07 Jul 2026
Elena Hogg, founder of local culinary company FOOD by Elena, is reaping the produce from her fruit trees…
I went back through past issues and I was correct: almost exactly a year ago, I wrote about the ‘til-then reluctant apricot tree my husband had planted some seven years previously.
I wrote about how it had never borne fruit, but suddenly produced 26 blushing apricots. One year on, and it has doubled its yield. We’re feeling both proud and greedy. Especially because, as well as the plump apricots, the redcurrant vine is bearing fruit – jewel-like orbs hanging in decorative bunches like ruby chandelier earrings.
Much as a garden bounty of juicy fruit sounds opulent and luxurious, it’s actually a little pressuring. The amount of time that exists between the fruit being under- ripe and ready is about six nanoseconds. Less if you’re trying to get to it before the birds or the ants. And all the fruit tends to be ready at once, so you have to get your skates on and either eat it or make something from it, because no preservatives means no longevity either.
Apricots and redcurrants aren’t a typical pairing, but not a bad one either. Even from a mere chromatic point of view, crimson against orange is quite the statement – a summer sunset transmitting balmy warmth with every photon.
But flavour-wise, too, the fruits complement each other: the redcurrants are sharp, spiky and burst with juice in your mouth, while the apricots have a buttery, mellow taste and are almost a purée before you’ve even chewed.
But what to make with them? Thinking back to last year’s harvest of apricots, there were so few that we’d opted to eat them au naturel with just some tangy cheese to accompany them. But I remember wanting to satisfy the need to bake some apricots, so had bought a couple of punnets of less prized ones to use, and made a rather pretty tart with the fruit sliced and fanned out in concentric circles so they could be the star of the show, both visually and in the eating.
This year the haul has been larger, so, while some are being reserved for unadulterated scoffing, the rest are available for some culinary exploration – this year with the addition of the redcurrants, too.
My main aim is to avoid corrupting the fruit’s flavour by adding too much sugar, or hiding it all under a cover of crumble or pastry.
So after some consideration, and because of the hot days we’re currently experiencing, yesterday’s creation was a simple fruit salad. I sliced the apricots, scattered over the redcurrants, and added some fresh mint, which provided another flavour dimension and some welcome zing, too. I enjoyed it so much that I decided then and there to write about it in these fair pages, so I made another prettier one to photograph. And ate that one too (life has its perks).
Today I used the rest of the bounty to make a savoury dish for dinner, but – again – one that didn’t obliterate the delicacy of the fruit. Apricot and pork is a well-known power-couple; a culinary version of the Beckhams, if you will. Add some sage into the mix and you get an exciting trio worthy of a tabloid scoop.
Even better: the meal I made involved minimal prep and only one pan to wash up. Winner-winner, lazy dinner!
I took some pork steaks and made sure they’d come to room temperature before cooking. I then grabbed a bunch of sage from the garden and thwacked it a few times against the patio to allow all the creatures to scuttle away.
A quick rinse later, I was channelling my Jamie Oliver vibes and scrubbing the sage unceremoniously against each steak. Any leaves attached to the meat while it fries risk being burnt, which would bring quite an acrid flavour to the dish (hence the scrubbing).
Next, I sliced up some of the apricots and set them aside. I salted the steaks and seared them, tipping the sliced apricots in just after turning the meat over to sear on the other side. I added a splash of cider (you could use wine, water or stock instead), and covered the pan with a lid.
A minute or two later I threw in a couple of of the redcurrants to soften slightly while the meat finished cooking through, then served up with crusty bread and a rocket salad (but you could serve with a starch of your choosing, of course. Cous cous would work well, I think).
The result was very tasty: the redcurrants almost acted like a seasoning: little citrus pops against the sweet, velvety apricots, and both fruits maintained their discernible flavours – enhanced by (rather than in spite of) the cooking in cider and the sage.
Suffice to say I’m already planning for next year’s crop.
