Candied Buddha’s hand

When I first started cooking avidly, I used to follow my mother on her grocery trips every week. Armed with a rigid list of ingredients, with exact measurements down to the precise gram or teaspoon, I would throw esoteric ingredients into the shopping trolley, much to the chagrin of my mother.

“Why must you buy this? Can’t you use something that we have at home?” she would chide, balking at the price. “You better use everything, not use a bit of it and chuck the rest in the fridge to rot.”I would mumble to acknowledge that I’ve heard her, impatient to secure another ingredient on my list. But my mother knew me well, and by the following week, she would find a half-rotten parsnip languishing in the deep recesses of the fridge.

Take this Buddha’s hand I bought last month. Otherwise known as fingered citron, this peculiar fruit earns its name for its queer, finger-like protrusions that could be bundled close together or extending gracefully outwards like the arms of a starfish. The former is said to be more auspicious as it resembles hands prayerfully clasped. I had read about how fragrant it is, that people would leave it in their wardrobe to perfume their clothes. So when it sprung up in the wet market, over Chinese New Year, I got my hands on one and brought it back home.

Here’s the baffling thing – despite its clear resemblance to lemons, a Buddha’s hand fruit is all pith and rind, with hardly any flesh in sight. I could hardly justify paying close to ten dollars for one, if I was just going to grate its rind into a cake batter, or over some fish! So I stalled for weeks, storing the fruit in my fridge in hopes of preserving it and buying me some time. And so it went forgotten to close to a month until lately, Wex said to me, “You know you really should use what you have rather than constantly buying new ingredients.”

The next day, I pulled the Buddha’s hand from my fridge. Its vibrant yellow had turned a dry-looking orange. Cutting into it, I was grateful that, as shriveled as it was on the outside, it was still intensely fragrant. I chose to candy it as a real form of preservation; being without flesh makes the Buddha’s hand an excellent choice to candy.

The process of candying fruit is light work – it almost feels unfair to do so little and receive such a hefty reward. You start by simmering the diced fruit until it goes translucent, to remove any underlying bitterness present in the pith. Then you heat it in sugar and water until the formed syrup becomes thick enough to coat the fruit, and close to scorching. By then, the fruit would have taken on a jeweled appearance, like stained glass. I had a nibble or two from the pot – couldn’t resist – but I’ll be saving my stash up for when I bake panettone this week!

Candied Buddha’s Hand Recipe from David Lebovitz

1 Buddha’s hand 300g sugar 250g water

Dice the Buddha’s hand into 1/2″ cubes. Drop into a pot of boiling water and allow to simmer for 30-40 minutes or until the fruit turns translucent. Drain. Place the fruit, sugar and water back into the pot and heat until the mixture reaches 110C, stirring occasionally. Let the candied fruit rest in the syrup for 1 hour before storing in the refrigerator (keeps for 6 months).