Clafouti is sprinkled with conflict. That, and powdered sugar.
There’s the clafouti-versus-clafoutis conundrum, which sets final-s-less anglophones against s-conscious francophones. There’s the freethinking naked-flan contingent versus the dressy pastry-cloaked coalition.
Mere sideshows to the main event, which pits cherry against cherry. Traditionalists, which is to say those from the Limousin region of France, insist on pits in. Everyone else prefers pits out. Limousin, which maintains links to the limousine and Limoges, may know something about taste.
Then there are the details: Black cherries or red? Almond flour or flour flour? Crème fraîche or whipped cream? Breakfast or snack?
All of which might be why I’d never attempted the dish. That, and lack of interest. The versions I’ve come across look like eggs, with cherries. I like eggs. I like cherries. But eggs with cherries never outbid chocolate tart.
Nonetheless, I finally braved clafouti and, after working my way through the sticky bits, baked a nicely balanced one that brings to mind sweet quiche.
I ducked out of the cherry debate by switching to raspberries, risking the wrath of the pro-pit crowd. Though apparently if you swap fruit you’re supposed to call this dish flaugnarde. I’m sticking with clafouti, with sugar on top.