OK. So it’s the time when all the old fruitcake jokes are trotted out. Journalists desperate for Christmas stories repeat Johnny Carson’s quip. “There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to one another.”
No one likes fruitcake, at least in the United States, understandable in light of all the sickly crystallized fruits they are apt to contain. Mincemeat pies no longer have pride of place as they once did. And Christmas (plum) pudding is a weird English peculiarity.
So what’s the problem?
Much of it is the dried fruit, I think. The raisins (golden raisin in the US), sultanas (golden raisins in the US), and currants (no they don’t taste the same, see this video, and then test for yourself), the dried grapes, in short, don’t fit into modern ways of eating.
How many families have a box of raisins in the pantry, even though of the dried fruits they are the most popular, according to the Agricultural Marketing Resource Center funded by the USDA? If they are eaten at all they are largely relegated to a supporting role in trail mix or cereal, or to tiny packets to put in packed lunches. And for those who really, really don’t like raisins, there’s a page on Facebook page where they can vent their feelings.
Today Americans and Europeans like liquidy, not dry grapes. Americans now get through nearly eight pounds of fresh grapes person per year, up from about three pounds in 1970. Children get grape juice and slippery grape jelly. And then there’s wine, which has never been more prestigious, more available, and more analyzed and eulogized.
Yet for centuries, dried grapes were loved and desired. Sixty percent sugar by weight, they, like sugar, were part of the spice trade. In breads and buns for special occasions, they offered a nugget of concentrated sweetness. In Turkish pilafs, North African cous cous, Catalan canelones, and many other dishes, including mincemeat. They made for a nugget of sweetness in breads and buns for special occasions.
Now, at least in the United States, the old heavy sweet dishes that could support dried grapes have been replaced by light airy ones. Butter cakes do not hold dried grapes in suspension. And people serve big uniformly sweet slices not little slivers with the old nugget of sweetness. It’s a whole new way of consuming the sweet, a way that depends on cheap sugar.
So although I don’t normally do single ingredient (commodity) pieces, for Christmas this year I thought I’d poke about a bit into the past and present of dried grapes, concentrating on the processing and trade rather than the uses in the kitchen. It fits nicely with my interest in drying foods and urbanization. How could traditional food processing, with its demands on space, and the smells and flies that it generates, fit with the rise of cities?
Let’s start with that Sun-Maid raisin packet. A raisin industry had grown up around Fresno, California where it still flourishes. There really were Sun-Maid raisin girls.
The following year, the Sun-Maid raisin girl, with her tray of raisins, appeared on the raisin box.
I’d never given the term Sun-Maid a moment’s thought, nor realized that it was a play on words (Sun-Made). Nor had I thought about the trays before but, it turns out, trays have been the commonest way to dry raisins in California.
By 1895, 30,000 tons of raisins were being sun-dried there. It was the most labor-intensive of all agricultural activities, apparently, and remained so until very recently when machinery has begun to replace that labor.
In his report to Congress, the head of the recently formed Weather Bureau, under the bailiwick of the Department of Agriculture cited the fact that none had been damaged by rain as one more justification for the Bureau’s existence.
In 1890, Gustavus Eisen predicted in The Raisin Industry that dehydrators would take over from sun drying. In fact sun drying continues to be used.
Grape drying was not just old but ancient when the US industry started. The Spanish had introduced grapes (and doubtless grape drying) to California.
In Spain, particularly Valencia, specialized buildings, riurau, were built to protect the drying mats from rain. One day I hope to go along Spain’s tourist raisin route.
Grapes were (and are) dried across the Mediterranean. In Italy (as in many other places), “straw” wine is made from dried vespaiola grapes.
And places such as India, not normally associated with grape growing have big industries.
Turkey and the US dominate world raisin production.
And by now you are probably wondering, with all these raisins drying in the open air, aren’t there problems beyond rain like flies, dust, and so on. Indeed there are and if you are interested just google (or google books) the many books on raisin technology published in the last hundred years, to look at all the ways of dealing with these problems.
We, though, will continue our tour. Afghanistan is among the top ten raisin producers. And here buildings protect the drying mats from dust and from moisture.
Of all the long history of grape drying, perhaps the most poignant spot is Turfan (Turpan), one of the lowest-lying spots on earth, with minimal rainfall and temperatures that can reach 128 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer.
On the outskirts of the town, grape drying houses dominate the landscape.
In that hostile landscape you wouldn’t think any fruit could grow. The secret is in an Iranian-style underground irrigation system built a century or so B.C. that brings water from the nearby mountains to the oasis. The water made this an important stop on the Silk Roads. It is still used to supply the town today.
Turfan and its grapes have seen much history pass their way. The Manichaeans, rivals of the early Christians, were strong here, their Elect whose diet consisted of fragrant fruits and colorful vegetables, presumably happy with the seedless grapes. Caravans carried the “mare nipple” grapes packed in snow in lead boxes to the Emperor of China in Chang ‘An. Raisins were exported to China and to India. Marco Polo passed through. Today it is becoming a tourist destination.
Meanwhile the raisins are still dried in chunche, as the raisin drying houses are called.
And the chunche continue to stand guard around the town.
So, perhaps give the raisin a second thought. And a happy sultana New Year to all my readers.