I put figs in the same camp as black licorice: People love them—or hate them. There never seems to be a middle ground.

If you’re in the first group, then man-oh-man, are you in for a treat.

Personally, I love figs. (And black licorice, if you’re keeping score.) They’re sweet; they’re earthy. Not to mention, they’re also nutritional powerhouses. Fresh figs are a great source of vitamins B6 and K, manganese, potassium, and fiber.

Ya, ya, I know it’s questionable to call them healthy when they’re drenched in maple syrup…But still.

I think the only thing that would make these better is if they were sprinkled with crispy bits of bacon. (Hmm, now there’s an idea.)

I got on my most recent fig kick when I was testing recipes last month for my cookbook, Slushed. The Whiskey & Fig Gelato I came up with is now a house favorite. This would make an amazing topping.

These little babies are really simple to make. Just find the ripest figs you can. (I used black mission, but you could do this with Turkish, too.) Slice them in half. Drench them with maple syrup. Sprinkle with spices and roast for about 15 minutes.

As the figs heat up, they start to let out their luscious juice. It mingles with the maple syrup and creates a heavenly sauce that’s fragrant with thyme and black pepper.

That’s it.

How can you tell when figs are ripe?

Good question. A ripe fig will feel be soft to the touch—but not too soft. It should feel like a ready-to-eat peach or avocado. You want it to have a little give to the skin and flesh, but not feel mushy.

Figs are one of those fruits that need to be picked when ripe (they won’t continue to ripen after picked, like an avocado). For this reason, be sure you’re happy with the ones you bring home from the market, ’cause they ain’t gonna get any better on your counter.

What do you do with roasted figs?

The short and not-very-helpful answer is: What can’t you do with them?

The longer but still not very precise answer is: Roasted figs work well in both sweet and savory dishes. Here are a handful of ideas.

• Serve as part of a cheese plate with goat cheese, brie, Stilton, briny olives, and a loaf of crusty bread (oh and maybe some creamy roasted garlic for good measure)
• Use to top ice cream—or add to homemade ice cream in the last five minutes of churning
• Toss them into pancake batter
• Spread them on toast
• Nestle between the layers of an autumn spice cake
• Eat them straight out of the bowl. (Let’s face it, they’re delicous!)

You get where I’m going.

This recipe uses 1 lb. of figs and serves about 8 as an app. Scale it up or down to fit your needs.

Alrighty, To the ovens!

Maple Roasted Figs

1 lb. black mission figs (about 28)
1/3 cup maple syrup
1 teaspoon thyme
Freshly cracked black pepper

Serves about 8 as an appetizer

Prep the figs

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and set aside.

Grab a fig.

Nip off his stem with a sharp little knife.

Slice him in half and put him on your prepared pan.

Repeat until you’ve assembled a happy little army of sliced figs.

Season the figs

Douse the figs with maple syrup.

Toss gently with your hands to coat. (I do all of this in one pan to save on dishes. You could certainly mix them up in a bowl, if you’d prefer.)

Sprinkle with thyme and freshly cracked black pepper. I only had dried thyme on hand, but by all means, use the fresh herb if you have it.

Roast the figs

Pop the pan into your preheated 375-degree oven. Roast for about 15 minutes, until the juice starts to run and they’re deliciously fragrant. You don’t want to cook them too long or they’ll turn to mush.

Yank the pan out of the oven.

Cool to room temperature on the pan. (The sauce will get thicker as it cools.)

Serve however you like (see above for suggestions). Enjoy!

Storing roasted figs

If you need to keep them, ideally store them covered, in a single layer on a plate. If you don’t have that much room to spare in the fridge, stack them up neatly in a container and scrape all that lovely syrup over them.

One warning about storing them like this. If you’re going for a big aesthetic bang with them, they may get a little squashed like this (but they’ll still be just as delicious).

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If you know me, you know that I’m not a huge fan of making fussy desserts.

Creamy. Buttery. Rich. Yes. But fussy, not my speed. (Don’t get me wrong, I love fancy pastry, but life’s too short to make certain things at home…)

This dessert is actually the best of both worlds: It *seems* fussy, but it’s actually pretty darned easy to make. (Impress your friends without ripping your hair out? I’ll take it.)

For this dish, you skin pears, then poach them in a spiced sugar syrup until they’re spoon tender. Once they’re cool, serve them drizzled with a fragrant caramel.

Instant chic. Seriously. This dessert will totally knock the socks off your guests.

And? You can even poach the pears AND make the sauce up to two days ahead of time. Definitely the most considerate dessert I’ve made in a long time.

