Pictures of one kind or another usually flood the memory when some favorite food of youth is injected into a conversation. Take strawberries, for example. To my American friends I find they bring vivid pictures of the grassy lawn near a country church and tables spread for the annual June supper party called, because of its ambrosial finale, a strawberry festival. The mammoth portions of home-baked shortcake, light and flaky, with a crust a bit on the crunchy side, had to be served, they tell me, in large, deep plates that could hold the rosy abundance of fresh-picked, juicy, chopped, and sweetened berries and all the whipped cream that was lavishly spooned over. All this has been described to me in various ways, but I still have to meet even one person who has recaptured in the big city his small-boy thrill with its savory memories of shortcake gorged at a June strawberry festival.
For me, the woodland strawberries, called les fraises des bois, will always roll back the years to spring in a little French town and my first rencontre with romance. May was le mois des fraises because spring came early to our Bourbonnais countryside. By April the tender green that March puts into shoots and leaves had already deepened, and when May arrived the fields outside the village were lush and blue with violets and all the bordering forests thickly strewn with muguet, lily of the valley, and ripening fraises des bois.
Our berries were somewhat larger than the wild strawberries I have had in this country, and more fragrant and flavorful, too, unless my memory, like that of nostalgic Americans seeking shortcake as delectable as that of the strawberry festival, tricks me into thinking so. I feel sure, though, that anyone who has eaten French fraises des bois cannot forget how luscious they were. The French themselves have affectionately called them la petite reine des desserts, the little queen of desserts, and city housewives waited impatiently for them to appear in the markets while their country neighbors just as impatiently went through the forests watching for the first bright red spots to show through the green.
Les fraises des bois grew profusely in the part of France where I was raised. But they had to be picked, of course. So picking them was a popular spring chore for children and a way for any enterprising youngster to turn capitalist. We would offer, presumably as a gift, a basket of berries not needed at home, to a neighbor who had no children of her own to go berry-picking, knowing the least reward would be a copper sou. And those sous, valued even then at less than an American penny, seemed a fortune to us.
La maman Dumont, my mother's good friend, an elderly widow and the town modiste, was the neighbor I liked to supply. She could use plenty of berries because she always had four or five young girls chez elle who were learning the dressmaking trade, country girls in their teens whose parents paid her the customary two hundred francs for a year or more of apprenticeship. They lived with her under an almost conventlike discipline, were well fed, their colds carefully nursed, and no departures allowed from Sunday devotions at the early Mass. A busy, happy household, as overflowing with the bright exuberance of youth as with the bright silks la maman brought back from a trip to Lyons. When I was about seven, Elise, an especially pretty and vivacious girl, was my favorite. At my knock she would drop her sewing, open the door, and almost fall over me in a bubbling kind of ecstasy.
“Cest le petit Louis, maman Dumont,” she'd say as though I were a heaven-sent messenger. “Il a des fraises des bois; et won Dieu, quelles fraises, comme elles sont belles et fraiches; quelle fragrance, comme le parfum de Grasse! Oh, maman Dumont, est-ce que nous pouvons les prendre?”
La maman would have taken the strawberries anyway; she liked them as much as the girls did, and she was my mother's friend, too. Then Elise would swoop down to kiss me on both cheeks and perhaps smack my petit derrière, all very embarrassing to a shy seven-year-old, although maybe I liked the performance, at that. What la maman did not know was that Elise began to slip notes in my hand for Jules, son of our village boulanger, who delivered his father's bread when la maman Dumont didn't go to market herself. Elise and Jules first opened my eyes to romance as I would watch them with well-concealed intent find seats in church where each could catch the other's eye and then snatch a few meaningful words as they mingled in the crowd outside.
My black hair and slightly pugnacious, so they tell me, ways as a child had not much in common with the blond, angel-faced cupids I've seen pictured. But trotting down to the boulangerie for the message from Jules, getting another one from him when I delivered my strawberries, topped with a handful of muguet and violets, and, not the least of my accomplishments, keeping my mouth shut, must have made up for other lacks. At any rate, the bans for the marriage were posted that summer, and, as soon as the harvest was over, Elise's mother was deciding which chickens should be killed for the wedding party. And for my part as Cupid, Jules always seemed to have bonbons in his pocket for me when I went to buy bread for my mother. Mais oui, strawberries bring back pictures to me, too, but of a dark-haired, vivacious girl, a village boulangerie, and l'amour in a small French town.
