Naturally my first reaction was "Yay, plums," followed quickly by a "Oh, plums," followed almost immediately by a "What on earth am I going to do with all these plums." I am a man of some small reputation, and I assumed (and possibly could have been told by a certain Alpine Court dweller, though it's impossible to say) that I was supposed to make something with them.
Not wanting to simply dive in and start plumming it up, I turned to internet research and my taste buds. I ate one of the plums, and gee willikers was it sour. I thought, "How can this be? I squeezed it, it was soft but not mushy, resistant but not firm. A perfectly ripe plum should not be this potent." I needed a recipe that would temper the power of the plums, but not eliminate their wonderful plumminess.
I decided to follow this recipe. But Hazelnuts? Really? I'm a man who does not simply have hazelnuts sitting around my apartment (though I wish I did). Further research revealed an intriguing possibility. One comment said that they had used oatmeal instead of nuts in order to appeal to the children. I decided I would attempt it.
First I had to decipher the ingredient list, but luckily I am at least as intelligent as the person who put it together, because I quickly saw that it was divided into the different aspects of the pie. Crust, then streusel topping, then plum filling. Knowing the power of my plums, I also slightly increased the amounts of cinnamon, lemon zest, and sugar added to the various parts. More lemon zest? Yes, I just love lemon zest, and lemons have a different potency than plums, so it works in my head (and in practice)
Using these million tiny plums, the hardest part was collecting 5 cups of sliced plum. Many of the plums were overripe, others under, and some had wormy issues, but I slowly accumulated the proper amount. Knowing that the sugar concoction mixed with the plums would draw out the juices of the plums and create an intriguing glaze, altering some of the sourness, so I did that part first and let it sit for a moment. The crust was much cake-ier than normal pie crusts, but it was easy to work with, so I accepted that. The recipe also called for a 9-inch pie plate. I have one, but I wanted to try something else (based on another comment). I took my 8 6 oz. ramekins and pressed the crust into them. Then I filled them with filling and covered the tops with streusel. Baking them at the same temperature, I began checking on them at about 20 minutes, and they were done around 26 minutes.
Here are the pies straight out of the oven. The streusel topping had browned a bit, as well as the exposed edges of crust. Some of the filling had overflowed (and it was deliciously caramelized). The crust also baked much cake-ier than a pie crust, but I found that I enjoyed it immensely in these little personal pies that I had created.
Here is a close-up of one of the pies (or tarts if you are more comfortable with that designation). The oatmeal in the streusel topping worked brilliantly, giving it a hint of nuttiness without nuts.
This is an empty dish. I ate one (well, by now I have actually eaten more than one, but I had to test before giving half of them away). The smears on the plate are from the overflow that I gathered up and ate as well.
All in all, I would say that this was a most successful adventure. I still have plum bread to experiment with, but I am looking forward to that (it only requires one cup of sliced plums, so that means a fifth of the labor). The end result: A tart but not overwhelmingly sour cinnamon plum dish with a zesty, cake-y crust and toasted oatmeal streusel topping. Served hot with a bit of vanilla ice cream and you have yourself a tasty treat.
I never asked for plums, but I accepted them. When life gives you sour plums, rely on the internet and your intuition and gutsiness to create something delicious with them. No guts, no glory.
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