal article, one of the biggest military superstitions among American soldiers stationed in Kuwait near the Iraqi border had to do with a seemingly harmless stone fruit. They were certainly not consumed in any form, and even saying the word aloud could cause a stir among a platoon.
The superstition traces back to a rumor that in World War II, every time a tank broke down, canned apricot C-rations were on board. Marines in Vietnam and Desert Storm have also shared anecdotes about a snack of rogue apricots (always in canned or dried form) preceding a dangerous situation.
But this bit of apricot lore is anomalous. Native to China and Central Asia, apricots are beloved fruits in multiple cultures, and Silk Road traders perhaps first brought the fruit to Persia. Eaten fresh, they are meatier and more intense than any other stone fruit. When dried, they put Clif Bars to shame. When cooked into jam, they render the finest of toast into a mere vehicle for their sticky glory.
Because of the apricot’s short season and delicacy, canned or dried versions are what most of us are familiar with. Every Christmas when I was growing up, my mother made kolachi, fruit-filled cookies from a recipe given to her by her Polish neighbor. We scoured local grocery stores for Solo brand canned apricot filling, but as the years went on I realized it took less time to make apricot lekvar out of dried apricots myself than it did to go on a wild goose chase for obscure canned ingredients. Not making the cookies was out of the question; using a non-apricot filling even more so.
Spanish missionaries planted apricots in the gardens of California’s missions, and today California still leads all US states in apricot production (though the crop pales in comparison with other stone fruit harvests headed to the market). California’s apricot crops took off in World War I, when it was not possible to import European apricots.
Any North American fruit connoisseur has doubtlessly heard of the famed Blenheim apricot. Apricots in general have a richness, but the Blenheim is fabled for its flavor. It was named for the garden at Blenheim Palace, in Oxfordshire, England, where its gardener grew a tree there in the early 1800s. Blenheims are small compared with most other apricots, and not the most profitable tree to farm. Their shoulders maintain a tinge of green when they are fully ripe, and so play tricks on those accustomed to associating ripe fruit with full color break. Blenheims were once well represented in California’s apricot orchards, but they eventually gave way to other, better-yielding and longer-lived varieties. Finding fresh apricots on the market is challenging, period, but getting your hands on a fresh Blenheim is a feat.
How dreamy, then, to have one in your own yard or neighborhood! May you enjoy apricots off the tree at least once in your life, and may the experience live up to what others have built you up to hope for. And if you are a marine, may you eat those apricots safely at home.
Harvesting and Storage
Pick apricots when they are ripe. They’ll feel softish and should have a nice color (some varieties are more saturated than others when ripe). Apricots on one tree tend to all ripen within the same small window of time. You can pick slightly underripe apricots and get them to ripen up more in a paper bag on the counter, but they won’t compare to tree-ripened ones. They’ll be a lot easier to transport home initially, though. You need to handle these babies with care.
You can refrigerate ripe apricots for a week or so, allowing you some flexibility with your canning and baking timeline.
To dry apricots, treat them with an ascorbic acid solution first to keep them from turning brown. Firm but ripe ones (not squishy guys) work best. Halve and pit them. You can freeze pitted apricots, but they may brown if not first treated with ascorbic acid.
Culinary Possibilities
Apricots and lamb have what Mediterranean food historian Claudia Roden calls “a special affinity.” My cooking school served a lamb tagine with poached dried apricots that I still daydream about. Grilled halved apricots stuffed with goat cheese or crumbled blue cheese are an interesting summer side dish or starter.
Apricots are denser than peaches, and they can make a cloying deep-dish pie. I prefer to bake them in shallow tart pans instead. Almonds and apricots are a power duo; try a frangipane and apricot tart.
APRICOT JAM
Makes 4 half-pint jars (960 ml)
No other jam provides as good a reason to get up in the morning. Thick apricot jam is just tart enough to get you going without jolting you too much. There’s no need to peel apricots for jam (or for anything, really); their skins are very thin, and they help the flesh hold together just enough to give your final product an appealingly varied texture.
2 pounds (910 g) apricots, pitted and roughly chopped
3 cups (600 g) granulated sugar
2 tablespoons lemon juice
Combine the prepped fruit (you should have a little over 4 cups/960 ml) and the sugar in a large, nonreactive pan or Dutch oven. If you like, cover and refrigerate for a few hours, or up to overnight.
Add the lemon juice and set the pan over high heat. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, and slowly reduce the heat as the mixture thickens. Some foamy scum may rise to the top during the first 10 minutes or so of cooking. Skim this off with a large metal spoon.
As the jam cooks, you’ll need to stir it more and more frequently, and eventually stir it constantly. How long it will take to set will depend on a lot of things: the width of your pan, the heat of your burner, the water content of the fruit, and the volume of your batch (smaller batches of jam take much less time to set).
When it is ready, the jam will be very thick and glossy and register about 220°F (105°C) on a candy thermometer. It will take a little muscle to stir it. Do a gel test on a frozen plate; it shouldn’t run, and after a minute or so, if you prod the dollop with your finger, it will wrinkle.
When the jam is set, ladle into sterilized half-pint jars, leaving ¼ inch (6 mm) headspace. Process in a hot-water bath for 10 minutes.
Wild, Wonderful Fruit Preserves
Fruit preserves have their own terminology. Here’s how to know what you’re getting into.
Preserves, speaking broadly, are foods preserved in jars by canning. Typically preserves are made from fruit—they could be entire kumquats candied in a thick sugar syrup, or peach halves in their own liquid. Usually preserves are whole or chunky.
Jelly is made from the liquid strained out of cooked fruit. Jelly has no solids whatsoever, and it should be clear.
Jam is made from crushed fruit. It may be chunky, and it definitely has solids in it. Jam may or may not have seeds.
