I've decided that, since I have expended more than enough energy complaining about phx summers, I should start trying to look on the bright side and appreciate all those things about months of triple-digit temperatures that are not terrible and utterly soul-destroying. These things include a renewed appreciation for seasonality; mighty haboobs; the fact that a cold beer never tastes as good as it does on a hot, summer day; monsoon season and the awesome thunderstorms that come with it; and figs.
Yes, even in the depths of summer, when it seems more likely that fruits would spontaneously combust than ripen, figs manage to survive. Of course, fig season lasts all of a week, and given that we were in and out of town over the course of June and July, I was sure I had missed it. Imagine my surprise and glee when I saw some figs at the grocery store. There weren't the figs I had been dreaming of, being from California and not totally at the peak of ripeness, but nonetheless I snapped up a couple of packages, visions of figgy delights dancing through my head.
The figgy gods must have been smiling upon me, because when I went to the farmers' market the following day, what did I see? More figs! I obviously bought a dozen and, given the bounty of figs I had received, declared the (smaller, sweeter, riper) phx figs to be for mostly-unadulterated consumption only. These little figgy jewels, along with some fresh nectarines, were coated with a wee bit of olive oil and grilled (on my decade-plus old George Foreman grill, because that's how we roll in city apartments sans balcony) and served on little baguette crostinis of goat cheese and the briefest of sprinkles of black Hawaiian salt (for the figs) and strawberry balsamic vinegar (for the nectarines).
As for the other figs, they became part of Project Figgy Figgy Fig Fig, which was my attempt at making balsamic figgy jam. I have written about the only other time I tried (and failed) to make jam; even with my less-than-stellar record of jam production, I figured that a figgy sauce would be an acceptable outcome. To be perfectly honest, as long as I did not set the figs on fire, I was pretty sure I'd be happy.
To start, stem and quarter 2 lbs. of figs. In a large, heavy pot, bring the 1 c. water and the figs to a boil, then let simmer for 5 minutes or so, until the figs get soft. Using a potato masher, crush the figs to whatever consistency you desire. Add 1 c. sugar, 1/2 c. balsamic vinegar, and 1/4 c. lemon juice, then return to a boil. Reduce the heat and let the figs simmer until they thicken up, but aren't dry.
Now, the recipe suggested that this thickening process would take 20 minutes. This is a blatant falsehood. Perhaps the original author had magical figs, or was a wizard, or something, but I had to simmer those figs for at least an hour to get the sugars working. See, figs are a low-pectin food, and if you are like me and stubborn and impatient and not about to waste precious figgy time with tracking down packets of pectin, you just have to persevere and TRUST THE FIGS. Rather than go by cooking time, the best way to check for the doneness of your jam is to do the gel test. My method is to pop a small plate into the freezer when you start the simmer; when you think the figs are properly thickened, get your plate and spoon a small dollop of the jam onto it. When the jam cools (you can use the refrigerator to speed up the process), tilt the plate—if the jam doesn't move, it's good to go. If the jam is still runny, leave it to simmer for another couple of minutes and try again. I promise: it will set. Eventually.
After much testing and cursing and fretting, you should end up with this:
Dark, sticky, unctuous figgy jam. The sweetness is subtle, undercut by the pleasant tanginess of the balsamic. With a little less sugar and the addition of some rosemary, it could make a fine savory jam. As it is, it's delicious on toast points with goat cheese, alone on toast, with a little almond butter for a twist on the old pb&j (I call it the Elitist Breakfast), on (or in) scones...basically, it's just good. And it's a nice little reminder of the good life during a desert summer (if you don't melt first).
Yes, even in the depths of summer, when it seems more likely that fruits would spontaneously combust than ripen, figs manage to survive. Of course, fig season lasts all of a week, and given that we were in and out of town over the course of June and July, I was sure I had missed it. Imagine my surprise and glee when I saw some figs at the grocery store. There weren't the figs I had been dreaming of, being from California and not totally at the peak of ripeness, but nonetheless I snapped up a couple of packages, visions of figgy delights dancing through my head.
The figgy gods must have been smiling upon me, because when I went to the farmers' market the following day, what did I see? More figs! I obviously bought a dozen and, given the bounty of figs I had received, declared the (smaller, sweeter, riper) phx figs to be for mostly-unadulterated consumption only. These little figgy jewels, along with some fresh nectarines, were coated with a wee bit of olive oil and grilled (on my decade-plus old George Foreman grill, because that's how we roll in city apartments sans balcony) and served on little baguette crostinis of goat cheese and the briefest of sprinkles of black Hawaiian salt (for the figs) and strawberry balsamic vinegar (for the nectarines).
 |
| There were more. They were eaten before the camera could get to them. |
As for the other figs, they became part of Project Figgy Figgy Fig Fig, which was my attempt at making balsamic figgy jam. I have written about the only other time I tried (and failed) to make jam; even with my less-than-stellar record of jam production, I figured that a figgy sauce would be an acceptable outcome. To be perfectly honest, as long as I did not set the figs on fire, I was pretty sure I'd be happy.
To start, stem and quarter 2 lbs. of figs. In a large, heavy pot, bring the 1 c. water and the figs to a boil, then let simmer for 5 minutes or so, until the figs get soft. Using a potato masher, crush the figs to whatever consistency you desire. Add 1 c. sugar, 1/2 c. balsamic vinegar, and 1/4 c. lemon juice, then return to a boil. Reduce the heat and let the figs simmer until they thicken up, but aren't dry.
Now, the recipe suggested that this thickening process would take 20 minutes. This is a blatant falsehood. Perhaps the original author had magical figs, or was a wizard, or something, but I had to simmer those figs for at least an hour to get the sugars working. See, figs are a low-pectin food, and if you are like me and stubborn and impatient and not about to waste precious figgy time with tracking down packets of pectin, you just have to persevere and TRUST THE FIGS. Rather than go by cooking time, the best way to check for the doneness of your jam is to do the gel test. My method is to pop a small plate into the freezer when you start the simmer; when you think the figs are properly thickened, get your plate and spoon a small dollop of the jam onto it. When the jam cools (you can use the refrigerator to speed up the process), tilt the plate—if the jam doesn't move, it's good to go. If the jam is still runny, leave it to simmer for another couple of minutes and try again. I promise: it will set. Eventually.
After much testing and cursing and fretting, you should end up with this:
 |
| Project Figgy Figgy Fig Fig is GO. |
Dark, sticky, unctuous figgy jam. The sweetness is subtle, undercut by the pleasant tanginess of the balsamic. With a little less sugar and the addition of some rosemary, it could make a fine savory jam. As it is, it's delicious on toast points with goat cheese, alone on toast, with a little almond butter for a twist on the old pb&j (I call it the Elitist Breakfast), on (or in) scones...basically, it's just good. And it's a nice little reminder of the good life during a desert summer (if you don't melt first).
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