In Vichy, which was not far from my home town, the market gardeners cultivated la petite reine des desserts, and the result was a berry with the same delicacy and fragrance as the wild ones but a little larger in size. They were a specialty of the hotels of that famous watering place in the lush days of Vichy when all the top-drawer people of the world went there in the spring and summer. In the early morning before the dew had dried on the plants, you would see les jardinières bending over the rows picking berries. A mere shaking of the plant under which a large, flat basket was placed would drop the ripe berries into it. Those not quite ripe were left there until they in their turn would drop off. The morning's harvest was immediately sold to the large hotels where all fine foodstuffs found a ready market. And I can tell you it would be difficult to eat a more delectable dish of fruit than these fresh, succulent berries, fragrantly sweet and picked fully ripe, that had been chilled and served à la crème or au vin.
We also had cultivated strawberries, and in our fertile province of Bourbonnais they were certainly big and sweet. At my home the strawberry plants bordered the garden, for, as you perhaps know, gardens of small French homes are seldom separated into vegetables, flowers, and herbs. Everything is planted in a sort of friendly fashion, the curly carrot tops and the parsley, for instance, considered a pleasing foil for bright-colored pensées and pétunias, with fruit trees placed wherever a little shade is desired or else en espalier, against one of the walls. Like most French families, we ate our midday meal out of doors in warm weather on a strip of terrace between the house and the garden. The big table with its inevitable blue-and-white-checked cloth, set sons la tonnelle de glycine—a wistaria-covered arbor—was duplicated in almost every home in our part of France. Sitting in the partially shaded sunshine and finishing a good dinner with strawberries that you have watched ripen along the garden's edge, every berry freshly picked at the peak of its goodness, is an experience to remember.
These memories are what make me feel that the best time to eat strawberries is when they are in season locally so that they can be picked ripe. Actually, in the large cities of this country cultivated strawberries are obtainable as much as ten months of the year, coming from warm states such as California, Louisiana, Florida, and Virginia when they are out of season in northern cities. Obviously, the longer the distance they travel, the less ripe they must be when picked or they will be overripe and unsalable when they reach their destination. The wild strawberries that gourmets crave are almost impossible to secure unless you know where to pick them yourself. Only very occasionally have I been able to locate anyone who would bring in some from the country for me to buy and give me the opportunity of making real strawberries parisienne.
Since strawberries are available such a large part of the year, a chef is put on his mettle to think of delicious and varied ways of serving them so they won't become ordinaire. And that brings me to the different ways strawberries are prepared and served.
First they must be cleaned, and how thoroughly depends upon how they are grown. In England and on the Continent straw is usually spread on the ground under the plants to prevent the damp soil from causing spots of decay before the plants are fully mature and also to keep the soil from washing up onto them during rains. Consequently, the berries require very little cleaning. But in this country, where a baffle of straw is less frequently used, you will find they are sometimes quite sandy. Then cleaning is very important, because there is nothing much worse than getting even the slightest bit of grit in the mouth when it is all set for something succulent.
I clean strawberries this way. Remove the stems and put the berries in a colander or large strainer. Dip this in very hot water for 2 seconds and follow with a quick dip in a pan of cold water. Then give them a final rinse in cold water and drain them thoroughly.
Strawberries have such a superb flavor of their own that they should always be prepared in ways that will best emphasize it, never overpower it by other too-pronounced flavors. Simply eaten with cream is probably one of the most popular, and if the berries have been picked fully ripe, one could hardly ask for anything more luscious. The Frenchman likes his Normandy crème d'Isigny, the Englishman his Devonshire cream. They are fairly similar in that each is a cream with a high butter-fat content and so rich that it cannot be poured but must be spooned into a dish. If you can get an extremely heavy cream, you will have about the same richness, although the flavor will be different because of the difference in pasturage in France, in England, and in the United States.
Strawberries with Heavy Cream (D'Isigny or Devonshire Type)
Select large, fully ripe strawberries, clean them if necessary, but do not remove the stems. Put a generous serving of the heavy cream in the center of each plate and arrange the berries in a circle around the cream. Sprinkle the berries with a little powdered sugar. Eat the berries with the fingers, picking up one at a time by its stem and dipping it in the cream.
The other simple way of eating strawberries—probably one of the most usual ways in France but, I think, the least usual in other countries—is au vin. A light, pleasant wine is preferred. At home we used les vins du pays, local wines with an alcohol content so low that they cannot stand being transported and so were never shipped out of the province. The light delicacy of these wines perfectly complements the berries.
Strawberries with Red Wine (Fraises an Vin Rouge)
Sprinkle 1 quart cleaned whole strawberries with 3 tablespoons sugar and pour 1/2 cup red wine over the fruit, using a shallow bowl so that they will all be covered. Chill for a few hours before serving.
