Cerises jubilé
Cerises jubilé — made for Victoria's Golden Jubilee.
Cherries in a light syrup flamed with kirsch and spooned burning over vanilla ice cream, which is a dish and a performance at once.
Named from the ingredients as written, including those carried in from sub-recipes. This is not a guarantee — check the labels on what you actually buy, and note that a product’s recipe can change.
Put four bowls in the freezer to chill.
Put the sugar, orange juice and pared zest into a wide frying pan over medium heat and stir until the sugar dissolves.
Add the cherries and simmer for 4-5 minutes, until they have softened and released their juice.
Lift out the strips of zest.
Mix the cornflour with the cold water and stir it into the pan.
Simmer for 1 minute, until the syrup is glossy and just thickened.
Measure the kirsch into a small jug — never pour from the bottle at a lit pan.
Take the pan off the heat, pour the kirsch over the cherries and let it warm for a few seconds.
Tilt the pan away from you and touch a flame to the edge, or return it briefly to a gas burner.
Let it burn out on its own, shaking the pan gently, which takes about 20 seconds.
Scoop the ice cream into the chilled bowls.
Spoon the hot cherries and syrup over the top and serve at once.
Nobody has rated this recipe yet.
Sign in to rate this recipe. One rating per person, and you can change it.
Sweet, dark cherry flavour deepened by orange zest's citrus lift and kirsch's distinct, clean cherry-pit and alcohol warmth — kirsch is itself distilled from cherries, so it intensifies rather than masks the fruit it's poured over. Against the vanilla ice cream underneath, the hot syrup's sweetness and the kirsch's warmth play directly against the ice cream's cold, plain creaminess, which is really the whole point of serving the two together at such different temperatures.
Warm cherry and orange zest first, then a sharp, distinct waft of alcohol as the kirsch is warmed, and the specific caramelised, faintly smoky smell of the alcohol actually burning off during the flambé.
Soft, yielding cherries against smooth, cold ice cream, with the glossy syrup providing a thin, clinging coating over both — the contrast between the hot, soft fruit and the cold, firm ice cream is the dish's whole textural idea, and it only lasts a minute or two before the ice cream fully melts into it.
A soft whoosh as the kirsch catches alight, a quiet crackle as it burns, and the specific hiss of the hot syrup meeting the cold ice cream the moment it's spooned over.
The cold, plain sweetness of the ice cream arrives first on the spoon, the hot cherry syrup's sweetness and kirsch's alcohol warmth following immediately behind it and melting the ice cream further with every subsequent spoonful, so the dish becomes progressively more blended and less distinctly two temperatures the longer it sits.
The defining feature of the whole dish — cherries and syrup served properly hot, straight from the flambé, directly against ice cream taken straight from the freezer, with the contrast between the two temperatures deliberately unresolved rather than tempered.
Nothing else is needed — this is a complete, self-contained dessert built entirely around its own hot-cold contrast.
Easy in terms of cooking skill, but it demands real care and a specific safety discipline around the flambé stage.
Moderate — good cherries and a bottle of kirsch are the main costs, with the ice cream and other ingredients comparatively cheap.
A wide frying pan, a small jug for measuring the spirit before it goes near any flame, and a long match or lighter.
A dinner party or special occasion where the flaming presentation itself is part of the entertainment.
Fresh cherries have a genuinely short season, roughly early to late summer in most temperate regions; frozen cherries are a reasonable substitute outside that window.
The cherries should look glossy and softened but not collapsed, sitting in a syrup thickened just enough to cling rather than run thin.
Cherries tender enough to yield easily to a spoon while still holding their shape as whole fruit, in a syrup with real body from the cornflour.
The flambé stage is the genuine hazard in this recipe: alcohol must always be measured away from any flame before it's added, and never poured directly from the bottle into a lit pan, since the flame can travel back up the stream. Tilting the pan away from the body and standing back slightly when igniting are both worth doing as routine, not just for a nervous cook.
Won't ignite: the kirsch wasn't warmed enough before the flame was applied — a cold spirit simply won't catch. Syrup too thin: needs another moment with the cornflour mixture stirred through and simmered briefly. Flame too vigorous or lasting too long: this is normal for the alcohol content and it will burn out on its own within about 20 seconds; do not attempt to extinguish it by covering, which traps heat rather than dispersing it.
