ALMONDS

Diana Henry reveals the many uses for the humble almond, with three new recipes for you to try

- DIANA HENRY

The almond doesn’t sing for attention, unlike the sweet, high-pitched hazelnut – the soprano of nuts – or the deep, bass-like, walnut. The almond seems pure and demure. It’s no surprise that in Christianity, almond branches symbolise the virgin birth, or that, in paintings, almond-shaped halos appear around Christ’s head. The almond may also seem modest because we rarely taste its full-on flavour. I’m always made aware of it at Christmas and Easter because of marzipan, but we often use bags of ground almonds, which don’t smell or taste of much.

I didn’t appreciate the almond’s charms until I started to visit France. As soon as you enter a patisserie there, you’re assailed by its rich, sweet smell. It dances in the air, making you long for tarts with a layer of frangipane (a paste of ground almonds, flour, sugar and eggs that is spread in tarts under fruit, and which puffs up during cooking) almond croissants, or a slice of pain de gênes – the simple but intensely flavoured almond cake that’s so good with poached summer stone fruits. I always have almond extract on hand when baking sweet dishes with almonds (a drop helps to enhance the flavour) and I’ve taken to adding chunks of marzipan to the batter for some chocolate, apricot or cherry cakes. You have to beat it in, so the marzipan breaks down.

When I started to cook, the more I read about the food of Italy, Spain, Turkey, the Middle East and North Africa, the more I realised just how important almonds are. In Italy, almonds don’t just go into amaretti, but form part of the filling for pumpkin tortellini; they’re the main ingredient in the stuffing for baked peaches and, of course, are the basis for amaretto liqueur. In Sicily, chilled almond milk is the best summer thirst-quencher.