Scared you, didn't I? You thought this was going to be about some weird condiment made with offal. This chutney is definitely assertive in its own right, but it is strictly vegetarian. It is, however, from the original nose-to-tail chef, Fergus Henderson of St. John in London. I've never met Fergus, nor have I eaten in any of his restaurants, but I love the man. His seminal cookbook, Nose to Tail Eating: A Kind of British Cooking, is a window into his wonderfully warm, witty and ultimately quite sensible approach to food and life. (Did I mention he has Parkinsons?) You've never seen a less fussy cookbook. He doesn't get all bothered about quantities or times, but rather helps you to be an intuitive cook. Some choice phrases: "Do not be afraid of cooking, as your ingredients will know and misbehave." (As though an onion was a young horse feeling its oats!) Eating aoli "should be an emotional experience." And, with regard to this chutney, "There is nothing finer, after having a good stock up your sleeve, than having a reserve of chutney." I believe we've conquered the stock thing, and so are ready to proceed to this very British, quite rustic and highly addictive chutney.
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Despite what they may look like (withered breasts? moldy mushrooms?) these are actually dried persimmons—hachiyas, I think, because of their pointy ends.  I picked them up at Mitsuwa, the Japanese market in New Jersey. Having recently snacked on some delicious dried persimmons from the farmer's market in Santa Monica, I was inspired to experiment with these. Right now, they're gently simmering on the stove with some dried tart cherries in a broth of orange juice and honey. (Spiked with a little cardamom, of course.) I'll let you know how they turn out. In the meantime, I'm having my breakfast of creamy sheep's milk yoghurt with some poached prunes and a few of those candied kumquats that first made their appearance alongside the burnt-orange ice cream. I am in heaven. I have loved prunes since childhood and fail to understand why they have been relegated to the geriatric set. The California Prune Counsel even started this big campaign to call them "dried plums." Which is, of course, what they are, but still. What's not to like? Prunes are essentially raisins, only bigger, meatier and more deeply flavorful. But even if you don't care for prunes, this is the season for delicious compotes made from dried fruits. Rather than buying flavorless, out-of-season fruits from Chile or wherever, consider turning to the more local dried bounty: apples, nectarines, apricots, cherries, prunes, raisins, dates, figs, etc. Any combination of these, poached in water to cover, reconstitutes into a soft, luscious tangle of sweet flavors.
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