Few ingredients in the world of food are as controversial as raisins. There are those (I refer to them as "simpleminded cretins") who believe that raisins enhance any dish, and others (I call them "misguided fools") who believe that raisins have no place in the world outside of a child's lunchbox.
Most of us (and I am doing you the great courtesy of considering you one of "us", so don't blow it) quite correctly believe the truth to be somewhere between the two extremes. There are many dishes where raisins can (but far too often do not) enhance the flavor, and there are other dishes where their inclusion should result in dire punishment for the (simpleminded) cretins responsible.
Sadly, public flagellation has become unpopular in recent years (and ritual disembowelment is actually illegal, no matter how deserved), so we cannot treat the creators of such dishes in the way that seems most appropriate. Also, some would argue that it is not appropriate to punish the mentally inferior for their weakness, and this may perhaps be a valid point of view. I will therefore attempt to educate these miscreants as to the proper use, and more importantly the proper omission, of raisins.
The first thing to remember with regard to raisins is that they are, like all dried fruits, fundamentally a textural ingredient. If you are contemplating including raisins in a dish for textural reasons, please first take a moment to think of the many other dried fruits with with similar sweet and chewy characteristics.
I have a certain fondness for dried cranberries myself, or the Persian zereshk. Zereshk translates as "barberry" (berberis vulgaris, to be precise), but since I doubt you would ever have encountered zereshk outside the context of Persian cuisine, it seems rather silly of you to insist on the English name, so why am I bothering explaining it to you? Sometimes my magnanimity does get a tad excessive. I shall endeavor not to digress further.
Regardless, the primary reason I mention these particular alternatives is that each adds a certain tartness that raisins lack (one which is normally counteracted by sugar), and most dishes in which a rational person might briefly consider incorporating raisins could benefit from the bright notes afforded by these alternatives. If you feel the tartness would clash with other flavors, or are looking for a less complex sweetness, consider dried apricots, figs, or perhaps chopped dates. You might even consider albaloo (a Persian dried sour cherry), though that ingredient must be handled carefully in order to avoid some of the same pitfalls as those exhibited by raisins.
Another excellent alternative if you really want the flavor of raisins is the currant. Most people encounter currants only in the form of jam, and that is a pity. The currant has most of the pleasant flavor characteristics of a raisin, with few of its drawbacks. If you can find some, try them, and you may be pleasantly surprised.
If you have considered these and other alternatives but are nonetheless foolishly determined to use raisins, it is time to remember what I said about raisins being a textural element. Their primary quality that raisins can contribute to a dish is their chewiness. At their best, raisins provide a concentrated note of sweetness that will linger after lesser flavors have faded away.
However, "lingering" and "concentrated" are the critical words here. Most dishes do not benefit from these qualities, and even for those dishes that might benefit, you are gambling on the diner's tastes as to whether they'll agree with you on that score. The absolute worst mistake you can make, though, is to attempt to mitigate either of these two properties.
I said that the primary reason I recommended an alternative ingredient was to improve the flavor. The second, and only slightly less important, reason is that raisins have an annoying tendency to partially rehydrate.
Raisins will absorb some of any liquid to which they are exposed, and some idiots (or rather cretins, to remain consistent) use this fact to attempt to reduce the concentration of the flavor and make it less intrusive. I have encountered this practice most often in execrable attempts at curries (often in conjunction with large chunks of celery and other related atrocities).
Whilst soaking a raisin does in fact achieve that purpose, it also causes the raisins to transform into objects that resemble nothing so much as spoiled grapes. Or perhaps the eyeballs of some sort of large rodent. Regardless, the result is not something any sane individual would want to eat. This effect arises from the fact that the outside of a raisin is a tough, intact grape skin which can hold in a fair amount of liquid.
You may be tempted to cut the raisins to avoid this trap. This approach will, in fact, prevent the rodent eyeball effect. However, it will also cause the raisin to disintegrate. Kindly restrain yourself from this course.
"So, when is it appropriate to use raisins, then? Have they no 'raisin d'être'?" You ask.
I was just about to tell you, you impatient twit! Stop interrupting. And no more of those insipid puns, or I shall be forced to remove your tongue with a lemon zester (a laborious process, but one whose results are usually quite satisfactory).
I fear that I would have to say that it is almost never appropriate to use raisins when cooking for others. I have, however, found a few dishes where the use of properly-handled raisins can be appreciated by most people.
The best known case is the oatmeal raisin cookie. Indeed, I consider raisins to be mandatory for oatmeal cookies, and their omission will earn my enduring, implacable hatred. Actually, "implacable" is perhaps an overstatement. A few tins of Osetra and 100 grams of white Italian truffles might induce my forgiveness. Nonetheless, oatmeal cookies without raisins are simply bland, flattened lumps of undifferentiated grain and flour, and are suitable only for feeding to livestock.
If your dough is low in moisture, the raisins will remain chewy, as they should. Simply avoid overcooking the things (exposed raisins will burn before the dough would) and avoid excess liquid in your batter, and all should be well. Assuming, of course, that you know how to make otherwise edible oatmeal cookies.
Simply remember that excessive moisture, flour and leavening are the enemies of quality oatmeal cookies, and even you should be able to produce something that will not result in me leading an angry mob to your abode. If it helps, think of them as oatmeal-raisin candy with a bit of flour added, and you should not be far off the mark.
The only savory dish I have found in which raisins consistently work well would have to be adas polo (and its various Mediterranean variants). This delightful Persian dish is made with lentils, caramelized onions, spices, and raisins mixed in with a light-grained, salted and buttered basmati rice. The key is that the raisins must be added only at the very end, after the lentils have been cooked (and have therefore absorbed most of the moisture). This allows the raisins to become warm and very slightly soft, while still retaining their basic texture and intensity.
To be sure, there are some other raisin-containing dishes that I have enjoyed. In each case, the chef was able to alter the texture of the raisins to subtly blend with the surrounding ingredients in ways most of us could only dream of. My hat is off to them, as yours should be, but do not make the mistake of attempting to imitate them.
I recommend Adas Polo and oatmeal raisin cookies as examples of the viable use of raisins in ways that are achievable by mere mortals. You will note, presuming of course that your powers of observation are up to such abstract tasks, that these dishes both feature raisins prominently. The very name of the oatmeal-raisin cookie tells you what to expect, and in well-made adas polo, the raisins achieve supremacy over the lentils by numbers alone.
For all but the most skilled of chefs, to use a theatrical metaphor, raisins can be outstanding as featured performers, but they are terrible bit players. They tromp about the scenery, yelling out at inopportune moments, exhibiting their pathetic, grating need to be the focus of all attention. In the end, they drag out their insignificant deaths with lingering, hackneyed shudderings and absurd, endless gyrations till the audience has no fonder wish than that some fiend should cut a sandbag from the rafters or otherwise move to hasten the demise of these incompetent supernumeraries. As the saying goes, they have to be the stars, for they are not good enough to be in the chorus.
Do you understand me now? Feature the raisins, or leave them out entirely.
Of course, I'm sure some of you (the "misguided fools" I referred to at the beginning) will take issue with some of my suggestions, but I cannot be held responsible for your lack of good taste or your inflated sense of your own skills that might lead you to think you can safely ignore me.
If you are incapable of restraining your appalling urge to spread this plague of desiccated grapes throughout the world, kindly refrain from entering the world of professional food preparation. What you do in the privacy of your home is your own concern, but I do not desire to be subjected to it while I am attempting to eat.
- Ram
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