One Hungry Chef

I'll never understand fruit tree owners. See, I live in a small two-bedroom apartment in the city. My personal green space is limited to a tiny cube of a bricked balcony, upon which I have done my best to scratch out a garden. I've attempted, with varying success, basil (Fail), tomatoes (Success), thyme (F), coriander (S), rosemary (S developing into F), lettuce (very mild S), strawberries (F), lavender (S), various bulbs (some S), tomatillos (F), jasmine (S), and many others mostly (F). I am absolutely desperate to have a little plot of land wherein I might grow things (I'm also hoping that my success rate improves once I diversify from planting in pots). This desire leads me to jealously eye-off little bits of land which are both owned and, well, under-utilized. I see, as I wander about Sydney, dusty yards, bricked over, occupied by tired cacti in leaky clay pots. I can't help but think what I might do with a few square metres of green.

I suppose it's easy to be an armchair gardener. I can't really say that, given any of the same spaces, I'd do any better. Besides, my tiny balcony is a bit barren at the moment. What I am sure of, however, is that given a fruit tree or two, I'd fare much better than the average. I see so many fruit trees in the city, many of them hanging over fences or planted on median strips, that completely go to waste. I can tell, if you care to know, where you might watch, season after season, a multitude of fruits blossom, ripen, fall, and rot unused. Just across the street, for example, there is a gargantuan loquat tree; I manage to grab a few each year, but the majority end up in the gutter.



Walk around the corner, in two directions, and you'll find two mulberry trees. One is so old and tall I never knew it existed, until I noticed purple pavement one day. The fruit is so far out of reach it is only abstract. The other, with fruit once reachable, has been cut back so severely in favor of a terrace renovation it will be years before it's berries stain the footpath again.

Within the same radius are several front-garden lemon trees anyone might notice, as the over-ripe citrus litters the surrounding sidewalks. Not far away is an alleyway covered with a canopy of grape vines, which spend all summer hanging with ripening wine grapes, and all winter covering fermenting waste.

I know where one can collect several jars of olives, with no effort, if you've only a step-ladder and the will (and possibly the permission of my mate Jules, who planted the tree as a child). Apples? Pears? Peaches? Bananas? Yep. Now and again I even spot a stray tomato plant (sandwich filling gone astray?). Like the rest, they probably end up as mulch.

Again, I'm not positive I wouldn't waste a orange here or a nectarine there, but I'm sure I'd make a better fruit tree owner. I know it's not possible to eat the full amount of fruit a tree produces, but surely a combination of consumption, preservation, and gifting can take care of the majority.

I come about this particular line of thought not only because it is the beginning of autumn here in OZ, a time when I see an inordinate amount of locally grown fruit being wasted, but also because I recently received a gift of a rather large bag of unwanted figs. These came courtesy of my mother-in-law who, during a recent visit to the country, collected the abandoned little fruits from a tree owned by a family on holidays. They were not scheduled to return, my mother-in-law was assured, until long after the last fig dropped.

A basket of figs is quite a bounty, as the little fruits typically sell for about $1.50 each here in OZ. Given the state of the majority, I knew most of them were destined to be jam. This is not a sad thing, for a jar or two of fig jam is quite the thing to look forward to on the cool winter mornings ahead.



As for my own fruit tree ownership, well, I've got a small start. Quietly, my father-in-law is kindly looking after an apple tree for me, one which I planted in his garden. It's a twig of a thing, a clone of a roadside apple tree from which I sometimes manage to pinch a few apples. They are the most delicious, crisp, sweet, pink-blushed apples I've had. My little tree has yet to fruit, but when it does, I won't be wasting a bit.

Spiced Fig, Hazelnut, and Frangipane Tart

Right. Figs are expensive down under, as I might have mentioned above. Fig jam, then, seems like quite a luxury. And it is, unless you can get a bag full of free figs from someone. Next best thing? Make friends with your local produce manager. Figs are expensive, not because they are scarce, but because they spoil and bruise easily and must be thrown out. Take advantage of this fact and tell your local fruit guy you'll buy half a kilo of the ones he'll otherwise throw out if he'll sell you them at half price. Toss in a half kilo of the most under-ripe ones (more pectin in under-ripe fruit) at the same price as well, and you've got the makings of a perfect jam.

The figs themselves here are not actually spiced; in fact, these whole figs are so beautiful I only slice them in half and bake them into the tart. The spices, namely cinnamon, star anise, and bay leaf, are infused in the fig jam, which hides on the base of the tart.

4 large, perfect figs, halved
4 Tbsp spiced fig jam (below)
1 unbaked tart case (also below)
frangipane and hazelnut filling (also also below)

Preheat your oven to 180ºC. Gently melt the fig jam in a small pot on low heat. Spread the warm jam in a thin layer onto the prepared tart base. Spoon in the frangipane and hazelnut filling and spread it evenly, it should not quite fill the shell. Arrange the figs, cut side up, in a circular pattern around the tart, pressing them down into the frangipane.

Bake the tart for 30-35 minutes, until the tart appears cooked in the centre: the tart will no longer appear liquid and will move as one mass when gently shaken in the oven. Remove from heat, cool slightly, remove from tart tin, and cool completely. Serve room temperature with a bit of cream, whipped or not.

Spiced Fig Jam

So, it turns out that FIG JAM is an acronym for a phrase someone with an abundance of self confidence might utter. Someone like me. (I'll let you look it up.) I didn't know this before poking around on the intranets, but I'm a-gonna' tuck that one away for latter.

1 k figs, mix of over-ripe and under-ripe
600g sugar
1 cinnamon quill
1 star anise
1 bay leaf
1 lemon, zest and juice

Stem and roughly chop the figs. Mix these in a non-reactive sauce pan with the sugar and stand for at least an hour. This time allows the sugar to draw out some of the moisture from the figs and alleviates the need to add any extra water to the jam, which would then need to be cooked out again.

Add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a simmer over low heat. Simmer for one hour, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat, cool, cover and sit overnight. This step helps draw out as much pectin as possible (and is a common step in marmalade making).

The next day, return th lot to the boil and simmer until it reaches setting stage. Setting stage usually happens around 104ºC. When you jam reaches this temperature, begin testing it by dropping a bit onto a plate you have stored in your freezer; return it to the freezer for a moment. If, when you push the jam drop with your finger, a little skin wrinkles up, it has reached setting stage.

Remove the solid herbs, transfer the jam to sterilized jars, seal, and cool.

Pastry

I'm not using my usual pastry recipe for this one, I wanted something a little less “short.” Add a pinch of salt and this make a fine savory pastry as well.

250 flour
160 cold butter, diced
1 egg
1 yolk
1 Tbsp cold water

Combine the flour and butter in a food processor and process until the mixture resembles fine bread crumbs. With the processor running, add the eggs and water and work just until it pulls together in the machine. Turn onto a board and work once or twice to bring the dough into a ball. Flatten into a disk, wrap in cling film, and rest in the fridge at least half an hour.

Roll out the pastry on a floured board until it is a large disk about ½ cm thick. Transfer to a lined 20cm pastry tin with a removable bottom or (as I have) a 24cm pastry ring on a tray. Trim and rest again in the fridge for at least half an hour before use.

Frangipane

Frangipane is one of those magical kitchen substances that has an equal ratio of butter, sugar, and almond meal. I like that kind of thing. It's tidy.

100 butter, softened
100 icing sugar
1 egg
2 yolks
100 alomnd meal
1tsp almond essence
50g hazelnuts, toasted, kibbled in a mortar and pestal

Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing until each is incorporated. Mix in the remaining ingredients. This can be made ahead and stored in the fridge for several days.