An amazing old-fashioned food from the women-focused firm in Kabul

While writing about apricots as a metaphor for good things to come, I was reminded to pick up some of these dried apricot kernels from Afghanistan. To my sense of things, these uncommon little toasted and salted sweet-apricot treats are one of the tastiest additions to our collective Zingerman’s pantry to show up in ages.

As I’ve mentioned before, apricots are native to China. Afghanistan lies, of course, to the west, sandwiched between Iran and the border with China, so apricot trees would have likely been grown there for many thousands of years. We know Afghanistan today mostly, unfortunately, because it’s been ravaged by war for so many decades, but we also know that more positive futures are possible. The Irish theologian John O’Donohue wrote that “all the contemporary crises can be reduced to a crisis about the nature of beauty.” In fact, the name of the company making them available, Ziba, means “beautiful” in Dari (the Afghan dialect of Persian).

Celebrating its tenth anniversary this year, Ziba’s founders began with the express purpose of helping women in Afghanistan to make a sustainable living. As the Ziba folks say, “Our mission is simple: to introduce people to the splendors of one of the world’s most inaccessible countries while actively working to improve the lives of its women and rural farmers.” In practice, their goal of supporting “the development of women in business so they can gain independence” is already making a big difference in the lives of many women. The workforce is primarily women in the Kabul factory. This isn’t about charity—it’s about independence, good work, care. And beauty.

I will say that if you look up apricot kernels, you’ll find that bitter apricot kernels can have a high degree of toxicity. These, though, are sweet apricot kernels, which have a different chemical makeup, making them safe for you and me to eat. While they’re not certified organic, they essentially are in practice since these small-scale Afghan farmers don’t use pesticides.

The Ziba Apricot Kernels are nutty, almondy, slightly smoky, slightly sweet, a beautiful bit of bitter. (FWIW, apricot pits like this are the key “secret” flavor that makes Italian Amaretti cookies what they are.) The dusting of Afghan salt makes them as irresistible as a great American peanut, but with a flavor all their own. Because they aren’t nuts—they’re the pits of sweet Afghan apricots—people with nut allergies can eat them. They’re super versatile—the little packets make them perfect airplane food. You can send them with your loved one (or yourself) to school or work. They’re a superb addition to salads. They’d be great in that Couscous and Apricot dish I wrote about last week, rather than almonds. Add ’em to granola, trail mix, or oatmeal. A lovely little addition to the wide mix of artisan foods that make up the Zingerman’s Community!

Pick up a pouch

P.S. The Deli doesn’t have the apricot kernels on their own, but they do have bags of Ziba’s terrific trail mix—apricot kernels along with the amazing Afghan Gurbandi almonds, Kishmish raisins, wild pistachios, and dried mulberries.

A beautiful and tasty taste of Northern Michigan in a jar

My friend Lex Alexander in North Carolina, who’s studied the subject of artisan jam making for many decades, always tells me that apricot is the hardest fruit to successfully put up in preserves. It follows well from the metaphor up top—democratic engagement is perhaps the hardest way to learn to govern. When either or both are done well, though, the results are inspiring. With Lex’s wise words in mind, I’m perpetually impressed by American Spoon Foods’ amazing Leelanau Apricot Preserves—they’re a great way to put an inspirational bit of apricot into your daily dining, and a wonderful way to appreciate the beauty of the apricot at its absolute best.

Apricots are not, of course, native to this part of the world. The fruit was originally cultivated in China and Central Asia as far back as 2000 B.C. From there, it moved west with merchants who traveled the Great Silk Road, eventually arriving in Persia, where it was called a “yellow plum.” Arabs took apricots to the Middle East, and it also made its way to ancient Armenia. The amazing English writer John Ruskin (who also famously and I believe accurately said, “Quality is never an accident; it is always the result of intelligent effort.”), described it as “shining in a sweet brightness of golden velvet.” Although the biggest volume of American apricots comes from California, some of the most flavorful fruit is actually grown here in Michigan. Apricot trees were planted near South Haven around the end of the 19th century. Early efforts were not successful, but eventually, apricot growing took hold. Today, Michigan apricots are known all over the country for their amazing flavor.

Noah Marshall-Rashid, second-generation owner at American Spoon, says of this wonderful jam,

Our Harlayne apricots are grown by Marty Jelinek on a hillside farm a few miles north of Leland, Michigan. The Harlayne is a richly colored, highly aromatic, late-ripening variety specifically developed by Richard Layne in Harrow, Ontario for cultivation in our cool Northern climate. These precious fruits are hand-pitted and then macerated to achieve a silky, succulent texture in our small batch copper preserving kettles.

I never take the excellence of the American Spoon Apricot Preserves for granted. As Amy Emberling, long-time co-managing partner at the Bakehouse, once told me, “Good apricot preserves are hard to come by.” American Spoon crafts the preserves in the best possible, totally traditional way—about 60% apricots (nearly double the fruit content of many commercial jams), cane sugar, a small bit of lemon juice, and a lot of slow cooking in the copper kettles. And they’ve been this good for 43 years now—American Spoon started making preserves in 1982, the same year we opened the Deli.

The jam is super spoonable. It goes great with hard cheeses like Spanish Manchego, over the top of the Creamery’s Cream Cheese, and/or also with cured meat. As you would expect, it’s wonderful on toast. Or take home a dozen of the Roadhouse biscuits—now even better thanks to Vermont Creamery’s Cultured Butter that I wrote about last week—and serve them at your place with apricot preserves on the side. American Spoon makes a curried apricot chicken salad that seems like a great idea—I’m planning to try it with tuna too. And if you spot fresh apricots at the market (now’s the time!), try making what we call a Jamwich: toast a Zinglish Muffin, spread on some Creamery Cream Cheese, add a generous layer of apricot jam, and top it all off with slices of fresh apricot.

Procure your preserves