This recipe is slightly modified from this one, over at Epicurious. It originally appeared in the March 2000 issue of Gourmet.

About the pears

You can use any kind of pears you like for this dish. This time, I used anjou. The poaching liquid has plenty of acid in it (from fresh lemon & orange juice), which keeps the peeled pears from turning brown.

Anjou pears are the little green guys who are usually wearing at least a little blusher. Pick pears that are ripe, but firm…not squishy.

Poached Pears with Spiced Caramel

Adapted from Epicurious

Poached pears
1 large juice orange, quartered
1 lemon, halved
9 whole cloves
5-6 whole star anise
1 tsp. whole black peppercorns
1 tsp. whole fennel seed
8 cups water
2 cups granulated sugar
4 firm-ripe Anjou pears
Spiced caramel
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1 whole clove
1 tsp ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon fennel seeds
1/4 teaspoon black peppercorns
1 whole cinnamon stick

Serves 4

Make the sugar poaching syrup

Put the water and sugar in a large pot. Be sure to use a pot large enough to accommodate the syrup AND the pears.

Squeeze in the lemon juice, then toss in the lemon halves. (Like I said, the acid in the citrus will keep the pears from turning brown.)

Whack your oranges into quarters.

Take your cloves, and push them into the orange rind, just like little thumb tacks.

Toss the clove-studded oranges into the pot.

Add the star anise…

…and the black peppercorns…

…and the fennel seed…

Give it all a stir to start the sugar dissolving. Set the pot aside while you deal with the pears.

Prep the pears

While your pot is coming up to a boil, peel the pears. I almost always use a sharp little paring knife. You could totally use a peeler, too.

Next, whack off the bottom of the pear to give it a nice, flat base. Set him down on the counter to be sure he’s level, and shave off a little more if you need to. You want him to stand up nice and straight.

Leave the stem on for presentation.

Once you’ve peeled and bottomed your little friend, drop him into the pot of sugar syrup.

Repeat with the rest of the pears.

Poach the pears

Set the pot on the stove over high heat. Bring it up to a boil.

Once your pot reaches a boil, knock the heat down a little so that the liquid holds a good simmer.

Simmer the pears for about 15-30 minutes, or until the pears are cooked through. Your cooking time will depend on how big and firm your pears are. (The bigger/firmer they are, the longer they’ll take.)

To check for doneness, fish one of the pears out of the pot with a large spoon. Poke him with a thin, sharp knife. You want the knife to go in easily, right to the center, just like if you were boiling a potato. If it’s still firm in the middle, drop him back in the pot and simmer him a while longer.

Be sure your pears are tender to the center. You want them soft enough that they can be scooped away at with a spoon. You don’t want folks having to cut them with a fork and knife. (Plus, if they’re too firm, they’ll skitter around the plate when you go to scoop off a piece.)

When the pears are cooked through, transfer them, along with all the cooking liquid, into a large bowl.

Set the bowl on the counter to cool to room temp, then refrigerate until chilled and ready to serve.

Make the spiced caramel

You can make the caramel up to two days ahead of time, and just reheat it before serving.

If you’re making the caramel the night you’re serving it, start about 30 minutes before you want to plate the pears.

Put the brown sugar and white sugar in a medium-sized, heavy bottomed pot.

Measure out your spices and put them all in a bowl, so you’re ready when you need to dump them into the pot. Also measure out the cream. Set both aside.

Set the pot on the stove over medium heat.

Let the sugar start to dissolve undisturbed.

When it’s mostly melted, give it a good stir with a fork.

Keep the pot on medium heat. Pour in the cream. It will bubble up dramatically, then subside.

Give the pot a quick stir with a whisk, then drop in the spices.

Whisk to incorporate. If the sugar gloms up on you, don’t fret. Keep whisking. The heat will dissolve it in a minute or two and you’ll be OK.

Simmer the sauce, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, or until it’s reduced by about half. (You want to wind up with about 1 cup of sauce.)

When it’s done, pour it into a small bowl or measuring cup through a seive. Discard the solids. Let the sauce cool until it’s warm.

Plate & serve the pears

When you’re all set to serve dessert, yank the bowl of pears out of the fridge. Fish out one pear with a spoon. Pat him dry with a paper towel. Set him in the middle of a plate. (You see now why that flat bottom was so important.)

Drizzle with caramel sauce.

I drizzled enough so the pear was semi covered, and there was a little pool on the plate. (Believe me, you’ll want more of the caramel sauce. It’s SO good.)

Repeat with the rest of the pears. Serve, inhale, enjoy!

