A Cri de ‘Cot

Every spring I search the farmers markets for apricots. Not just any apricot but a Blenheim apricot--or, if you prefer, a Royal apricot. Once separate varieties, they are now regarded as the same fruit. In fact, you’ll sometimes find them labeled Royal Blenheim.

When you can find them at all, that is. They’re getting more scarce every year. In fact, despite going to a different farmers market every week, the first ones I found this spring were at the San Luis Obispo Thursday-night carnival cum market.

I spotted them from a distance, looking a little like apricots that have spent some time in the sun--kind of tanned and slightly freckled. Real California apricots, in other words.

I asked the farmer if they were Blenheims and he looked at me closely. “Yep.”

I told him how happy I was to see him (well, his fruit). I told him that I hadn’t been able to find anything but Castlebrites and Pattersons all spring. He looked like he’d tasted something sour. “Those aren’t ----,” he said. “You get a really good one, and it may be borderline edible. But it’s not like this.”

I tasted a piece of his fruit and couldn’t argue. Other apricots are pale imitations of the Blenheim. Alone among apricots, a ripe Blenheim has the melting, juicy texture of a great peach. It also has an exuberant flavor, spicy and sweet. Not only is the Blenheim the best apricot around, its closest competitor (probably a dead-ripe Patterson) is in third place.

So why are Blenheims so hard to find? It’s the old story in agriculture: They don’t ship well. When you need to get your apricots to New York (or, these days, to Tokyo), it doesn’t matter how good they taste when they leave if they’re mush when they arrive.

For that reason, almost the only place you ever find Blenheims is in farmers markets and a few high-end grocery stores. And even that is getting more and more difficult as farmers, when forced to replace old trees, are going with new varieties. From 1972 to 1992, the last year statistics were kept, Blenheim orchards fell from 17,300 to 7,200 acres.

The only way to reverse this slide is for the farmers to realize that there is a market for these gems, despite their troublesome ways.

This spring, I’ve asked every apricot grower I’ve seen if they have Blenheims. So far, I’ve been out of luck--at least in Southern California. But I hope I’ve planted some seeds. And maybe next year--or in five years--this wonderful piece of fruit won’t be so elusive.