Fig

French feta is creamier, milder, and less salty than the Greek version. Arrange this salad on a platter, and let your guests serve themselves.

Bucheron is a tangy, mild goat cheese. We like to serve it drizzled with a deep, intensely flavored extra-virgin olive oil.

If you can’t find lemon thyme, use small, fresh basil leaves instead.

Pizza makes a fun dessert, and this one can be served for breakfast as well. It’s topped with seasonal fruit and a dollop of honey-flavored mascarpone cheese, but you can serve it with vanilla bean ice cream instead, if you prefer. Try other grilled fruits such as peaches or nectarines on this pizza.

Focaccia can be either savory or sweet. Topped with grapes, figs, and candied orange peel, it’s a great breakfast or brunch bread. This is one of the favorites from my cooking classes. You can substitute the grapes and figs with other fresh fruit such as strawberries and peaches. Keep the toppings light; don’t overload the focaccia.

When our late summer/fall cheater barbecue party guests deserve something fancier than sliced watermelon, we serve Swanky Figs. Like a good barbecue sauce, this dessert demonstrates the appeal of yin/yang balance—salty sharp blue cheese, creamy rich mascarpone, sweet honey, and tannic toasty walnuts. Go ahead and broil the figs early in the day. After dinner, discreetly step into the kitchen and reappear minutes later with a drop-dead platter of edible jewels.

A pastry reflecting the famous half-roasted, almond-stuffed, bay and anise-perfumed figs that Puglia exports to all of Europe, the ripe sensuality of it merits a true hunger, one not dulled by the prologue of some long, winy supper. Nibble only at a plate of fresh cheeses before it. Better, present it with no prelude at all.

Should there be, one day in your life, both a handful of still-warm-from-the-tree ripe figs and the juice-dripping flesh of a melon, go quickly to find leaves of mint, some good green olive oil, and the juice of a lemon to make this little salad. Use only flawless components and arrange them for someone wonderful with whom to rhapsodize over it. You might, then, need heady, appropriate conversation. You could choose to speak of Platina—one Bartolomeo Sacchi—the Vatican librarian and author, in 1475, of Platine de Honestate Voluptate. The work’s argument concerns the history of Roman cuisine and was the first officially published cookbook since those written during the Republic. Or you might want to chatter a bit about Cantalupo in Sabina—the Singing Wolf of the Sabines—once a papal garden property outside the Roman walls where a strain of tiny, orange-fleshed melons were cultivated, they, no doubt, being the precursors to those we call cantaloupe. Perhaps you might choose not to speak at all, thus distracting nothing from the sweet little figs.

Figs and almonds—a classic pairing. For this tart, I cut the figs into quarters and sauté them with sugar, butter, and vanilla for a jammy texture. Then I pour the super-easy custard base into a baked pâte sucrée crust with the caramelized figs, and bake until the top is slightly browned. Be sure to bake the crust completely before filling it, to ensure it stays crisp. Although this tart is so very French, it reminds me just a little bit of all-American Fig Newtons.

This grilled pork confit evolved one night when I was making a staff meal at Lucques. I salvaged the leftover ends and trimmings from the day’s pork confit, crisped them in my favorite cast-iron pan, and ran to the walk-in to see what produce I could find to add to the dish. When I got back to the stove, I noticed half the meat was missing. Looking around, I saw that all the cooks had their heads down, suspiciously quiet. Half of my staff meal had disappeared, but I couldn’t be angry. Who can resist succulent pork, hot and crispy, out of the pan? Something so irresistible deserved to be shared with the outside world, so I put this staff meal on the menu!

This early fall medley was made famous by the legendary Richard Olney, whose books brought the south of France to kitchens all over the globe. In his recipe, the prosciutto is julienned, scattered over figs, and drizzled with a crushed-mint cream. In this version, I add melon, and instead of thin strands of prosciutto, I drape whole slices around the fruit to create a layered antipasto. There’s no right or wrong type of fig for this dish; as long as they’re super-ripe, luscious, and oozing, they’ll work beautifully. If you have the luxury of choosing more than one variety of fig, such as Genoa, Adriatic, or Honey, this is a spectacular way to show them off. The same rules apply for the melon: just pick the sweetest, most perfumed one you can find.

This recipe is a way to show off the best summer fruit you can find. If possible, use an assortment of fruits, such as plums, peaches, figs, and berries, but make sure that all the fruit is up to snuff. Rather than striving for variety and ending up with less-than-ideal examples of each fruit, you’re better off with a simpler salad composed of only the most perfect nectarines or gorgeous peaches all alone. The dressing is made by pounding some of the fruit into a juicy vinaigrette. Figs are my favorite for this purpose. They mellow the vinegar and give the dressing body and chunkiness. If you’ve never had a Marcona almond, you may not forgive me for introducing you to them. Rich and dense, this Spanish almond variety is outrageously addictive. If you can’t find Marcona almonds, use toasted regular almonds or pecans.

This all-year-round cocktail, an Employees Only original, is a fine example of what you can do with a lessinspiring spirit like vodka. We wanted to combine traditional Mediterranean flavors such as figs, lemon, and honey. Mixing with vodka is a challenge similar to that of cooking with tofu; no matter what you do to it, it’s still tofu. All the flavor and texture comes from the other ingredients in the mixture; vodka really contributes only alcohol to the structure of the cocktail. In the case of the Mediterra, any other spirit would interfere with the clean balance of fig to honey.

If you use miniloaf pans, reduce the baking time to forty-five minutes. Because this recipe calls for dried figs, it can be made year-round; the figs’ seeds give the bread a nice crunch.

Inspired by the time-honored specialty cakes of Christmas, these down-scaled versions are studded with mixed dried fruits and nuts and flavored with spirits. Once baked, they are blanketed with billowy frosting and topped with another familiar holiday treat, meringue mushrooms. In place of the apricots, figs, and dates used here, you may substitute other fruits, such as dried pineapple or candied citrus peel. Just be sure to purchase good-quality fruits from a store with a high turnover (avoid supermarket varieties sold as “mixed candied fruit”) and use kitchen shears to cut the fruit into uniform pieces.