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I know: When will I stop raving about compound butter? Never, probably. (But I’ll bet you could guess that.) The stuff is just too easy to make—and too darned good.

What is compound butter?

If you’ve never made it, compound butter is a great way to add a lot of flavor to a dish with very little effort. It’s generally used as a finishing ingredient or a garnish.

To make compound butter, just soften the butter up, then smoosh in a bunch of ingredients to give it a certain flavor.

For examples of other flavor-packed, buttery goodness, check out my Pecan Scotch Compound Butter and Fresh Herb Compound Butter.

Mmm, cranberries soaked in cognac

For this particular compound butter, you macerate (soak) chopped, dried cranberries in cognac. The cranberries plump up and absorb a little of the liquor. The remaining cognac gets perfumed with cranberry flavor.

Use sweetened dried cranberries for this recipe. (In the U.S., I’m talking about the ubiquitous Craisin.)

Uses for cranberry orange butter

This Drunken Cranberry Orange Butter is great on baked goods (English muffins, croissants, etc.). It’s also a great topping for pancakes and waffles. You can use it as a spread for chicken or turkey sandwiches—or stir it into wild rice before serving.

The sweetness of the dried cranberries is tempered by a generous drizzle of cognac and a spoonful of bright, fresh orange zest.

If you don’t have any cognac on hand, try a little brandy or even dark rum.

Drunken Cranberry Orange Compound Butter

8 Tbls. butter (that’s one stick in the U.S.)
1/4 cup dried sweetened cranberries
2 Tbls. cognac
1 Tbls. orange zest

Yields about 9 Tbls. butter

Macerate the dried cranberries in cognac

Take the butter out of the fridge and set it on the counter to soften. By the time your cranberries are ready, the butter should be soft enough to use.

Chop up the dried cranberries.

Toss them into a small bowl. Drizzle with cognac.

Give them a stir. Let them sit on the counter for about 30 minutes.

Mix up the compound butter

Zest your orange.

I used about a tablespoon, but by all means use more or less depending on your taste.

After about 30 minutes, you should notice that your cranberries have absorbed some of the cognac. Toss the orange zest into the bowl.

Put the butter into a medium-sized bowl. Mash it up with a fork to break it up.

Toss in the contents of your bowl (cranberries, cognac, orange zest).

With a fork, mash the contents of your bowl together.

It will take a minute or two to work the cranberries and zest into the butter—and for the cognac to disappear into the butter.

You’re aiming for a uniform mixture, like this:

Give the butter a taste. This is your chance to correct the seasoning, if you want to. (Add more orange zest, etc., to it if you think it needs it.)

Roll the compound butter up and refrigerate

Put a large piece of wax paper on the counter.

Scoop the butter mixture onto the center of the paper.

Smoosh it into a rough log shape.

Roll the butter up in wax paper.

Twist each end of the wax paper, just like a hard candy wrapper.

Pop the butter into the fridge for at least an hour, or until solid again.

Enjoy your compound butter!

After about an hour, your butter should have solidified.

When you unroll it to slice it, it’ll be generously flecked with orange rind and bits of cranberry.

Enjoy!

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Warning: Baking this cake will fill your kitchen with the irresistible smell of oranges.

This is a slightly modified version of a recipe I saw recently in Saveur. It’s a buttery pound cake shot through with freshly grated orange zest and soaked with sweet orange syrup.

Next time, I’m going to monkey around with the recipe and try it with lemons. Oooh, or maybe blood oranges. Yeah.

Be sure to pour the glaze over the cake when it’s still warm to help the cake absorb the syrup.

A note on creaming butter and sugar together

This is an interesting recipe. Most pound cake recipes call for creaming the butter and sugar together before adding the dry ingredients. This incorporates air into the batter. And more air means a lighter, fluffier cake.

This recipe, however, tells you to use your stand mixer to whisk softened butter into the flour mixture—and THEN add the liquid ingredients.

I was really curious how it would work. The short answer? It was great.

What’s the difference between cake flour and regular flour?

This recipe calls for cake flour. You can substitute regular, all-purpose flour if you don’t have any on hand. Your cake will just be a little coarser in texture.

Cake flour is made from soft wheat, which has less protein and gluten than all-purpose flour, so it’ll produce a finer-textured cake.

I usually use regular old Softasilk from the grocery store. King Arthur Flour’s Queen Guinevere Cake Flour is great, too.

Serve with a steaming cup of tea—or a glass or two of champagne.

