Organic, Pear-sized Figs

There are many legendary spots around town I've yet to visit as a Berkeley student (and am constantly teased about this by a particular friend). The Rose Garden and Botanical Gardens are still on my list, but I finally managed to hike my way up to the "big C."

Over the weekend I was able to check off another destination from my list when L. brought D. and I to the Student Organic Garden. From outside the fence overgrown with vegetation it's hard to make out the garden. However once inside, we faced a rambling overgrowth of heavy sunflowers drooping with half-eaten seeds, squash beds, blackberry brambles, several strawberry patches, colorful sprays of rainbow chard, and a sharp, ubiquitous scent of mint. It was obvious that the whole place needed a bit of upkeep, but it was still managing to produce edibles despite this. Smack in the center of the garden was a stately fig tree, which we naturally migrated towards for shade. I was taken aback when I saw figs budding from the branches like dark green water balloons. They ranged from the size of golf balls to small Barlett pears; I've never seen anything like it. About half the figs were spitting with nectar from their seams and were indescribably sweet, fresh, and perfectly soft. We harvested well over $50 worth of fruit (total head count 84 figs), not including the dozen or so we ate on site.



What to do with such a lovely, unexpected find? I am normally too protective of certain favorite fruits to cook with them - persimmons, figs, peaches, papayas - their flavor, texture, and image are ideally captured as fresh fruit. They're also expensive to experiment with. However having foraged more figs that we could manage to eat fresh, D. suggested I make jam from the overly ripe ones (about a quarter of the harvest). Nothing's easier than mashing figs together with some sugar and a splash of water, a quick boil before simmering for two to three hours until it reaches a thick consistency. I like mine more saucy than jammy so I omitted pectin called for in some recipes. I also added a quarter of a vanilla bean in towards the end for good measure. Some recipes call for cinnamon and / or a touch of lemon juice if desired, but I wanted to maintain the purest fig flavor possible.



The next morning I enjoyed a breakfast of plain yogurt topped with crumbles of soft chèvre and a few teaspoons of the fig sauce. I experienced the figs on a whole new level with this combination. The tangy chèvre was enhanced by the condensed sweetness of the figs and its small chunks contrasted with the creaminess of the yogurt. I made a second serving after finishing one small bowl and decided to have this dish for dessert later on in the week.

Other plans for the remaining figs:
- Crusty bread smeared with goat cheese and topped with fresh figs
- Goat cheese tart baked with halved figs
- Fromage blanc bavarian cake with fig sauce - recipe from the Tartine Cookbook

Fruit Tree Lane

Early summer reveals all sorts of growing wonders. On a one mile jog down one of the quiet avenues in my neighborhood, it has become clear that the landscaper in charge of this stretch of road had a fondness for fruit trees in public spaces. A scattering of loquat, apples, pears, and a variety of small plums can be found in a bee-line path bordering the road. Aside from providing shade and a return-to-nature feel, these trees offer ripening orbs of sweet and tart fruits available for the taking. The satisfaction of plucking fresh plums, deep purple, bright yellow, or light green, trumps buying any produce in a market, never mind their slight mushy imperfection or irregular shapes.

(Hunter)-GATHERER
Urban foraging has gained popularity amongst chefs and community members. This article from the New York times describes how the phenomenon has taken off.

Foraging is fairly straightforward. A set of rules describing what is public versus private domain set the guidelines for what falls within the playing field. Mostly even when the foragers are "caught" snitching from privately owned trees whose fruit happens to hang over publicly shared space, most owners are more than happy to contribute their bounty once the foragers' mission is announced.

Other websites have emerged to facilitate the exchange of home-grown fruit. Neighborhood Fruit is a community organizing website that allows people to register their fruit trees on their site and enable other members to find donated fruit in their area by variety and quantity.

PASTORALIST
A few weeks ago, I pulled the first of 98 carrots from its patch in the garden. It was a premature harvesting but delightful in every way nonetheless. This was soon followed by a tightly woven, gorgeous monster of a cabbage, zucchinis whose delicate flowers have slowly ballooned into deep green squash, a few precious strawberries protected from slugs...the garden was transforming with the arrival of warmer weather.



Many others before me have described the elation of planting their own vegetable garden and harvesting from it. I'm not merely talking about small windowsill herb planters (I've kept several), this is my first real garden complete with aligned planting rows and tomato bushes with upside down hoop-skirt supports. My mom's green thumb and knack for keeping most plants healthy and beautiful never took much interest in growing edible things. However only the sower of the carrot seed can best understand the satisfaction of dislodging a mangled, stunted root from the dirt behind his or her dwelling. (The carrots had developed into a mystery patch of artistic sculptures, a casualty of transplanting rather than sowing directly into the ground; you never know what life form you're going to pull up next). What first began as an interest in the produce I bought to cook my meals, developed into a curiosity about the background of these ingredients, urged me into the back kitchens of a restaurant committed to supporting local farmers (including a woman who had raised a pig in her Bay Area backyard), and has most lately left me digging my fingers into the dirt to nurture my own plants.


(Crossing her legs)

The journey is cyclical and unending, always spurred by curiosity. Curiosity in a new ingredient, where it is grown, how it is grown and how it can be prepared. One thing I've come to realize is that the snails and caterpillars who nibble on my mesclun have got it right, this stuff is damn tasty.