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Prune Pudding
One pound prunes, 1 cup sugar. Soak prunes over night, take out pits and chop. Bake slowly twenty minutes.
— Catherine Wagner
One of those community-cookbook entries written for a cook who already knew the dish; almost everything except the two ingredients is left out. A few decisions have to be made before it will work.
- "Bake slowly"A slow oven in this period is usually taken as somewhere around 300F. At that temperature twenty minutes will do little more than heat the fruit through and melt the sugar into it, so the result is closer to a soft baked prune compote than a set pudding.
- The soaking water is the liquidThe recipe names no liquid. The likeliest reading is that the soaking water was kept: cover the prunes with water overnight and use it, since drained prunes with a cup of sugar and nothing else are apt to scorch and candy at the edges of the dish.
- Prunes have changedA pound of prunes of this period meant hard, thoroughly dried fruit with the pits in, which is why overnight soaking was required. Modern pitted "dried plums" are already moist and semi-soft; two or three hours in warm water is enough, and the pitting step disappears.
- SugarA full cup to a pound of fruit is very sweet by current taste. Half to two-thirds of a cup suits most modern palates; add a strip of lemon peel or a spoonful of lemon juice to cut it.
- Chop, don't puréeChopping by hand keeps some texture. A food processor turns soaked prunes into a dense paste that bakes into something closer to filling for hamantaschen than a pudding.
- Dish and depthUse a shallow buttered baking dish about 1 to 1.5 quarts so the mixture is no more than an inch deep. In a deep dish the centre stays cold in twenty minutes.
- Yield and servingAbout four to six servings. Serve warm with cream, a custard sauce, or whipped cream.
Prunes were the workhorse dried fruit of the American pantry between the 1880s and the 1930s: cheap, shelf-stable, shipped from California once the Santa Clara Valley orchards came into full production, and endlessly recommended by domestic writers as both a dessert and a remedy. Church and society cookbooks like the Philathea are full of prune whips, prune puddings, prune pies and prune bread for exactly that reason. The brevity here is characteristic of the genre: a contributor sent in what she considered the memorable part, the proportions.