Fig

When I was a kid, these were always sold in candy shops, and I loved them. They were considered far too exotic to make at home; or at least no one would consider doing such a thing. Years later I learned how. Turns out, of course, they couldn’t be easier, and now they are a wintertime staple in my house.

You can poach dried figs, of course, but fresh ones achieve a kind of swollen, bursting tenderness that is sublimely sensual. Green figs, not quite fully ripe, are best for this purpose, but the more common Black Mission figs—also not quite ripe—are almost as good.

As much as Italians would like to claim the fig as their own, it has deep origins somewhere in Mesopotamia. Then it made its way into the Middle East and the rest of the world. The Egyptians adored the fig and praised it as a medicinal and delicious fruit. Fig breads and sweets were made way before the Italians started, but you cannot take away the importance the fig cookie has on St. Joseph’s Day for the Italian culture. As the legend goes, during a year of drought and famine in Sicily, people would gather and pray to St. Joseph for help. St. Joseph responded by sending heavy rains. To this day Sicilians respond by making the St. Joseph’s table full of offerings, and among them must be the St. Joseph’s fig cookies.

When we arrived in Vermont to visit my editor for several intensive days of work on this book, she had made the focaccia from her children’s bread book for our lunch. Several days later, when we were winding up, I noticed on the windowsill a pint basket of fresh figs we hadn’t used up, and, remembering how much I loved the sweet fruit-studded focaccias I had had as a child, I suggested we improvise with those figs. So here is the recipe we put together, which celebrates a warm childhood memory reborn in the northern hills of Vermont. It fits right in with our dessert theme in this book of fresh fruits embedded in crusts, and is lovely for breakfast, for tea, or with after-dinner coffee.

You probably have enjoyed grilled corn; you may or may not have tasted a grilled fresh fig. I’m almost sure, however, that you never had them together in one dish. But when late summer brings them to market at the same time, I hope you will try this recipe. It’s a simple one to do ahead: you grill the corn on the cob and then grill the figs (they take barely a minute). You slice off the corn kernels, toss them with the figs, and serve the dish at room temperature. The golden vegetable and dark fruit are a great-tasting and pretty combination just as they are, but if you happen to have some Drizzling Sauce of Balsamic Vinegar already made (or a bottle of balsamic vinegar to reduce), it’s definitely worth applying the final swirl of sauce. The acidic tang sets off the sweetness of all the sugars in the corn and figs, already intensified by the heat of the grill. You can use either a gas or a charcoal grill for this, but keep the fire moderate (and pay attention, especially with the figs) so the sugars are caramelized, not burned.

Literally fichi al galoppo means “galloping figs,” an intriguing name for such a simple dish. As the figs poach slowly in bubbling syrup, it sounds like galloping horses. The trick here is to cook them with enough sugar so the fruit will absorb the syrup, rather than release its own juices. When this balance is reached, the silky figs remain whole and deliciously impregnated with the syrup.

Crystallized fruit is basically fruit that’s been cooked for a long time in a sugar or piloncillo syrup until it is almost translucent (hence the name). t is customary to presoak the fruit overnight in lime or calcium oxide so hat it retains its shape after the long cooking process. The town of Santa ruz Acalpixa in Xochimilco is one of the best places to appreciate the normous variety of candied fruit, including prickly pears, figs, oranges, cactus paddles, and even chiles. A word of caution, though: beware of bees when making this! The process takes several days, but it’s quite simple and the fruit will fast for a several months and up to a year if stored properly. You can use he same method for many kinds of fruit, so pick some that are in season but slightly underripe so they don’t fall apart.

GINA You could easily order pizza for delivery, but why not have flat-bread instead, and cut it into little squares? You can just buy the dough from your local grocer (or your local pizzeria, if you ask nicely) and add in all the other ingredients. Ripe figs will turn your traditional pizza into an amazing party favorite. We absolutely love this dish: it’s hearty yet light, fruity, and flavorful. If you find the taste of blue cheese too strong, you can always substitute a mild goat cheese, which has a creamy tang that also goes well with the figs. We add the handfuls of fresh arugula to the flatbread while it’s still hot, to add a pop of bright peppery flavor and color.

This dessert is layered with toasty, earthy flavors, from the concentrated sweetness of the roasted figs to the nutty brown butter to the chocolate ganache deepened with a touch of coffee. You can ride the sweet-salty wave by sprinkling with a finishing salt at the end, or simply dust with powdered sugar. You can’t go wrong.

