A Gift from the Garden of Neglect
An unexpected bumper crop of figs yields two new recipes; plus, I'm back to my regular weekly schedule!
Welcome to Buona Domenica, a weekly newsletter on inspired Italian home cooking. After three (long) months, I am back to my normal newsletter schedule posting once a week (plus occasional bonus posts) so I have turned the paid subscription function back on. If you are a paid subscriber, your payment schedule kicks back in as of this week. If you are a free subscriber who has been intending to upgrade to a paid subscription (and I sure hope you are), you can now do so by clicking the button below. Paid subscribers have access to all new recipes, plus benefits such as cookbook giveaways, discounts on my online cooking classes (which will resume later this fall) and other perks.
A note on this week’s recipes: Below you’ll find a free recipe for Spiced Fig and Chocolate Preserves with Cognac, which was previously published on my website. Two new recipes, for Fig Sorbetto and for Fresh Fig Cake with Honey and Rye, are behind the paywall because this is the first time they are being published. Those of you who know my work know how much I put into the testing and writing of recipes. I hope you’ll understand why I can’t share them all free of charge.
On to the newsletter…
Years ago I nicknamed our backyard “the Garden of Neglect.” Some people thought I was joking because occasionally I would post photos such as this one and this one on Instagram with tongue-in-cheek captions like “Peonies and Roses from the #GardenOfNeglect.”
As with most of Instagram, the pretty vases of flowers only told part of the story. The truth is, my garden is neglected and whatever thrives there does so in spite of me. Yes, there are hydrangeas and Lenten roses and even lilacs. The hydrangeas are half-hearted while the hellebores are hogs, spanning out beyond their allotted space. And the lilacs. Awkward, leggy bushes that produce a small flowering every year because lilacs really don’t like Virginia’s heat and humidity (who can blame them?) but which I can’t bring myself to dig up because I love lilacs, though not enough to take better care of them in this swampy climate.
Our grass is more clover than grass these days, which, it turns out, I’m totally fine with. But beneath the soil we have a grub problem. Above ground we have trees that should have been pruned (or removed) years ago, when they were skinny volunteers but have now become too big to tackle, so we leave them to grow even taller.
I begin every spring with good intentions. I fill pots with geraniums and a small herb garden with marjoram and rosemary and whatever else failed to thrive the previous season. I stick two or three hot pepper plants into the ground and cross my fingers. I try to stay on top of weeding, which lasts all of five minutes. Eyeing the neighbors’ tulips, I promise myself I’ll plant bulbs in the fall (I never do).
By midsummer, I’m back to my slothful ways, ignoring the dandelions and encroaching crabgrass, neglecting to water the lavender and boxwood under the eaves until I can almost hear them gasping at me, pleading for relief. It’s about this time that I decide I don’t really need to go out onto the patio to relax at the end of the workday, knowing I’ll be wracked with guilt as I survey the slow devastation before me—though usually not enough to act. I realize, not for the first time, that I have never been the “puttering around the garden” type, at least not for decades. Give me a mountain of fava beans to shell and peel or a sink full of dirty pots and pans over a patch that needs weeding any old day.
As you might imagine, the Garden of Neglect was not the most pressing thing on my mind during my three-month “sojourn” in Italy this summer. I don’t believe I thought about it even once. Not until our cab from Dulles Airport pulled into our driveway and I stepped out and spied the giant sprays of leafless hosta stalks—the deer had gone to town to them—along the back fence, and our little fig tree by the garage, doing its best to stave off the spikes of nightshade and snaking tendrils of bindweed that had sprung up beneath it. The fig tree!
I planted the fig tree some 15 or 20 years ago from a cutting given to me by a neighbor. Did I nurture it in those early years? Did I fertilize the soil around it and prune it back before winter? I can’t remember. I had two young kids and hardly remembered my own name. Somehow, the cutting thrived—it must have liked its semi-protected spot near the garage—and before I knew it, I had a full-blown tree producing fruit every summer, whether I deserved it or not. I’ve come to rely on that tree for annual batches of fig jam, plus fig syrup, fig cakes, and fig crostata.
I was sure that this year the tree would be devoid of fruit by the time I got back from Italy; surely every last fig would have been consumed by the birds and the bees and the chipmunks and possibly some humans who, passing by, might have noticed them dangling like jewels from the branches. Instead, when I got out of the cab I saw that the branches were teeming with clusters of just-ripening fruit. Once again, the Garden of Neglect delivered.
The figs are Brown Turkey; not the prettiest nor the juiciest nor the sweetest variety, just so-so when eaten fresh. But they are wonderful sliced over Greek yogurt, with a little honey drizzled on top. And they make beautiful preserves, baked goods, and frozen treats, offering up both their delicately sweet, honey-vegetal flavor and their dusky color. And let’s not forget fig leaves, which impart a subtle coconut flavor and can be used, among other things, to wrap fish into packets for roasting or to infuse liqueur or ice cream.
RECIPE: Spiced Fig and Chocolate Preserves
Here’s my recipe for Spiced Fig and Chocolate Preserves with Cognac, which is spiced with star anise and cinnamon and has bittersweet chocolate stirred into it. If you can’t find Brown Turkey, use whatever fresh figs are available. They should be perfectly ripe, neither too firm nor too soft/bruised.
And if you’ve not tried yet preserves with chocolate, what are you waiting for?!
Two more recipes are behind the paywall:
CINNAMON-SPIKED FIG SORBETTO
and
FRESH FIG CAKE WITH HONEY AND RYE
Each of these recipes showcases figs in a different way. For the sorbetto, the fruit is puréed and completely incorporated into a mixture that is churned in an ice cream maker. The flavor is sweet, floral, delicate. As for the cake, pieces of fresh fruit are scattered thoughout, turning soft and jammy during baking.
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