For the Love of Figs

In ancient Greece, a farmer would have grown some fig and olive trees, along with some wheat or barley, and raised pigs for meat. This remains an excellent combination. What could be better than a plate of ripe figs, good olives, slices of Italian prosciutto or Spanish Serrano ham, and a loaf of chewy bread? (When we had this same combo at George and Nancy's, the olives were in our martinis.) James Beard served figs alongside crisp bacon, and in Eric Ripert's cookbook, A Return to Cooking, there's a recipe for figs wrapped in bacon, baked and accompanied by a shallot confit. Inspired by two different Jeremiah Tower recipes, I made a relish out of the figs I toted home from George's trees and served it with some thick pan-fried pork chops. It would also be excellent with grilled duck breast, especially a magret from D'Artagnan, chicken, or even fish.

My mother and George have argued for years over who makes the best fig preserves. She puts lemon peel in hers; George, the purist, does not. I avoid the fight altogether and happily accept jars from each. On our honeymoon, my husband and I discovered another source for them, the Carolina Cider Company in Gardens Corner, South Carolina (843/846-1899), a wonderful shack of a place that sells everything from delicious cherry cider to even more delicious pickled garlic. We also bought some fig syrup, which has been around almost as long as figs -- until the end of the Middle Ages, it was often substituted for honey as a sweetener. The label says it's "great on pancakes or ice cream," and I'm sure it is, but the other night I used it along with some chopped fresh mint to marinate lamb chops.

Until I was grown, I had never tasted a fig other than a Celeste, although I didn't know what its actual name was -- most Southerners simply call it the "sugar fig." Celestes are the variety most common to the eastern United States. They are said to grow best in the Southeast, but, obviously, they also do all right in Texas. Figs don't travel well, and Celestes are extremely fragile, but these days I can get Black Mission figs from California in the grocery store, and sometimes Kadotas as well. They are shipped slightly underripe so that they don't turn to mush, and since they are larger than Celestes, they hold up better in lots of recipes.

At Restaurant August in New Orleans (504/299-9777), I once had a Mission fig stuffed with foie gras and served on toast with a dusting of truffles and a little fig reduction. If the fig had been a sweet little Celeste, that particular preparation would have been gilding the lily, not to mention almost impossible because of its size, but this was really, really good. The restaurant's brilliant chef, John Besh, is another fig man. He gave me a terrific second course of rabbit confit with baked figs, which prompted me to do the same with some store-bought confit of duck legs at home (D'Artagnan has that, too). Fry them in a bit of the fat that will be clinging to the legs until they are crisp (four or five minutes on each side). While they cook, drizzle some halved figs with a bit of balsamic vinegar, sprinkle with fresh thyme leaves, and bake at 400° for about 30 minutes (or less if the figs are Celeste).

If you are as dedicated a fig man (or woman) as George, I suggest more figs for dessert -- alone or with a creamy goat cheese. Or, try Patricia Wells's fabulous fig tart, which combines them with their Mediterranean siblings -- almonds and honey. I guar­antee that afterwards, you will try hard to find a way to get on somebody's fig list.