Sep

Sunny September Living in France

Figs

It is early September and all the children are back at school. The fête tables have been packed away for another year and according to the calendar summer is over – but not here. Fortunately for those of us who have the luck to live and work in this enchanting little corner of France September is usually a particularly hot month, and so it is proving to be. The figs on numerous trees in every garden, potager and country lane are dripping with luscious purple fruit, the roads beneath them a slippery hazard to little old ladies with bent backs, flimsy sticks and bulging marketing baskets. I feel it’s my duty to pick the dropping fruit and relieve the anxiety, so yesterday afternoon I set off with a large basket, a stick and our neighbours dog – who wasn’t invited, but came anyway – to gather the surplus harvest. It’s a bit like blackberrying in the English hedgerows, but without the prickles, with a lot more wasps and very much larger rewards.
And it wasn’t long before I realised I’d grossly underestimated the extent of this annual bounty. I sat down in the shade of a tree on the edge of a nearby village for a rest, a fig or two and a long drink. Whilst I was sitting there contemplating the meaning of life and wondering whether to strip to a bikini top, one of the recipients of my charitable intentions hobbled slowly into view. I know her by sight, but we’ve never spoken. She saw what I’d been up to and made a beeline for me – slightly disconcerting considering the already fallen fruit.

Tomatoes

‘Ah, les figues!’ She began, incontestably, ‘moi, j’adore les figues.’ She sat down on a handy outcrop of rock, scratched the dog with the end of her stick, and went on to discuss all sorts of figgy recipes with the knowledge and quiet confidence of one used to a verbal recitation of reliable dishes passed on to her by her mother. She in turn had learned them from her mother and so on down through the generations. ‘I don’t make much any more,’ Madame told me ruefully, ‘there’s nobody to eat it.’ Suddenly she changed tack and asked me if I were fond of quinces. I hedged, because there are only a certain number of dishes you can make with quinces. But she wasn’t to be deflected. ‘This tree – she waved her stick at a magnificent roadside specimen twenty metres away – has beautiful fruit, every year it is loaded and I can’t eat it all. Of course it’s not ripe yet, but in October…’ she let it hang. And naturally I promised to pick some. She was delighted, thrilled, and at once launched into a recipe for quince marmalade passed down in her family from her Spanish grandmother. I wouldn’t need many; the quince is a very large fruit. I nodded and thanked her, we exchanged kisses, and the dog and I continued on our way.
This morning in the market, as I availed myself of some vast Coeur de Boeuf tomatoes and crisp, late summer lettuces, I spotted a tiny stall selling homemade preserves. Later as I queued for my poulet rôti – the delectable aromas of roasting chickens and ducks wafting over my head and causing my tummy to twist – I took a closer look at the funny little stall. It was an upturned wine barrel covered with a checked cloth. The ancient lady seated comfortably behind it in the shade of a large plane tree smiled and held out a spoonful of raspberry and peach compote, but I had enough fruit of my own to contend with. She was selling preserves of all the traditional summer fruits, including peach and almond and even blueberry. And right at the back, there was one glowing amber jar of quince jelly. My mind drifted back to the fig trees and my promise. I decided that when I went back to pick the quinces I would take Madame a jar of the fig preserve I intended to make.
She doesn’t make her own any more, so I expect she would like that.
Back home on the terrace I placed a tomato and basil salad on the table beside the warm, crispy poulet. There was a slight breeze blowing softly through the lemon trees. Quince and lemon jelly perhaps?
Yet another Quercy treat to look forward to!
© Amanda Lawrence 2007