I had a birthday recently, and for some strange reason received a lot of food-themed gifts. Not only were they well thought out, from a flavor standpoint they almost all worked together! Some grand conspiracy, or a lucky guy that has a really unique and delightful group of friends that know me pretty well…I’ll take the latter. I hope you’ll indulge me here, as I want to acknowledge and thank the culprits responsible for this truly delicious mini-culinary event I constructed from some very tasty loot. The theme, as it happily turned out, was figs and cheese.
“There was an Old Person of Ischia,
Whose conduct grew friskier and friskier;
He danced hornpipes and jigs,
And ate thousands of figs,
That lively Old Person of Ischia.”
While I’m not old, have never lived in Ischia (which is actually an island in the Gulf of Naples), and certainly don’t dance hornpipes or jigs (there may be some dispute about that), I do eat figs. Thousands? Maybe over a lifetime with a little effort, but that’s not exactly the point, is it? The guy loved figs, and they made him frisky. Frisky I’ll admit to, even when I’m not eating figs, but I digress. I love figs probably about as much as our old, lively friend, and have eaten them in various guises for as long as I can remember. Seasonally fresh, dried, poached in apple juice with Moroccan spices, and after they’ve been converted into jam, I’ll have the lot. Like most people however, it all started with Fig Newtons, which are off my menu now forever due to the preponderance of decidedly non-fig ingredients. But don’t despair; there are alternatives, if you know the right people.
So let’s get figgy, ok?
This all started when I, unbeknownst to my friends, purchased a box of fig crackers made by The Fine Cheese Company located in Bath, England at The Truffle cheese shop here in Denver. My plan was to hold onto them until I came across an unusual blue cheese and then break them out. And then, as if delivered by some supernatural hands of destiny (Saint Uguzon’s maybe, he’s the patron saint of cheese mongers, as I’m sure you’re aware), the blue cheese came to me. And not just any run of the mill blue, no, we’re not talking Maytag or gorgonzola here, as good as they can be. No, this one was special.
Behold the cheesy deliciousness known as Saint Agur (Thank you, Andre’). As blues go, this is in my opinion the king. Made in the Auvergne region of central France, Saint Agur is a pasteurized cow’s milk cheese with olive green veins running through it that develop while the cheese is cave-aged in octagonal molds for around 2 months. Unlike a lot of French blues, this one has 60% butterfat and so qualifies as a double-cream cheese, which makes it spreadable rather than crumbly. But, sadly, there is no Saint Agur. The name was made up by some crafty French cheese makers around 1988. But it sounds cool, so let’s not nit-pick about that. I’ll tell you how it tasted in a bit.
I invite you to direct your attention to the immediate left of the cheese. There you’ll see something equally special in the form of hand-made fig bars (Thank you, Michelle- @SugarLoveGirl on Twitter). These are to Fig Newtons as a fine home-baked focaccia is to Wonder Bread. There is no comparison. And they were sublime. The center was a moist, mildly sweet, jammy filling made with fresh figs, encased in a slightly flakey scratch pastry with hints of butter and salt. The balance of flavors was just right, and I polished them off in one sitting.
Let’s put it all together and run a taste test, fig in the cracker versus fig on the cracker. First though, a fresh fig to cleanse the palate. You’ll see a fresh Brown Turkey fig (Thank you, Angie and Paul) there in the background next to a dried Black Mission fig, included to provide a little contrast both in color and flavor. The Brown Turkey fig was very nice, gently sweet and mild in comparison to the Black Mission fig’s intense and heavy sweetness which of course was heightened due to drying. I was now steeled for the upcoming Contest of the Crackers!
In the red corner, all the way from Great Britain, weighing in at 5 grams, Fig Cracker! These luxury hexagonal crackers were interesting on their own. Upon opening the box the first think I noticed was how many of them were broken. Was it because they’d made a rather long journey from Bath to my place? Or were there other forces at work here? Flavor wise, they were more wheaty and grainy than I expected. The taste of fig emerged with hints of sweetness the more I chewed, melding with the cereal and salt flavors into a pleasant and unusual amalgam. Texturally, they were a little soft, breaking apart easily with just a little pressure, and exhibited a slightly dusty characteristic as far as mouth feel was concerned.
In the blue corner, hailing from Carlisle in the United Kingdom, weighing in at 5 grams, Carr’s Table Water Cracker! What’s to say but that these mainstays of the cracker world have very little intrinsic flavor and are perfect vehicles for cheeses, spreads, and dips. They’re also pretty robust and hold their own when pinned under a piece if Red Leicester or blanketed with a dollop of tapenade. Or fig jam.
Fig jam, or spread, is the water cracker’s wing man when paired with a blue cheese, lending its deep and well-rounded sweetness with a hint of honey to the cheeses sharp saltiness. I used Dalmatia Fig Spread which is domestic and can be found just about everywhere.
And just how did the Saint Agur taste? It was extraordinary. Unlike many of the more assertive blues, Saint Agur has a moderate sharpness that’s balanced by both a high cream content and relatively low salt content, which gives it a luxurious and somewhat spicy melt in your mouth start with a creamy unctuous finish. It was also eminently spreadable after coming to room temperature; however the fig crackers were so delicate that several broke from the mere act of trying to get the cheese off of the knife and onto the cracker. The water crackers held up without problem, and all that was left was to spoon a little fig jam on the cheese and taste.
Oh, and pour a little port, as blue cheese and port go together swimmingly. I sipped a Quinta de la Rosa Lote 601 ruby port from Portugal and found its sweet finish a good foil to the creaminess of the cheese. You might also drink a Cabernet Franc or Sauternes if you’re not a port fan.
And the winner? While the fig crackers were intriguing, their subtle figginess was completely overpowered by the complex yet not overly-strong flavor of the cheese. I also didn’t like the fact that they didn’t offer a great deal of textural contrast due to their propensity to disintegrate almost as soon as you pop them into your mouth. The water cracker, on the other hand, remained crunchy for a good while and intermingled with rather then disappeared into the cheese. The fig jam was perfect, assertive enough to add a nice sweet undertone while not masking the cheeses spice and subtle salt.
I sang a verse of the happy birthday song to myself as I savored my gifts, relaxing in the lounge and listening to Dave Brubeck, already looking forward to next November.