A more elegant way of serving strawberries with wine, often seen in the de luxe hotels and a pleasant change for a sophisticated party, is with champagne.
Strawberries with Champagne
Sprinkle cleaned whole strawberries with sugar and chill. When ready to serve, put them in individual glass dishes and pour champagne (pink champagne is nice) over them.
Other ways of serving the fresh strawberries range from such a simple dish as lemon strawberries to combinations of strawberries with other fruits and fruit ices and those that are enhanced with sauces and with the flavors of various liqueurs.
Lemon Strawberries
Mix cleaned whole strawberries with powdered sugar and pour over them a little strained lemon juice. Serve very cold.
Strawberries Pompadour
Arrange individual servings of orange ice and place cleaned whole strawberries on top of each. Decorate with whipped cream.
Strawberries Wilhelmine
Arrange individual servings of orange ice and place cleaned whole strawberries on top of each. Mix 3/4 cup cream, whipped, with 1/2 cup crushed raspberries and decorate the top of each serving with this whipped cream-raspberry mixture.
Strawberries des Gourmets
Arrange individual servings of pineapple ice and place cleaned whole strawberries on top. Sprinkle with Prunelle liqueur and pour over sauce à la Ritz (GOURMET, December 1948).
Strawberries Parisienne
Mix strawberries with whipped cream and add enough sweetened purée of wild strawberries to give a delicate pink color and a fresh wild strawberry flavor.
Strawberries à la Créole
Slice off the top of a large ripe pineapple and take out the fruit, leaving the shell intact. Chill in the refrigerator. Discard the hard parts of the core. Cut the fruit in small dice and mix with an equal quantity of cleaned strawberries. Sprinkle with sugar and a little kirsch and chill. When ready to serve, fill the pineapple shell with the fruit, replace the top, and arrange on a serving dish surrounded by crushed ice.
Strawberries Fedora
Slice off the top of a large ripe pineapple and take out the fruit, leaving the outside shell intact. Chill the shell in the refrigerator. Discard the hard parts of the core. Dice the fruit, mix it with an equal amount of whole cleaned strawberries, add a little sugar and about 2 ounces kirsch. Let it stand for a few hours. When ready to serve, put a layer of orange ice in the bottom of the pineapple shell, add a layer of fruit, another layer of orange ice, and so on until the pineapple is filled. Replace the top. Sometimes the whole dish is veiled in spun sugar.
Strawberries Romanoff
Sprinkle cleaned whole strawberries with sugar, orange juice, and Cointreau. Decorate with crème Chantilly (vanilla-flavored, sweetened whipped cream).
Strawberry Bavarian Cream (Bavaroise aux Fraises)
Clean 1 quart strawberries, drain well, mash them, and rub through a fine sieve or food mill. Add 3/4 cup powdered sugar and the juice of 1 lemon. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Add 1 or 2 drops red vegetable coloring. Soften 1 1/2 tablespoons gelatin in 1/2 cup cold water, place over hot water, and steam until the gelatin is dissolved. Add to the strawberry mixture. Chill until it starts to become thick and syrupy and then fold in 1 cup heavy cream which has been whipped until stiff. Pour into a mold that has been rinsed in cold water and chill until set. When ready to serve, loosen the edges, invert the cream on a serving dish, and garnish with whole strawberries.
There are also many very delicious dishes in which the berries are cooked, and these are, of course, particularly suitable for people who cannot eat raw fruit. Certainly one of the most delectable in this group is the strawberry soufflé.
Strawberry Soufflé
Melt 3 tablespoons butter in a saucepan, add 2 tablespoons flour, and cook until it starts to turn golden. Add 1/2 cup hot milk and continue to cook, mixing with a whisk or slotted spoon for 3 to 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Add 5 egg yolks beaten lightly with 2 tablespoons sugar. Add 1 cup chopped strawberries that have been mixed with 2 tablespoons sugar and sprinkled with a little liqueur or brandy. Beat 6 egg whites until stiff, adding 1/2 tablespoon sugar, and fold them into the first mixture. Place the batter in a buttered and sugared baking dish and lay a few whole or half berries on the top for decoration. Bake in a moderate oven (375° F.) for 30 to 35 minutes. Sprinkle the top with powdered sugar and cook for 2 minutes longer to glaze the top. Or sprinkle the powdered sugar over the top before serving. Serve with vanilla sauce, sauce à la Ritz, or sauce parisienne (GOURMET, December 1948).
