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Candy-like fruit or fruit-like candy?

Life on the outskirts of “little Paris” can also be synonymous with tasty life, especially when you discover flavours and (re)discover flavours, like this sweet and sour candy-like fruit or fruit-like candy from childhood.


Some clichéed platitudes did make us think about the move from the World’s beloved Paris. Like all Parisians, we thought there was Paris where everything was happening and then its boring “banlieues” (suburbs in French) that nobody knew where they were. Well, Paris is Paris. Besides all these world-renowned buildings and charming streets, it is also “a movable feast”. Having brunch at one of the trendy restaurants, then visiting an inspiring exhibition, and to finish on a sweet note, tasting the latest creation of one of the world’s best pastry chefs... So many options at your fingertips when you live in little Paris.


Now in Parisian “banlieues”, not only has our social life not changed that much, as we are still near Paris, but we also have opportunities to hobnob with a pastry chef – Nicolas Bernardé – decorated with a blue-white-red collar – a “meilleur ouvrier de France” (MOF) in our neighbourhood.


We found there the best Paris-Brest and mille-feuille we have ever had. We also go there for the chocolate box and the chef’s weekly creation. It’s hard to not succumb to temptation as everything looks, and, is delicious. One exception though. Pâtes de fruit.


three squares of fruit paste placed on top of each other, in translucid orange colour. On second plan, other three squares in blurred shape.

I do have a sweet tooth but even as a child I wasn’t fond of candy. I do like fruits but I nearly always only like them fresh and natural. The principle of cooking fruits with sugar and making a drier version of jam was not my cup of tea. Even though those little squares of semi-translucent colours were rather appealing, their candy look was not what I would crave.


Only that corner of the pastry shop remained unknown to me until one day when the chef gave me a raspberry-coloured square. We had met the chef several times before as he came down from his workshop on the upper floors from time to time. Each time he spoke nicely to his customers and offered each of us a piece of chocolate or a caramel candy. That day, it was a piece of pâte de fruit made with raspberries. Given all I thought about the denatured fruit candy, I started to feel a sort of embarrassment in front of this highly respected pastry chef. Moreover, he already knew me a little as the blueberry lady, since we had had a conversation about that berry once. What was I going to do with it then? There was nothing else I could possibly think about while we were chatting. I still had the piece of pâte de raspberry, held in my palm tilted upwards, as if there was no better way so visible to say that I was longing to taste it because you gave me something I didn't like... The embarrassment inflated so much that I quickly decided to throw it in my mouth thinking it wouldn’t be harmful after all.


And, to my great surprise, it wasn’t bad, actually it was the opposite of harmful. The sweet taste was not overwhelming, even the crystal sugar coating - the traditional finish - was removed following a bold decision by the chef. The bite-size gummy melted in my mouth. The taste of raspberry remained intact, without yielding any ground to the manipulations that brought these delicate berries to this point. It had a perfect sweet and sour balance and made for an unexpected appetiser for exploring the colourful world of little fruity cubes.


After that “forced” tasting experience which helped me correct my prejudices against these fruity candies, I began thinking about being reconciled with a very similar Chinese fruit paste made with hawthorns.


Hawthorn fruits in a bowl. They resemble smaller apples, of red colour.

Hawthorn fruits resembling red apples, slightly bigger than cherries.


A childhood souvenir of many Chinese of my generation, the hawthorn paste is well known as a thin paste which is rolled up in the form of a half-sized Italian grissini and called 果丹皮 (guo dan pi). My entire memory of it simply relies on a picture of my cousin holding a guo dan pi as if a magical wand. Interestingly, nothing noteworthy between me and the wild fruit sticks. The paste also exists in the form of squares à la French or thin discs which we call flakes. But still, I have no trace of memory of me eating it. Or more exactly speaking, I only remember opening the roll because I found it amusing. There again, what did it taste like? Did I like it? I had no clue.


Some beautiful red squares of hawthorn paste, loosely spread in a small plate, next to it, a cup of tea with golden orange reflection and a teapot in pale blue porcelain

Photo by Bei_CuisineParallel

Hawthorn paste for a fruity tea of Fujian


Then I decided to take a walk in Chinatown. In front of the supermarket stands, I meticulously read the ingredient list and only chose the ones made with hawthorn fruit (more than 50%) and sugar - respecting the traditional methods. Notably, no added thickener would be needed because this fruit itself is naturally rich in pectin, the paste is therefore easily formed after cooking, once cooled down. I was looking for the most authentic taste of hawthorn paste, the only possible way of waking up my memory.


Finally, my intriguing search of lost time was accomplished. The paste tasted soft, sweet and sour with a playful chewiness, just like the French pâte de fruit. I may have started to appreciate this candy-like fruit and fruit-like candy, although only lately, long after my childhood, via a detour visiting a meilleur ouvrier de France.

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