A ray of sunshine in one of the darkest months of the year, lighter and zingier than marmalade (and considerably quicker to make), lemon curd is guaranteed to brighten up any breakfast or tea, as well as making a great filling for cakes. (You’re back on the cakes, right?) Formerly often known as fruit cheese (curiously, this name survives only in the sugary, dairy-free damson and quince varieties served with actual cheese), according to Laura Mason and Catherine Brown’s meticulous work The Taste of Britain, it probably started life as what the 18th-century cookbook writer Elizabeth Raffald refers to as a transparent pudding. “The thought that this mixture might be bottled and stored for later use, or even for sale, was of a piece with the industrialisation of food production in the late Victorian period.” What did the Victorians ever do for us, eh?
Eggs
One thing all fruit curds have in common, apart from fruit, is eggs. What form those eggs take, however, is a matter of contention. One recipe I see recommended again and again online is from America’s Fine Cooking magazine. The author, Elinor Klivans, writes that she prefers “the lighter, almost custardy results I get from using whole eggs” but, “because the eggs whites cook at a lower temperature, they’re more prone to coagulation. These cooked bits don’t ruin the flavor of the curd, but a smooth texture will require careful straining, and quite a bit of the mixture can get lost in the process.” Mary Berry and Stella Parks of the Brave Tart blog both use only egg yolks, which makes for a very rich, slightly gelatinous consistency, whereas Thomas Keller’s Bouchon Bakery Book and Thane Prince’s Ham Pickles & Jam both stick the whole lot in, which does indeed produce a lighter, creamier result. Testers, however, express a preference for recipes – like the one in Catherine Phipps’ new book, Citrus, and Kylee Newton’s The Modern Preserver – that employ a mixture of whole eggs and yolks, offering the ideal combination of lightness and richness.
Sugar
Sadly, for those of us trying to cut down our sugar consumption, there is no curd without sugar, though it does contain far less of the stuff than most sweet preserves. Keller calls for granulated, and this works fine, though caster dissolves more quickly. But, if you’re after that sunshine-yellow colour, avoid the mistake I made – golden caster sugar will give you a murky-golden result, so white is preferable here.
The lemon
During testing, the overwhelming preference is for the sharper curds of Newton and Parks: lemon curd, one guinea pig tells me, “should wake you up in the morning”. If you prefer to be eased more gently into the day, however, then feel free to reduce the amount in my recipe.
Not all the recipes I try include the zest, and some recipes recommend sieving it out before bottling the curd (a tedious process given how thick the curd is at that point – I only bother if I think some of the egg may have cooked). We think the odd fleck of zest adds textural interest, however, and miss its bitter perfume in the recipes which leave it out altogether – to make the most of this, copy Dorie Greenspan and rub the zest into the sugar until it releases its aromatic oils.
The dairy
Most curd recipes depend on butter for their characteristic richness of flavour. Parks, however, prefers “doing it the 19th-century way, using nothing but lemon juice, egg yolks and sugar” (though this must be the 19th-century American way, because most Victorian recipes I find are pretty heavy on the butter). It certainly gives her curd an almost shockingly keen acidity and a slightly jellied, rather than creamy, texture that divides testers; I love the flavour, but it’s not a classic curd as we know it. Worth a try, however, particularly if you prefer to avoid dairy.
Prince, interestingly, swaps the butter for double cream, which she says makes “the result a little lighter”. It is indeed very light, though, as cream is sweeter than butter, it blunts the sharpness of the lemon; perfect for sandwiching cakes together with but a bit mild for those chasing an acid trip.
Butter, we conclude, is an essential element of the flavour and texture of the more traditional lemon curd, yet recipes differ on the best time to add it. Newton starts with melted butter, Klivans beats it together with the sugar then adds the eggs, almost as if she’s making a cake, and both Keller and Greenspan beat it in at the end, once the mixture has slightly cooled. Greenspan (who credits the great patissier Pierre Herme for her recipe) writes that, by adding the butter to the mixture at a lower temperature, “instead of melting as it does in curd, the butter emulsifies (just as oil does in mayonnaise), so that the resulting texture is velvety and deceptively light. It is a stroke of culinary magic.”
It’s true that it is hard to avoid a certain subtle graininess in the simpler curd recipes which heat all the ingredients together – possibly because of the fact that, according to a poster on the food site egullet, “the lactose matrix is broken when heated too high” (any thoughts of this from more scientifically minded readers very welcome). Certainly, Greenspan’s “lemon cream” is the smoothest of all, which is more than enough evidence for me.
k
The details
I try a very old recipe from one Miss LM Anstey, included in Florence White’s 1932 collection Good Things in England . She writes that, though it was passed down to her by her mother, who was born in 1819, “it is possibly much older than my mother’s dates and may have come from my grandmother”. Quite different from modern versions, it beats sugar, ground rice, grated zest and lemon juice and eggs into creamed butter, and then pots it, no cooking required, though I wish I’d used my common sense and added the eggs more gradually, as this may have stopped it curdling. Anstey recommends it as a filling for a lemon cheesecake (traditionally British cheesecakes contained no actual cheese), and perhaps it would be better for this than as a spread, because it reminds us of a slightly powdery brandy butter, but without the booze.
Prince makes her curd in a shallow frying pan, which I find rather nerve-wracking (overheat the mixture and you’ll end up with scrambled eggs), though I don’t think it’s necessary to mollycoddle it with a bain marie as Greenspan suggests – a medium heavy-based saucepan and a low heat does the trick. Nigel Slater sensible advises that, while “most lemon curd recipes instruct you to stir the mixture with a wooden spoon … I find that stirring lightly with a whisk introduces just a little more lightness into the curd, making it slightly less solid and more wobbly.” It’s also easier to get into the edge of the pan.
Keller adds gelatine to his mixture, which may well be helpful in a patisserie context (he uses it to fill macarons, amongst other things) but serves no purpose if you’re using it to spread on toast. It also, of course, means that the curd isn’t vegetarian – and this is something everyone deserves to enjoy (on which note, has anyone come up with a vegan version?)
Perfect lemon curd
(Makes 400ml)
5 unwaxed lemons
225g white sugar
6 eggs (3 whole eggs and 3 yolks)
Pinch of salt
100g butter, cubed
Zest three of the lemons into a bowl with the sugar and rub together with your fingertips to release the oils, then squeeze enough of them to give 225ml juice.
Whisk the eggs into the sugar followed by the lemon juice, a little at a time, until fully incorporated.
Put in a heavy-based pan over a low heat and stir continuously with a rubber whisk or wooden spoon until as thick as Bird’s custard which should take about 7-8 minutes. Whisk in the salt and pour into a food processor or blender if you have one. Cool for five minutes.
Start the motor and blend on a low speed for 30 seconds (alternatively, beat with a wooden spoon), then start dropping in the butter, a little at a time, still with the motor on, until smooth. Transfer to sterilised jars.
Written by Felicity Cloake for theguardian.com
Comments
Post a Comment
ADD ❤ YOUR COMMENTS