Fig Paradise: Lost and Regained

I fancy an after-dinner slice of chocolate torte or macadamia nut tart every now and then, but there is no better end to a summer meal than some slices of fresh cheese and a few ripe figs. A dollop of honey and a dusting of black pepper turn this little treat into something decadent, something, I will even admit, that induces nostalgic fantasies when fresh figs cannot be had. These figgy feelings have almost allowed me to make sense of a certain Bible story that features a full-out temper tantrum, suffered by a fig tree and thrown by the Son of God.

Now, in the morning as he returned into the city, he was hungry. And when he saw a fig tree by the road, he came to it, and found nothing on it, but leaves only, and said to it, "Let no fruit grow on you henceforward forever." And presently the fig tree withered away.
And when the disciples saw it, they marveled, saying, "How soon has the fig tree withered away!" (Matthew 21:18-20).

A six year old can comprehend crying and stomping over a Snickers bar or pack of Bubbilicious gum. Longing for these treats had brought on such scenes featuring a certain sweet-toothed girl in the candy aisle of Lloyd's Convenient Store. But never had I made such a fuss over anything belonging to the fruit and vegetable food group. Jesus, I thought, must have been a very healthy eater. Or, figs must be really good. I had never had one.

Along with beef tartare and pastry encrusted lamb shanks, fresh figs were among the novel foodstuffs I discovered several years ago during a week I spent in Paris with my brand new husband. Since then, I've been able to see Christ's reaction from a more informed perspective. He was hungry for figs, after all. Fresh Figs. I couldn't imagine mustering the same amount of understanding if his fruit hankerings had brought him to curse a pear tree or blackberry bush. Nevertheless, I always felt sorry for the poor fig tree, assuming as I did that its failure to bear fruit must, at least in part, have been the fault of climate or soil composition.

If I may quote scripture against scripture, there is good biblical evidence that the fig, this abomination in the eyes of Christ, was not meant to be a thing cursed. Recall that Adam and Eve departed the Garden of Eden with fig leaves covering their newly shameful parts. The fig tree, it follows, belonged in Paradise. But perhaps even fig trees suffered the fall from grace, and that poor tree in Matthew paid the price for Adam and Eve's preference for a certain other fruit. I am inclined to think that figs today preserve the taste and texture of their prelapsarian ancestors. How can perfection have been more perfect? If figs are marked by the Fall, their failure to bear fruit throughout the year and in all climates must be the scars of sin.

A few evenings ago, I had the occasion to offer dessert to two philosophy professors sitting at a table in my backyard. Having just brought home a few containers of figs, I intended to serve my Platonic vision of summer dessert. It was to my surprise that temptation began to worm its way into my menu. I could honor the natural perfection of my figs by plunking them down next to a slice of cheese. But might I choose instead to tamper with perfection? Might I discover something novel, something, perhaps, beyond perfection? Fallen creature that I am, I chose to tamper.

But not too much.

This tart preserves its figs' perfect qualities by keeping them nearly unembellished. The whole thing starts with a sturdy, not-too-sweet pastry crust flecked with thyme. This edible plate holds the filling which, conceived most simply, is cheese and figs: marscapone, perked up with lemon, and rounded off with honey. Sliced figs rest on top. A honey glaze brings out their natural sweetness, protects their flesh, and gives them a pretty sheen.

Is perfection multifarious? Adam and Eve imagined as much. Plato did not. I was tempted and offered my philosopher companions to eat of my fruit. They ate, and proclaimed that it was good.

Lemon Marscapone Fig Tart
This recipe has been cobbled together from several tart recipes, but it most closely resembles one that appeared in the June 2003 issue of Gourmet. Serves 6.


1 tart dough recipe: I used one of Ms. Stewart's. I like this one because it doesn't require cutting in butter. You just cream butter and sugar in a mixer and then add the dry ingredients. Incidentally, I didn't manage to transfer my dough from my counter to the tart tin without it tearing into several pieces. I think that this was more of a kitchen temperature issue than a recipe issue (the dimensions of my kitchen are such that if the oven is preheating, the entire kitchen is preheating). But I just pressed the dough into the tart tin and forced it up the sides with my fingers and it turned out just fine. Her recipe does not include the 2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme which I added to the dough before baking it.

For filling:
1/3 cup light sour cream
1 cup marscapone cheese (8 oz..)
3 tablespoons honey, divided
2 teaspoons finely grated zest of lemon
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons red currant or fig jelly
1 1/2 pounds fresh figs

1. Make and bake the crust. This can be done a day ahead, if you like.
2. Prepare filling: Whisk together sour cream, marscapone, 2 tablespoons honey, lemon zest, and salt in a bowl. This can be done a day ahead and kept tightly covered in the fridge.
3. Heat remaining teaspoon honey and jelly in small saucepan over low heat, whisking until the jelly melts.
4. While the glaze cools a bit, slice the figs lengthwise into 1/4 inch slices and arrange over cream. Brush figs with honey glaze.