Strawberries Jubilee
Boil 1 1/2 cups water with 1/2 cup sugar for 5 minutes, flavoring with a slice of lemon or a piece of vanilla bean. Mix 2 tablespoons arrowroot or 1 tablespoon cornstarch with a little cold water, add to the syrup, and cook until slightly thickened. Add 1 quart cleaned whole strawberries, bring to the boil, and turn the strawberries and syrup into a serving bowl. When ready to serve, pour over them a glass of kirsch and ignite. This is usually served flaming as an accompaniment to an ice cream bombe or a fruit ice.
Strawberries en Compote
Follow the recipe for strawberries Jubilee, omitting the arrowroot or corn-starch and the kirsch and thickening the liquid with 2 tablespoons currant jelly.
In France, the strawberry tart fills the same place of importance that strawberry shortcake does in this country. The French would feel they had been cheated if a season went by and the strawberries had come and gone without their eating at least one good strawberry tart. We used a tart pastry made with a little sugar and egg in the mixture or else a puff paste tart.
Strawberry Tart
Cream 1/2 cup butter with 1 tablespoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1 egg. Mix in 2 cups sifted flour, using the hands, a pastry blender, or a fork. Add gradually 4 or 5 tablespoons cold water, using just enough to make a firm dough. Do not work the dough—simply mix the ingredients well. Roll it about 1/4 inch thick, cut in rounds, and mold on the outside of individual tart shells. Prick all over with a fork and bake in a hot oven (450° F.) for 15 minutes.
Cover the bottom of the baked tart shell with whipped cream or crème pâtissière and arrange whole strawberries on top. Glaze the surface with a little melted currant jelly.
Crème Pâtissière
Mix together 3/4 cup sugar with 5 egg yolks and work up the mixture with a spoon until it is creamy and light-colored. Add 1/3 cup flour, mixing it in but not working it after it is combined. Add gradually 2 cups milk that has been scalded with a piece of vanilla bean and stir until well combined. Turn the mixture into a saucepan and cook, stirring vigorously, until it comes back to the boiling point. Boil for 2 minutes. Remove the vanilla bean, strain the crème, and let it cool, stirring occasionally to prevent a crust from forming.
All the surplus strawberries are made into preserves in France. They are popular and used in many ways in desserts. Wherever you see “au confiture” it means that the dish is made in some way with preserves or served with them. Crêpes, beignets, fruit dishes, all can make use of strawberry preserves. In fact, preserved strawberries decorate more fruit desserts than do the maraschino cherries that are used so extensively here. This recipe for making the preserves is, as you will see, a little different from the method employed by most Americans. Its advantage is that the berries are not cooked so much over the heat, and we believe this prevents the best of the flavor of the fruit from being cooked away. Another advantage is that the berries will not float on the top of the liquid part of the preserves but will be distributed evenly through the mixture.
Strawberry Preserves (Confiture de Fraises)
Use 1/2 pound sugar for each pound strawberries. Clean the berries, remove the hulls, and let them drain well. Put the sugar in a preserving kettle and add just enough water to dissolve it when brought to the boil. Cook until a little syrup dropped in cold water forms a soft ball (238° on a sugar thermometer). Add the berries and put the saucepan where the berries will remain hot but not cook. Leave for about 10 minutes, skimming the top if necessary. Remove the berries with a skimmer and put in a bowl. Cook down the syrup to the soft-ball (238°) stage again, add the berries to it, and let them stand in a hot place for 15 minutes. Remove the berries again and cook the syrup down again. Add the berries and cook until the juice falls in thick, clinging drops from the side of a spoon. Let this cool for 24 hours before filling sterilized glasses.
We make an old-fashioned strawberry shortcake which is very delicious. But I won't guarantee it is the same as that served at strawberry festivals in the small towns of America. Ours is rich and light.
Strawberry Shortcake
Sift together 2 cups flour, 1/4 cup sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 3 teaspoons baking powder. Using the hands, mix in 1/2 cup butter. Add 2 beaten eggs mixed with 1/2 cup milk. Mix all together but do not work the dough. Let stand for about 20 minutes. Roll the dough about 1 1/2 inches thick into a circle about 7 1/2 inches in diameter, put it on a baking sheet, and let stand for 10 minutes. Bake in a hot oven (425° F.) for 15 to 20 minutes. Split the cake in two. Clean the berries, cut in pieces, and sprinkle with sugar and a little lemon juice. Put a piece of the cake on a serving plate, put some strawberries on the lower piece, fit on the top piece, and put more berries on top. Decorate with whipped cream.
Strawberry Shortcake à la Ritz
Cut a sponge cake in two layers. Clean the strawberries, cut in pieces, and sprinkle with sugar and a little lemon juice. Let them marinate for a few minutes, then mix with whipped cream. Put the berry-and-cream mixture between the two layers of the cake and decorate the top with whipped cream and whole strawberries.