Fruit butters are very thick, very sweet fruit purees cooked down until they have a lot of body. Fruit butters are usually made with orchard fruits like apples and pears.
Marmalade is a preserve made with citrus peels and flesh. It is chunky yet spreadable.
Compote is usually not as sweet as jam. It’s looser and works well as a sauce. Compote is all about texture. A good compote has a not-too-thick syrup and fruit bits of varying size and color.
Conserve is a preserve made with a variety of fruits. It’s a dated term, but a sweet one. An apple and plum jam would qualify as both a jam and a conserve.
UMEBOSHI-STYLE PICKLED APRICOTS
Makes enough umeboshi to last a single household a good, long while
Sometimes a tree dumps fruit on you in manners you can’t control. If there’s an apricot tree around that’s not ripening fruit up to spec, you have an option beyond making the world’s biggest crock of apricot butter: Pickle them. Umeboshi are Japanese pickles: tiny, shriveled, sour-salty plums. They’re made with hard-to-find ume, a small Japanese variety of plum, but underripe apricots can stand in for them handily. This idea came from Karen Solomon’s book Asian Pickles, which you should just get already because it’s awesome. While the process outlined here is a little streamlined and not totally authentic, it’s still quite rewarding. This is a low-effort project that presents lots of potential. Use umeboshi in dressings, or smear a dab in the center of onigiri (rice balls).
2 pounds (910 g) unripe but mature apricots
4½ tablespoons (74 g) kosher salt
Rinse off the apricots and put them in a sterile 1-gallon (4 L) nonreactive container (ceramic, wood, or food-grade plastic). Cover them in cool water, and set them in a cool spot to soak overnight.
The following morning, drain off and discard the water. Return the apricots to the container, gently adding the salt in layers so you don’t damage the skin of the fruit.
Set a drop weight (such as a pot lid or small plate that’s a little less than the diameter of the inside of the container) on top of the apricots, then weigh it down with clean rocks, a large can, or a filled jar. Your weight should be about as heavy as the apricots—for instance, if you have 2 pounds of apricots, your weight should be about 2 pounds. Cover the whole works with a clean kitchen towel, and secure it around the rim with a rubber band. Set in a cool spot and check every day or two. If necessary, gently rearrange the apricots to expose the top ones to the liquid beneath them. If you see spots of white mold growing at any point, remove and discard the mold. The apricots should gradually release enough liquid to be fully immersed. This may take 3 weeks or longer. Once they do, remove the weights.
Replace the kitchen towel, and continue to let the apricots sit in their brine for about 3 weeks. They will slowly become incredibly aromatic, scented gently of almonds but also of apricots, though not in a sweet way; the smell will be clean, not funky. Taste the brine occasionally; it will be salty, but tart.
Once the apricots are brined to your satisfaction, strain the brine into a clean glass bottle. This is umesu, a tart and salty liquid you may use as a seasoning, a cross between a fruit vinegar and a light soy sauce. Refrigerate it for eons.
The umeboshi themselves you can pat dry, put into jars, and refrigerate for at least a year.
NOTE: To determine how much salt to add, calculate 8 percent of the weight of the apricots. You’ll add that weight of salt.
ALSO TRY WITH: If you can find ume plums, the small and tart Japanese ones traditionally used for this pickle, go for it! The pickling time may be shorter, since ume are smaller than apricots.
BARLEY HERB SALAD WITH APRICOTS AND CRISPY HALLOUMI
Serves 8 as a side dish or 4 as a main dish
Pearl barley cooks up plump and chewy—a bit like Israeli couscous, but with more personality. Its subtle sweetness pairs well with fruit. Apricots, whose meaty flesh gives this salad a little brawn, are my preference here, and they play well off the firm and squeaky slices of griddled halloumi, a brined Cypriot cheese that makes the salad a meal (but you can skip the cheese if you like).
½ cup (110 g) pearl barley
1½ cups (360 ml) water
1–2 large ripe tomatoes, diced (about 2 cups)
2 scallions, thinly sliced crosswise
¼ cup (60 ml) freshly squeezed lemon juice
⅓ cup (80 ml) extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
⅛ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon Marash pepper, or ⅛ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
⅛ teaspoon cinnamon
4 apricots, ripe but not squishy, cut into bite-sized chunks
½ cucumber, seeded and peeled, diced (about 1 cup)
½ cup (10 g) finely chopped fresh mint
½ cup (10 g) chopped fresh dill
1 cup (50 g) finely chopped fresh parsley leaves
1 (250 g) package halloumi cheese, cut into ¼-inch (6 mm) slices
Put the barley and water in a medium saucepan. Cover, bring to a boil over high heat, and reduce to a low simmer. Cook until the water is absorbed and the grains are plump and fully cooked but still chewy, 25 to 40 minutes. Set aside to cool.
In a large bowl, toss together the tomatoes, scallions, lemon juice, olive oil, salt, black pepper, Marash pepper, and cinnamon. Add the cooled barley, and toss until it’s coated with the dressing. Fold in the apricots, cucumber, and herbs. Taste the salad, and add more salt or herbs, if necessary.
To griddle the halloumi, put a 10-inch (25 cm) cast-iron or nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Once it’s hot, add the halloumi slices. Cook them without disturbing too much until they are a nice, mottled brown color (you’ll know they’re ready to turn when they release easily from the surface of the skillet). Flip them over, reduce the heat to medium, and cook until the other sides are golden brown and crispy, too.
Spoon the salad onto serving dishes, and top each portion with a few slices of halloumi. The salad will keep, covered in the refrigerator, for 4 days.
NOTE: Instead of the pearl barley, you can use 2½ cups of any cooked grain in this salad.
ALSO TRY WITH: Ripe but firm peaches, plums, cherries, or nectarines.