Figs. It's not the misspelled name of those farmed animals where we get our breakfast smoked bacon and holiday ham from—forgive me for the dad joke. These maroonish and velvety–skinned fruits are some of my favourite that I wish would always be available all year–round. But then, if you come to think of it, that's the beauty of seasonal fruits—there's that unexplainable giddy delight when they finally come, at least for me.
Surprisingly, about two weeks ago, one of my few thoughtful friends brought figs for me from her own backyard. I was tempted to eat them fresh straight away, but I calmed down and decided to use them for my next cooking/baking project. Actually, I often consider cooking as a rejuvenating therapy for me and not as a chore, especially when done at my own pace and leisure, in the serenity of a tranquil and homely kitchen without distractions. Turning to Marseille–based French chef Gérald Passedat's cookbook Flavors from the French Mediterranean for inspiration, I incorporated these succulent figs with vanilla frangipane (a custard–like almond cream) on a homemade pâte brisée (shortcrust pastry) shell to make Tarte aux Figues (or “Fig Tart” in English). As with many baked goods, the smell of the tart in the oven wafted a pleasurable aroma in our kitchen.
This Fig Tart is fairly simple to make. First, you need to have pâte brisée, or you can get a store–bought one, if you prefer. I previously made a shortcrust pastry some months ago, kept them in the freezer, and defrosted it inside the refrigerator a day before I planned to make the tart. If you'd like to make the pastry by hand, it would depend on the size of your baking dish. My flour–to–butter (or margarine) ratio is usually 2:1 (i.e. 2 parts flour for every 1 part fat). Start with around 500 g plain flour and 250 g butter and mix them together with your hand until they resemble breadcrumbs. Then, add 1 beaten egg (or a bit of plain tap water; some people use cold water, soda water, etc.) to the flour–fat mixture and combine them together until they form a ball of dough. (Since this crust would be used for dessert, some people add icing or powdered sugar to make the dough as pâte brisée sucrée (sucrée = “sweet”), prior to adding the egg. In such case, you may want to include about a 100 g icing sugar or so.) You may need to add a bit flour, if the dough appears wet. Or, a bit more water, if the dough looks crumbly and dry. Cover the dough with plastic wrap and let it rest inside the fridge for at least 30 minutes.
While waiting, preheat your oven to 180°C and prepare the vanilla frangipane. The main ingredient for this frangipane is almond meal. In case you don't have some, you can make almond meal by processing whole almond nuts in a food processor until they become powder–like. Combine together ⅔ cup almond meal, ⅓ cup sugar, 4 tbsp softened butter, and a splash of vanilla essence. Afterwards, blend in 1 egg. And there you have it—the resulting mixture is your uncooked vanilla frangipane. As with the pâte brisée, you may reduce or increase the sweetness of your frangipane according to your preference by adding less or more sugar, respectively. Again, depending on the depth of your tart pan or number of people you would feed/entertain, you may need to double, triple, or so this basic frangipane recipe. Any cooked frangipane leftover would make a delicious spread on toast anyway or just by itself—spoon it in your mouth, like what I childishly do each time I open a jar of Nutella®.
For the figs, which are the stars of this dessert, slice them into any shape you like: wedges, half–moons, circles, etc. As I only have a very small plastic punnet of fresh figs, I cut them into simple rounds, in order to maximise and totally cover—hopefully—the whole tart top.
After resting the dough, take it out from the fridge, line it on your baking dish, and blind–bake it. One trick I learned though is, after lining the dough on your tray, you may want to freeze it for about 1 – 2 hours before blind–baking it. This technique somehow prevents the lined dough from shrinking as you bake it, but this could just be another old wives' tale. I would completely understand if you take my advice with a grain of salt—no hard feelings.
While waiting, preheat your oven to 180°C and prepare the vanilla frangipane. The main ingredient for this frangipane is almond meal. In case you don't have some, you can make almond meal by processing whole almond nuts in a food processor until they become powder–like. Combine together ⅔ cup almond meal, ⅓ cup sugar, 4 tbsp softened butter, and a splash of vanilla essence. Afterwards, blend in 1 egg. And there you have it—the resulting mixture is your uncooked vanilla frangipane. As with the pâte brisée, you may reduce or increase the sweetness of your frangipane according to your preference by adding less or more sugar, respectively. Again, depending on the depth of your tart pan or number of people you would feed/entertain, you may need to double, triple, or so this basic frangipane recipe. Any cooked frangipane leftover would make a delicious spread on toast anyway or just by itself—spoon it in your mouth, like what I childishly do each time I open a jar of Nutella®.
For the figs, which are the stars of this dessert, slice them into any shape you like: wedges, half–moons, circles, etc. As I only have a very small plastic punnet of fresh figs, I cut them into simple rounds, in order to maximise and totally cover—hopefully—the whole tart top.
After resting the dough, take it out from the fridge, line it on your baking dish, and blind–bake it. One trick I learned though is, after lining the dough on your tray, you may want to freeze it for about 1 – 2 hours before blind–baking it. This technique somehow prevents the lined dough from shrinking as you bake it, but this could just be another old wives' tale. I would completely understand if you take my advice with a grain of salt—no hard feelings.
Finally, spread the vanilla frangipane on the blind–baked shell, place the fig slices/wedges on top, and bake in the oven for about half an hour or until golden brown and the frangipane has cooked through. Cool down the baked Fig Tart before slicing and serving.
Figs take the honour of being one of the handful of fruits mentioned in the Holy Scriptures. You'll probably never look at figs the same way again. Having fought a short bout of depression and loneliness—yet again—recently, I remembered and reflected on a passage from His Word which consoled me:
“Even though the fig trees have no blossoms,
and there are no grapes on the vines;
even though the olive crop fails,
and the fields lie empty and barren;
even though the flocks die in the fields,
and the cattle barns are empty,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord!
I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!
The Sovereign Lord is my strength!
He makes me as sure–footed as a deer,
able to tread upon the heights.”
— Habakkuk 3:17–19a (NLT)
We all have our individual struggles and battles in life, as well as uncertainties and circumstances that are beyond our control. Yet despite those, we believers still have that unspeakable joy and we choose to remain faithful to our Heavenly Father who holds the future. Although we sometimes get sidetracked with life, drag ourselves, and strive to be joyful, He promises to do good to those who trust Him and to equip us, to conform us to Christ, and to give us the grace we need to endure hardships and to persevere in discipleship, love, and holiness to the end.
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 (NIV)
“Not that I was ever in need, for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength.”
— Philippians 4:11–13 (NLT)
Should we go on our own selfish ways and continue drifting aimlessly through life or are we going to follow, trust, and place our faith in God and yield to His will and sovereignty for our lives?
“When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.”
— Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship
“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.”
— Romans 8:28 (NLT)