The cherry syrup base can be made ahead without the kirsch and gently reheated, with the kirsch added and flamed fresh at the point of serving.
Best made and eaten immediately; this isn't a dish designed to be stored, given the ice cream and the flambé both being at their best fresh.
Not really applicable — the cherries in syrup could be gently rewarmed, but the whole appeal of the dish depends on the contrast between hot syrup and cold ice cream served at the same moment.
Not applicable to the finished dish, though a larger batch of the cherry syrup base (without the kirsch) could be made ahead and frozen, with the flambé stage done fresh at serving.
Any extra cherry syrup keeps a couple of days refrigerated and is good over other desserts or breakfast dishes, though without a fresh flambé it's a different, gentler thing.
Scales up reasonably, though the flambé stage is safer and more reliable done in a wide, shallow pan regardless of quantity rather than in one very large batch.
Brandy can replace kirsch for a different but still classic version, giving a warmer, less specifically cherry-forward result. Frozen cherries, thawed and drained, can substitute for fresh outside the short cherry season, though fresh gives a better texture.
Vegetarian as written. Contains milk from the ice cream and sulphites, commonly from the kirsch or added to the cherries depending on brand. A dairy-free ice cream would make this suitable for those avoiding milk, without changing the technique at all.
Fresh, firm, dark cherries in season give the best texture; good vanilla ice cream, rather than a very cheap one, holds up better against the hot syrup without dissolving too quickly.
Good fresh cherries, in season, are the main variable cost; a reasonable rather than premium kirsch is perfectly adequate, since it's mostly used for its alcohol content and flame rather than being sipped.
A relatively low-impact dessert built on a modest quantity of fruit, sugar and spirit rather than anything resource-intensive.
A rich, sugar-forward dessert, moderated somewhat by being cherry-and-fruit-based rather than a heavier baked pudding.
A genuinely theatrical, quick dessert that earns its reputation as showpiece cooking, provided the flambé is handled with proper care rather than bravado.
France, credited to Auguste Escoffier, though the dish's popularisation with ice cream added is American.
Cerises jubilé.
seh-REEZ zhoo-bee-LAY.
Named for the royal jubilee occasion it's said to have been created for — jubilé being French for jubilee — though which specific jubilee remains disputed rather than settled.
Auguste Escoffier is credited with creating the dish for Queen Victoria, though sources differ on whether it was for her Golden Jubilee, marking fifty years on the throne in 1887, or her Diamond Jubilee, marking sixty years in 1897 — this discrepancy is presented here as unresolved rather than picking one date as fact, since no single account settles it definitively. The original dish, as generally described, was cherries in syrup flamed with kirsch, served with no ice cream at all; the now-standard combination with vanilla ice cream is a later addition, generally understood to be American rather than French in origin, though the specific individual or restaurant responsible for adding the ice cream isn't clearly documented.
The dish moved from grand European hotel dining rooms to essentially every American restaurant with a dessert trolley and a captain willing to set fire to something at the table — it became a genuine symbol of mid-20th-century tableside theatre in fine dining.
A showpiece dessert, traditionally prepared and flamed tableside as a piece of dinner theatre rather than plated in the kitchen out of sight.
Cherries cooked briefly in a light syrup, flamed with a cherry-based spirit (kirsch) at the table, and in the modern version poured hot over cold ice cream for the contrast.
The addition of ice cream is the single biggest change to the dish since Escoffier's original, moving it from a simple flamed fruit dessert to the hot-cold contrast dish now generally understood by the name.
Brandy is sometimes used in place of kirsch for a different, warmer flavour profile; the dish appears under various tableside-theatre variants across mid-20th-century American fine dining more broadly.
This recipe includes cornflour to lightly thicken the syrup, giving a glossier, more clinging sauce than a purely reduced syrup would produce, and keeps the classic serving order of ice cream first, hot cherries spooned over.
Auguste Escoffier is the credited creator, though the specific royal jubilee occasion — Golden in 1887 or Diamond in 1897 — is disputed between sources and is presented here as such rather than resolved one way or the other.