Fig liqueur for a late summer evening.
Fig tree in full bloom | July 2020
Photo credit: Neha Doshi
The year this tree was planted, it bore no fruit. It was a wee sapling purchased from a Lowes or Home Depot, most likely of the Brown Turkey variety, selected by my father, a lover of figs.
The next year, the tree had grown, but the harvest remained as disappointing.
By its third year, the tree had buried its roots deep into the ground and made itself at home. It stretched its branches in all directions, obstructing access to the weathered steps leading to the porch and the lawn mower’s path to the patch of grass shaded by its branches. But the tree bore fruit. Two purplish figs were spotted atop the tree on a mid-July day. Before my mother could find a ladder tall enough to reach them, the birds had swooped down from the skies to claim their share. Only stems and fleshy remains were left behind. We lamented the loss of what certainly would have been a delectably sweet fruit.
Come year four, the fig tree nearly touched the sky. It doubled its production and bore four figs, two of which were claimed by the birds. I can't remember what happened to the two we managed to salvage. They were likely offered to the Gods by my grandmother, and then carefully cut into five pieces and distributed--a fifth for each family member. The fig flesh was sweet and its seeds slightly bitter.
Photo credit: Neha Doshi
Year five brought with it a vicious husband and wife hornet couple, intent on making the well-shaded branches of the tree home to generations of their vicious hornet offspring. We gathered around the tree one summer evening, while our neighbor Aaron and my dad charged towards the hornet nest, armed with insecticide spray. My mom raised her hands to cover her ears and screamed, as the two men fired at the nest and all surrounding branches. My brother and I shook our heads, amused yet unsurprised. This was yet another story in our long book of infestation tales that included the 2006 wasp infiltration and the 2011 raccoon occupation.
Year five was also the year the tree decided to bless us with bushels of figs. Hundreds--no wait--thousands of figs sprung from its branches. My father proclaimed it a miracle and investigated opportunities to plant more trees--a new venture, a fig farm, a fig factory! My mother frantically tried plucking as many of figs as possible and churned out new fig recipes on the daily. Fig salad! Dehydrated figs! Fig Gallettes! Fig chutney! Fig sabzi! Figs for the neighbors and co-workers and birds!
Photo credit: Neha Doshi
Every year since, the fig tree has produced masses of figs, sprawling itself even further out. Last summer, a new porch was built. To make space for its wooden pillars, the fig tree’s limbs were hacked away. Still, come spring, new shoots with bright green buds emerged. The fig harvest remained bountiful and my father canned over a hundred jars of fig jam mixed with bourbon, vanilla, rosemary, vodka--really anything that struck his fancy.
Now, as I move from city to city in places far away from my small hometown, I mostly hear of the recent fig chronicles through phone calls with my mother and brother. Pictures detail their elaborate kitchen experiments and comical antics. This year, I returned home for the month of July, right before the figs ripened. I tried a new recipe: fig liqueur. It was syrupy, sweet, and such a treat to sip on in a late summery evening. Definitely something to make for years to come.
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Fig Liqueur Recipe: Adapted from Gunther Anderson
1 pound ripe figs. Frozen and mashed or fresh and gently cut. It is important to be gentle with the fruit--chop it too finely and the seeds get crushed and impart a bitter taste. Freezing breaks the fruit flesh down, eliminating the need to use a knife.
½ cup sugar
2 cups vodka. I used a mid tier brand (Smirnoff 80 proof). It’s tasteless and lets the flavor of fruit shine through.
1-2 vanilla beans. Use good quality beans-- they impart a creamy taste and when infused with the figs taste like chocolate.
Directions:
With a knife, roughly chop 1 pound of fresh figs. I used the Brown Turkey Variety. If you have frozen your figs, you can tear them apart with your fingers. Add chopped figs to a large glass jar. Next, pour in 2-2.5 cups of Vodka, add vanilla bean, and 1/2 cup of white sugar. You can adjust the sugar measurement according to taste.
Close the jar and vigorously shake. Place the mixture in a cool, shaded area or ideally the fridge. Let sit for 2-3 weeks, giving the bottle a shake every 2-3 days. Then, using a cheesecloth, strain out the fig liqueur, wringing out the pulp. Bottle and keep refrigerated. Enjoy alone or as an addition to cocktails!
