the brave and the beautiful

i probably should have called this blog "in defense of ugly or otherwise stigmatized food." 
although that would have been a misnomer too, though, because like most people i'm also a sucker for an aesthetically pleasing plate. what i'm really getting at, i suppose, is that many of my secret gastronomical weaknesses are homely at best--and it might just be that their vulnerability as such makes me crush on them that much harder.

i have two words for you, and i'm going to ask you not to laugh: stewed prunes.

how does 'dried plum compote' sound?

look, there's no easy way for me to say this. here's what i'm asking you to do: take a pound of prunes, forgive them their unglamorous laxative day job, and plunk them into a pot over low heat with some sort of slivered citrus, a cinnamon stick and a slosh of water. walk away for a half hour, maybe forty five minutes if you've got a big driveway to shovel, and then come back, stick the whole mess in the fridge, and forget about it till the next morning. that's when the magic really happens: you can swirl your stewed prunes dried plum compote rehydrated stone fruit sauce into yogurt or nest it into a steaming bowl of oatmeal. if you're one of those dessert-for-breakfast types, i feel morally obligated to tell you that a puddle of these babies atop a slice of toast with nutella is Out Of Control. if you're one of those dessert-for-every-meal types, spoon them over some toasted almond ice cream and you won't be sorry.

what makes such a cruelly monickered snack so wonderful? well. remember plums? remember galette and fennel salad and crumble and gingery sauce? despite having the same glorious origin, stewed prunes are nothing like plums. they are the brooding, darkly sensual cousin of the effervescent student-body-president plum. they're adrien brody to plum's josh hartnett. they are the less popular but infinitely more alluring relative that induced such jealousy within the plum's stony heart that it cast the stewed prune away with a name unfortunate enough to insure the plum's everlasting societal superiority.

it was an exercise in futility, though, because let's be real--i'd way rather go out on a date with adrien brody. don't get me wrong, i love plums in all their incarnations, but i'm going to have to side with david lebovitz on this one: stewed prunes are infinitely more interesting than a rehydrated dehydrated plum. with an amiable nudge from a low flame and some citrus twang, they collapse into a silken pockets of intoxicating juice. they're almost winey. (unsurprisingly, my next application for the noble stewed prune will be an alcoholic one, served for dessert atop a pillow of mascarpone.)

and the best part is that this is stupid-easy "cooking," a recipe that barely even qualifies as such since you will have it instantly memorized. the finished product really, truly gets better as it ages--the sweetness quiets down, allowing tart and winey notes to shine through that much more as flavors meld and mellow. make it at least the night before you plan on eating it, but ideally a full 24 hours in advance. do it. do it for the poor, misunderstood prunes.

stewed prunes with citrus and cinnamon
adapted from tomato blessings and radish teachings via orangette
makes 4-7 servings, depending on how you're eating them

• 1 orange, OR 2 small tangerines, OR 1 small orange and ½ a lemon*
• 1 lb pitted prunes
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 1-2 tsp ground ginger (my addition, optional)

*(next time i might use two small lemons for a little added tartness, but i also spend most of my time thinking about lemons, so take that with a grain of salt)

cut the citrus fruit in half vertically, and then slice it thinly, peel and all. place the slices in a medium saucepan with the prunes, cinnamon stick, and ginger if using, and add water to cover. bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, and cook over medium-low heat for about 30-45 minutes, until the prunes are quite tender, the citrus slices are soft and glassy, and the liquid in the pan is caramelly. remove the cinnamon stick and serve, or store in a sealed container in the refrigerator for up to a week. they're definitely better after a rest (see note above) so try to make them a day or so in advance.