Orange Pound Cake

Adapted from Saveur

Cake
13 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened to room temp + more for greasing the pan
3 Tbsp. milk
3 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups cake flour
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
2 Tbsp. grated orange zest (1 large orange should be enough)

Glaze
1/3 cup orange juice
1/3 cup sugar
2 Tbls. triple sec, or other orange liqueur

Yields 1 loaf

Before you start

• Be sure to leave the butter out on the counter for maybe 20 minutes to soften up.
• Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
• Generously butter a 1-lb. (which is standard) glass loaf pan and set it aside.

Zest the orange

Grab your orange.

Scrape off the zest with a microplane or the smallest holes on a regular cheese grater. Just scrape off the top, orange layer. Avoid the white layer beneath, which is bitter as can be. I usually zest fruit over a piece of wax paper or parchment paper. Makes it easy to corral it all when you need to measure.

Combine the eggs and milk

Put the eggs, milk, and vanilla in a bowl.

Whisk together. Set it aside while you deal with the dry ingredients.

Make the cake batter

Put the flour, sugar, and baking powder in the bowl of your stand mixer. Give them a stir to combine with your whisk attachment, then attach the whole business to your stand mixer.

Toss in the orange zest. Turn your mixer on low and mix until the zest is incorporated.

Cut the butter into tablespoons. (If you’re outside the U.S. and don’t get your butter by the stick, just cut it into 13 even pieces.) Turn your mixer on low. Toss in one piece of butter. Mix until it’s completely incorporated.

Repeat until you’ve added all the butter. As you work the butter into the flour, the mixture will start to resemble little crumbs.

When you’ve added all the butter, your bowl should look about like this:

With the mixer running on low, slowly pour in the egg/milk mixture.

Mix until you’ve added it all and the batter *just* comes together. When it looks like this, stop. (No really, stop.) It will be a little mealy looking. That’s just fine. Don’t overmix it. (Basically, the minute you get flour wet and mix it, it starts to develop gluten, which can make your cake tough.)

Bake the pound cake

Pour the batter out into your prepared pan.

Give it a few swipes with a rubber spatula or a clean finger to even out the surface.

Pop the pan into your preheated, 350-degree oven. Bake for 55 – 60 minutes.

Start checking it after maybe 30 minutes. If the top and/or edges look like they’re browning too fast, slip a piece of aluminum foil over the pan loosely, like this:

Tips for knowing when the cake is done

When it’s done, the cake will be golden brown on top. When you press on it lightly with a finger, the cake will spring back (not stay indented). And, when you insert a toothpick in the middle, it should come out clean.

When the cake is done, cool it in the pan for a few minutes. While it’s cooling, make the glaze.

Make the orange glaze

Put the sugar, orange juice, and orange liqueur in a heavy-bottomed, 1-quart pot.

Set the pot on the stove over medium-high heat. Whisk until the sugar dissolves.

Bring the mixture up to a boil, whisking often. Keep a close eye on it. A 1-quart pot is a short little thing, and this mixture likes to boil over if left unattended.

Boil the mixture until it’s reduced by about half. It should be thick and syrupy.

Set the glaze aside for a minute while you liberate your cake from its pan.

Remove the cake from the pan

Put a few paper towels on the counter. Set a rack on top of them.

After 5-10 minutes, run a butter knife in between the cake and the pan to loosen the sides. Flip the pan over and gently shake the pan a few times to release the cake. Set it gently on the rack. (Be careful, it can crack if you’re too rough with it.)

Mmmm, warm cake…

Poke holes in the cake with a skewer

Grab a wooden skewer. (Or a metal one, or a cake tester, or anything that resembles a long toothpick.)

Poke holes all over the top of your cake. (Insert the skewer about 3/4 of the way through the cake.)

These holes will let the glaze sink into the cake, so make a lot of them.

Now, Saveur recommends brushing the top of the cake with a few layers of the glaze. For the life of me, I couldn’t find my brushes (no, not any of them), so I just poured the glaze over the warm cake and kind of brushed it around with my very clean paw. (Check first to be sure it’s cool enough to handle.)

It worked just fine. Just pour slowly, spreading it around with your hand as you go.

Cool the cake to room temperature before slicing.

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I’m notorious for giving homemade goodies at the holidays—from bags of squishy marshmallows and freshly ground hot chocolate to bottles of velvety Irish Cream.

I’m not usually one to brave the pre-Christmas crush at the malls (and I’m not organized enough to get my shopping done months in advance)—plus, I spend most of my time in the kitchen, anyway. So it kind of works out.

Candied fruit peel is one of those miraculous acts of culinary alchemy.

