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I would like to present a pictorial essay titled “A Call To Apricots”.  I love apricots. They’re easily one of my favourite fruits and I don’t commit to that sort of prioritisation lightly. I love how little they are, I love their nubbly soft skin, and I love the easy way they surrender from their little pips. And I love their jam. M’s Dad took a family visit to South Australia recently to see his parents, and brought back a fat jar of community-effort jam: M’s Dad picked the apricots, Mr M’s Dad’s Dad chopped them (well, halved them: he clearly had other things to do) and Mrs M’s Dad’s Mum made them into jam. We’re so wholesome and shit. Said jam provided inspiration, because jam and pastries are inextricably linked in my brain-mush after several successful rounds of M’s croissants.

Start with your favourite croissant recipe (oh, of course you have one, don’t be silly):

Ooh baby, work that dough...

Things have been a bit rough for some folks we care about: not starving in the gutter rough, but, well, things could be better for them. And with the alchemy of apricots, flour and butter (and sugar and yeast and some other stuff that was stuck to the bench) M made things better. These wee pastries became a general gift to friends having some trouble. While they won’t solve anything on a fundamental level — pastries don’t plug leaky pipes — they are nourishing, delicious and comforting. They’re baked pleasure.

Slice the prepared croissant dough into pastry bases:


And blob with family-made jam (if you have some):

Blob blob blob!

Top with an apricot half: if you’re in luck, you’ll have stewed fresh apricots in a light sugar syrup. If not, tinned apricots are just dandypants. Try to hold off eating the tinned apricots until after you’ve prepared all the pastries, because you’re likely to eat them all.

”]”]Wrap the jam/apricot filling up snugly, making them into wee proto-danishes. Try not to think about how much they look like egg yolks in nappies.

Do not sing a lullaby to your danishes.

Brush with eggwash and bake!

Sometimes I am reluctant to bake for people. I know so many people who bemoan their inability to turn down cakes and biscuits. They worry out loud about their weight and health, and I feel like baking gifts for someone who is already unhappy with their food intake is a bit thoughtless. But then, at other times, people need comfort and pleasure however they can get it: life has kicked them squarely in the goolies and nothing feels good. Giving someone something lush and delicious is a comfort because it reassures them there’s still pleasure out there. When everything sucks, it’s hard to remember that the world is as sexy and interesting and thrilling as it is angry and scary and mean, so something tasty and warm is a postcard from the part of world known as “awesome”. It’s not going to fix everything, but it reminds you that not everything is crappy all of the time.


While they’re still hot, brush lightly with hot honey to make a sticky glaze. I pinched a couple for breakfast this morning. You probably don’t need me to tell you, but they rocked my casbah pretty damn hard. Their therapeutic benefits are unquestionable.

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