For those of you who crave the ubiquitous duck breast all dressed up for company, I offer you my version, the little ducky paired with sweet-and-sour roasted figs and given a little edge from the arugula. I won’t lie—it’s good. However, in exchange for my providing a traditional duck breast recipe, you must promise me that you will try either Party Tripe on Soft Polenta (page 159) or maybe Geoduck Crudo with Fennel and Radish (page 24). Do what scares you.

In the summer, I like nothing better than to stand in the shade of my big, old fig tree and pluck the ripe fruit to a humming chorus of bees and scavenging birds. Figs are so short-lived—in terms of both season and shelf life—that you have to act quickly to enjoy them at all, so I always feel like I’ve done well when I come away with a jar or two of jam. A nip or three of brandy gives this version a smoky, complex flavor.

Like many Southerners, I have a fig tree—huge, old, gnarled, and prized—that bears bucketfuls of plump, grassy-sweet figs each summer. So sweet, in fact, that they draw not only the usual birds and squirrels, but also a certain stealthy neighbor who must surely keep as close a watch on the fruits’ ripening as we do. Shake it up with a SAZERAC (see page 28)

This irresistible combination of pungent and sweet flavors—figs, blue cheese, walnuts, and deeply flavored sherry vinaigrette—explains why this house salad flies out the door at Herbsaint.

Tender veal is most commonly served in lighter preparations because of its delicate nature, but the porterhouse cut is substantial enough to allow for a truly rich and deeply flavorful sauce such as this one. Intensely sweet dried figs steeped in wine join a reduction of wine and veal stock to form a syrupy glaze that coats the veal in flavor. Cabernet vinegar (though another red wine vinegar will do) balances the figs’ inherent sweetness with its bright acidity. Uncommon as they are, veal porterhouse chops make this a memorable, special-occasion dish, but you could certainly substitute thick-cut pork chops with excellent results.

My backyard fig tree is not always the most reliable producer, but when I have figs I make this dessert. It pairs an old-fashioned pound cake (recipe courtesy of my great-aunt Emma) with a chunky sauce made with my homegrown Brown Turkey figs. I love this dessert’s down-home elegance—a figgy topping poured over individual pound cakes baked in cupcake pans. You can use any fresh fig that’s available—light green, brown, or purple. In Texas you’ll most likely find Brown Turkeys, which I’ve been told were planted throughout the state by early homesteaders. If fresh figs are not available, use Bosc pears or tart apples. If you want a large, belt-busting dessert, use Texas-size cupcake pans. Standard-size cupcake pans will give you double the servings.

When I asked friends for their favorite pizza-combination ideas, this one, from former Boston Globe Living Arts editor Fiona Lewis, jumped to the front of the line. First, I’m a freak for figs: fresh when they’re in season, of course, but dried at other times of the year. Second, when Fiona mentioned it, I had just started yielding to an addiction to Taleggio, the pungent, slightly bitter Italian cheese that tastes of mushrooms. I immediately thought walnuts would be a perfect crunchy addition to this party, and I invited along my old friend radicchio to add even more bitterness. Once I got the layering order right (walnuts need to go on the bottom, under the nest of radicchio, to avoid burning under the broiler), this was a keeper. Obviously, if you want to make this when fresh figs are in season, by all means do so; skip the soaking-in-wine step and you’ll be good to go.

Don your chain mail and broadsword. Ancient food, harbinger of tragedy and regret, roast partridges spur thoughts of delicious violence, provoking a savage appetite spurred by rich flavors and primal aromas. Daedalus, who built the labyrinth that held the Minotaur, flung his brilliant disciple Perdrix off a roof, only to have him transformed into a partridge by the goddess Athena, who has a thing for geniuses. One of the oldest partridge recipes comes from the French, who would encrust foods in salt to protect them from the scorching heat of the oven. The guards of the Aigues-Mortes salt fields, had they survived being massacred by invading Burgundians, would surely have appreciated this dish. The Burgundians were eventually massacred as well, and their bodies buried in a tower filled with salt. Athena would have approved of their ingenuity, and of salt crusting in general, though it is doubtful that she would have approved of this choice of bird for the roasting.

Choose your favorite fall fruit to adorn this sweet focaccia. The great Italian cook who taught me how to make it recommended throwing three tablespoons of water into the lower part of the oven (below the pan of focaccia) three times during the first ten minutes of baking. The steam created results in a crispier crust. Try it, but be careful not to extinguish the pilot light or soak the focaccia!