Ómós Digest #66: The surprising role of the fig.
We’re not taking the biscuit.
“Hidden away in Lambeth, just over the river from Westminster, is a 465 year old fig tree. For context, the year it was planted in 1556, Mary I, daughter of King Henry VIII was on the throne, the population of London was roughly 100,000 and Lambeth was predominantly marshland and fields.” — Jack Chescher- Living London History.
Role not roll
Figs. Does a more sultry fruit exist? When picked straight from the tree at their ripest, they are everything and anything one might require. And, it was not until our pilgrimage to France that I discovered the true magic of a ripe fig. In the South East, where I grew up with my family for several years, it was as if there was a tree growing on each and every corner; their sprawling roots finding a foothold through any weak point of pavement or crumbling village wall. The trees dotted throughout the towns would provide a canopy of shade for any passerby, stray cat or hound, in search of shelter from the scalding sun. As summer progressed, so too would the trees’ fruit, growing larger, darker and evermore fragile, spewing nectar and clear sap from their stamen. The Celestial fig, with deep purple skin and effervescent red flesh, was undoubtedly our preferred variety, and the ants too it seemed, who would navigate their way up and down the tree in search of the abundant crimson jewels. Sweet and treacle-like in flavour and texture, they were the perfect August afternoon snack for the famished (the figs, not the ants). As we would run out the door with our friends to lose ourselves in the French countryside until the sun came down, I recall my mother adding, “don’t eat too many figs”, knowing too well we had every intention of stuffing our mouths with handfuls of sun-ripened, sweet, jammy delights, and spoiling our dinner as a result.
Before I was introduced to the fresh kind, back in Ireland, the dried preparation was a pantry staple: a perfect suppression of hunger between meal times for the unforgivingly ‘starving’… But, like most Irish I imagine, (who have an acute liking for tea breaks) our introduction to the humble fig was in the form of a biscuit. Jacob's has been providing these in significant quantities to our household since ‘92, with the Fig Roll adorning many a lunch box up and down the country. On more frugal days, when biscuits were in lesser availability (from our ravaging of the pantry), I recall dipping my hand into the bags of dried fig and rolling a couple between a slice of bread, making my own fig roll, which although paled in comparison to its industrially produced counterpart, filled a void nonetheless. Despite my whole life seemingly featuring figs in one form or another, it was not until much later that I discovered that the leaves could be eaten. Almost certainly the reason to which I was so partial to the fig was down to its immeasurable sweetness. However, the unique flavour found in the fruit is also available in spades within the leaf - an ingredient all on its own, it has the potential of imparting a wonderful flavour reminiscent of vanilla or coconut to a plethora of preparations. Since this discovery, I have experimented with a whole number of uses for the leaf, diving into historical references to discover that the fig is not only a personal obsession, but a tree with its own gastronomical history as well as paving its way into the future.
The fig tree, originally native to the Mediterranean and Middle East, was brought to London in the 16th century by Cardinal Reginald Pole in Lambeth Palace. It’s a tree that rather spectacularly still grows today. Fig trees are now also found in Ireland, ornamentally grown in gardens. Although fruiting annually, and for the most part struggling to come to full ripeness in northern climates, I have had the good fortune of sampling wonderfully sweet figs, appropriately positioned by South facing walls in rare microclimates in Ireland. Similarly, a tree located in a greenhouse will almost certainly produce fruit capable of ripening to ample satisfaction. Should you not possess a south facing wall that reaps the benefits of long summer sunshine, nor a greenhouse for that matter, fear not, your fig tree still has culinary purpose in this lesser expected environment. The leaves, unripe fruit, wood and sap can all be used in the kitchen. Let’s dive right in!
