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Created by Chef Thomas
Buttered bread baked to a deep mahogany around a filling of spiced Bramley apples, turned out at the table in a small moment of drama, cold cream poured from a jug alongside.
There's a point in autumn when the apple trees give more than anyone knows what to do with. Windfalls in the wet grass. A bag of Bramleys left on your doorstep because somebody's tree has done it again and they've run out of ideas. The kitchen starts to smell faintly of fruit even when you haven't cooked anything yet. This is when an Apple Charlotte makes sense.
It's an old pudding and a quiet one. Bread, butter, apples, spice. Nothing you couldn't have found in a kitchen a hundred years ago, and nothing that has been improved since. You cook the apples down until they collapse into something thick and sharp and fragrant. You line a mould with butter-soaked bread. You pack the lot in, slide it into a hot oven, and wait for the house to smell of toast and orchards at the same time.
The drama, such as it is, happens at the table. You invert the mould onto a plate, lift it away, and there it stands: a burnished gold dome, almost mahogany at the edges, the bread gone crisp and caramelized where it met the heat. You cut into it and the apple inside is dense and spiced and barely holding together. Cream poured from a jug, cold against the hot pudding, pooling into the wedge.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago, the first time I made one properly. "Apple Charlotte. October. Raining. Right food, right evening." I still think that's the whole recipe.
Quantity
1.2kg
peeled, cored and roughly chopped
Quantity
100g
Quantity
120g
Quantity
1
zest only
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
half a teaspoon
freshly grated
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
10-12 slices
crusts removed
Quantity
150g
melted
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
to serve
cold, from the fridge
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| Bramley applespeeled, cored and roughly chopped | 1.2kg |
| unsalted butter (for the apples) | 100g |
| golden caster sugar | 120g |
| unwaxed lemonzest only | 1 |
| ground cinnamon | 1 teaspoon |
| nutmegfreshly grated | half a teaspoon |
| calvados or brandy (optional) | 1 tablespoon |
| day-old white breadcrusts removed | 10-12 slices |
| unsalted butter (for the bread)melted | 150g |
| demerara sugar | 2 tablespoons |
| double creamcold, from the fridge | to serve |
Melt the 100g of butter in a wide, heavy pan over a medium heat. Add the chopped apples, the caster sugar, the lemon zest, the cinnamon and the nutmeg. Stir it through, then put a lid on and let it go for ten minutes or so, stirring now and then. The Bramleys will collapse quickly. They always do. Once they've gone soft and foamy, take the lid off and turn the heat up a touch. You need to cook the water out. Keep stirring until you have a thick, sharp, golden puree that holds its shape on the spoon. Taste it. A Bramley likes sugar, but not too much. You want it tart. Add the calvados if you're using it, give it another minute, then take it off the heat and let it cool a little.
Heat the oven to 190C/170C fan. While the apples are cooling, set up the bread. Cut the crusts off. You need one round piece for the bottom of the mould (cut it to fit by pressing the tin down onto a slice), one round for the top, and the rest cut into rectangles or wedges to line the sides. Don't agonize over neatness. This pudding is meant to look handmade, because it is.
Brush the inside of a 1-litre charlotte mould, or a deep round cake tin of similar size, with some of the melted butter. Now take each slice of bread and dip one side generously into the melted butter, like you're buttering toast but more so. Lay the round piece, buttered side down, in the bottom of the mould. Line the sides with the rectangles, again buttered side out against the tin, overlapping each piece slightly so there are no gaps. The bread is the crust. Treat it that way.
Spoon the cooled apple into the bread-lined mould, packing it down firmly as you go. Mound it slightly higher than the rim, because it'll settle in the oven. Cover the top with the remaining bread, buttered side up this time, trimming pieces to fit and tucking the edges down the sides to seal everything in. Brush the top with any leftover butter and scatter the demerara sugar over it. The demerara will caramelize into something dark and crunchy as it bakes.
Place the mould on a baking tray, in case of drips, and slide it into the hot oven. Bake for thirty-five to forty-five minutes. You're looking for a deep, burnished gold on top, going toward mahogany at the edges. If it's browning too fast, lay a piece of foil loosely over it and carry on. The kitchen should smell of toast and warm apples and something like winter, even if it isn't winter yet. Trust your nose. It knows before you do.
Take the Charlotte out of the oven and let it rest in the mould for ten minutes. Not less. This is when it firms up enough to hold its shape. Run a palette knife gently around the edge, place a serving plate on top, and invert the whole thing in one confident movement. Lift the mould away. If a bit of bread sticks, press it back into place with a knife. Nobody will know. Bring it to the table whole and cut it into generous wedges there, with a jug of cold double cream alongside. Pour the cream over the top so it pools into the wedge and runs down the sides. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate in front of someone at the end of a cold evening.
1 serving (about 265g)
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