CONNOISSEUR: An Irish farm is producing a rare treat - rich clotted cream tasting of the countryside, writes Hugo Arnold
IT'S CRUMBLE TIME. All those autumn fruits baked under a crisp duvet are just crying out for lashings of cream. But we have to go a long way to find decent cream. Is it because the health police have deemed all fat to be bad for us? Cream now seems to come in one thin, tasteless stream, regardless of whether it is single or double, once you compare it to clotted cream. The ingredients list? Pure and rich fresh cream (pasteurised). I spooned Glenilen Farm on to my crumble recently and tasted the countryside. Heaven.
Some time ago, Glenilen founders Alan and Valerie Kingston bought a milk separator at a market in France that produced a thick cream from their milk. They sold it at the local market to a woman from Cornwall, whose eyes lit up at the sight of "clotted cream". It was not something the Kingstons knew about at the time.
Today, this is still the cream produced on the farm in west Cork, and the double cream is their clotted cream "let down" with a little milk.
There is no doubt that clotted cream is not for the fainthearted, or for the everyday. Clotted cream has around 60 per cent fat (Glenilen is 63 per cent) which is what makes it so utterly delicious. Cream is tiny globules of fat held inside delicate membranes suspended in water, just like milk. In cream there are rather more of them, and in clotted cream, a whole host more.
So it is lucky that Glenilen comes in a small jar. The 190ml jar costs €3.50. This compares with fresh cream from Avonmore at €1.55 for 250ml, which makes the Glenilen more than three times the price.
But then look at how much you use. A spoonful of the rich stuff against a steady stream of the ordinary. And as for flavour, there just is no comparison. We are a dairy nation and yet we seem to prefer low-fat, no-fat alternatives. A scone spread with thick yellow clotted cream is a celebration.
An apple tart needs cream, just as trifle or fruit fool does. As we move into the season for baked puds, it is better to indulge occasionally than compromise on quality. A proper, thick cream should taste of where it comes from; it needs to add something, to contribute.
When you look at old recipes, cream features much more than it does today. No surprise there, you might think, but there is no reason to give up cream altogether. Where a sauce might have involved adding the cream early on and cooking it down, you can add less cream right at the end to give a touch of smoothness and depth. This is when a good single cream comes into its own.
Where we have soured cream, the French have creme fraiche, and the extra acidity here works well with fish and as a finishing cream, a sort of luxurious substitute for that touch of lemon juice. And if you are wondering about calories, creme fraiche has butterfat levels similar to double cream, but with far more mouthfeel.
In the fast-fading light of late summer, there is a recipe that never fails to please in its simplicity and celebration of two ingredients: tomatoes and cream. Season the tomatoes with salt and pepper and fry them briefly, a minute or two at the most on each side, in a lightly oiled pan. Spoon in a little cream or creme fraiche, scatter with parsley and serve on toast.
See www.glenilen.com