Connecting with my heritage through food: part two, sweet cherry spoon sweet

So how do I trace my own roots? What is left for me to explore when my main connection to this history is more interested in reading Consumer Reports than in sharing the little he does remember with me? Well, as with most situations in life, I’ll start with the food. That is a part of Greek culture where, despite his usual reluctance, my Dad and I meet eye to eye.

Though my own memories of my Yai Yai and Papou are few, I do have a vague recollection of a very sweet, port-colored syrupy dessert being given to me in what must have been my Yai Yai’s kitchen. Its flavor lingers somewhere on the borders of my memory - nearly out of reach - but what I do remember was delicious; the essence of black cherry with a flavor as deep as its history. A few years ago, I asked my Dad if he remembered this concoction, and - wow, did he light up! He was all about it, talking about how good it was, on and on. Inevitably, this discussion ended in me wanting to recreate it and him wanting to eat it. However, when I asked him how he thought she made it, his answer was, “I don’t know Leebs. I think she, like, just stewed some cherries or something.” Thank you Dad, descriptive as always, but I love you anyway.

So this year, for the man who doesn’t have everything but still manages to be the most difficult person I know to get gifts for, I chose to think outside the box. This year for his birthday I decided to make my Dad this mysterious black cherry spoon sweet. Luckily for me, I live in Michigan where the cherries are plentiful and divine in the summertime, so I went to the Kerrytown Farmers Market in Ann Arbor and had at it.

I tasted cherries from the three orchards that had come to the market last Saturday. Each had its own appeal, but I decided on going with a quart of sweet cherries from Tabone Orchards, located on Old Mission Peninsula and around Petosky. Northwestern Lower Michigan is of course famous for its cherries and for the unique microclimate that exists in the region that makes it possible for cherries to grow.

The recipe, and the process of learning

I came home with my cherries not really knowing where to start. I had been researching recipes for sweet cherry spoon sweets for a couple of weeks, and due to my own ignorance and the idiosyncrasies of the Google search engine, all I had found were recipes that expressly called for the use of tart cherries. My instinct said sweet cherries, as did my memory, dim though it was, and my Dad said sweet cherries (he has a likes-a-little-tea-with-his-sugar type of palate; not too big a fan of the tart or sour flavors that one).

Bearing that in mind, I looked for recipes that were simple; ones that let the flavor of the black cherries come through. After sifting through many pages of recipes online and in my Greek cookbooks, I decided on adapting the recipe for triantafillo glyko (a rose petal spoon sweet), showcased in Eva Zane’s Greek Cooking for the Gods. Her book has always been a good base from which to start when it comes to me and Greek cooking, so I went with it.

Here goes:

First: Wash the cherries by giving them a gentle rinse in a colander.

Second: Remove the pits and stems from the cherries. Not knowing the common wisdom on how to pit cherries by hand, I developed a method of my own. I rolled each cherry with the fingers in my right hand while squeezing the fruit, and then picked out the pits as they popped out with my left hand. The process was relatively simple once I got into a groove. *Note - if you are anything like me, this is also the step that will pepper the pages of your cookbook with beautiful garnet sprinkles of cherry juice.

Third: Bring 1 cup of water to a boil, along with 1 cup of sugar and squeeze of lemon juice. I would recommend using a large (not huge) pot for this, something that allows you easy access for stirring.

Fourth: Stir in all of the cherries. Once they have cooked on their own for a couple of minutes, stir in 1 more cup of sugar. Mine seemed to dissolve instantly, but make sure it dissolves before you let it simmer.

Fifth: The recipe for rose petals suggests that this concoction be boiled for 10 minutes, however, with cherries, after looking at more recipes and now that I can add my own experience to this, I recommend that after about 8 minutes, start taking a little out with a spoon and dropping it on a dish to cool. After it cools, feel the syrup with your fingers and bring it to your desired consistency. From what I remember, it should be roughly the consistency of a nice simple syrup; lighter than, for example the hot fudge sauce you might get on your ice cream sundae, but slightly heavier than what commonly passes for maple syrup.

Sixth: Once this is done, you will see that there is a whitish foam that has risen to the top. This is all of the impurities from the ingredients you have put in the pot. Skim as much of it off as you can, and store your glyko kerassi in glass jars (there are many who process this to preserve without refrigeration, but I refrigerated mine being that I am still building my canning skills). Then, enjoy when you are ready. From the flavor I remember as a child, I was just shy of the mark, but all told that is fine with me on a first try.

Today, I was turned on to some fellow Greeks writing about food, and I found a recipe that I think will hit it on the head, so I defer you to an someone who has made it more than once if you are interested.

*A version of this story will also be available at www.michivore.com, and at my blog.