You take tough, bitter fruit rind that’s packed with oil you could use to polish your furniture, and, thanks to the magic of sugar, transform it into heavenly, fragrant candy.

The result is one part fruit, one part sweet jelly—and totally delicious. They’re like those fruit slices that my grandmother used to love. (You know the ones I mean.) Only a thousand times better.

Candied fruit peel is easier than you might think to make at home.

Basically, you blanch thin strips of peel to remove most of their bitterness, then let them take a leisurely soak in a bubbling sugar bath.

Let them drip dry, then roll them around in sugar until they’re wearing sparkle-y little sweaters.

Leave them out on a rack overnight to cure, and package them up and start handing them around.

That’s it! The process isn’t instant, but it certainly is easy.

To me, the hardest part of this whole process is getting the peel off in nice, presentable pieces. I’ve included detailed instructions on how to do just that.

Should I remove the white pith from the peel?

I say no. Here’s why.

A little unscientific research on the interwebs reveals that there are differing opinions on how much of the papery white pith to remove from the peel.

Some folks recommend scraping off every last bit of it, because it’s bitter. Some say leave the pith on and blanch the peels.

I’m in the latter camp. A quick swim in boiling water soaks out a lot of that bitterness. The simmering sugar bath takes care of the rest. I never cut the pith off, and it’s never been a problem. Plus, it means there’s less prep—and more candy to love.

So, pith on or off: It’s entirely up to you.

This recipe will work with most citrus fruits

I happened to use oranges, but this technique will work with lemon, lime, grapefruit, and blood orange (etc.).

Candied fruit peel + flavored simple syrup = two treats in one

Once you cook the fruit peel, don’t toss the sugar syrup! It’s deeply flavorful and will make a wonderful addition to desserts, cocktails, and tea.

Just pour the sugar syrup through a strainer to capture any errant bits of peel, then toss it in the fridge and use within a month or so.

This recipe calls for equal parts sugar and water, just like regular simple syrup. The addition of the fruit peel and the long cooking time can throw your proportions off, though, which means that your syrup may wind up crystallizing a little—or a lot.

If that happens, just heat the syrup up to liquify it again and you’re good to go.

Candied Orange Peel

3 large oranges
4 cups water
4 cups sugar + 1 cup sugar for coating the peel

Yields about 3/4 – 1 lb. candy, depending on how big your oranges are

Peel the oranges

Grab your oranges. Give them a rinse under cold water, then wipe them dry.

Whack about a quarter-of-an-inch off each end.

You want about this much of the inside showing:

With a sharp paring knife, cut through the peel and into the white pith. Slice through the peel from the top of the orange to the bottom. Don’t cut all the way through the pith and into the fruit.

Make the same cut a few inches over.

Cut a shallow semi-circle into the top of the orange at the edge of the peel to connect the two cuts you just made.

Wiggle your finger under one edge of the peel. Work your finger down under the peel to separate it from the fruit.

Keep going until you’ve removed the whole piece of peel.

Repeat this process until you’ve removed all the peel in nice, whole pieces.

Then do the same with the other oranges.

At this point, if you’re like me, you may start playing with the orange rinds, like they’re Legos. Save the oranges, and do something yummy with them.

Slice each piece of peel into thin strips. Mine were about as wide as a No. 2 pencil, give or take.

Blanch the orange peels

Put a few inches of water in a medium-sized pot and set it on the stove over high heat to boil. (Sidebar: Look for a post soon on how to make an easy homemade polish for your embarrassingly tarnished copper pots.)

When it’s boiling, drop in all the sliced orange peel.

Give the pot a stir to soak them all.

Boil for about 20 minutes.

Drain the peel in a colander. Run under cold water until the peels are cool to the touch (this will take a minute or two). I should note that many recipes have you blanch the peel a few times. I’ve done it that way before, and I honestly don’t see any difference. Once is just fine with me.

At this point, your peels will be floppy and kind of sad looking. That’s just fine. Leave ‘em in the colander while you whip up the sugar syrup.

Simmer the fruit peel in sugar syrup

Put the water and sugar in a medium-sized, heavy-bottomed pot over high heat. Whisk to combine. Bring the syrup up to a boil, whisking occasionally until all the sugar melts.

When the sugar syrup is boiling, carefully add the blanched peel to the pot. (Be careful! Boiling sugar is like napalm.)

Give the peel a stir. Lower the heat a little. You want to maintain a rolling (but not furious and bubbling over) boil.

Boil the peel for about 45 minutes like this. (Keep a good eye on the pot after 30 minutes. Your peel may take more or less time, depending on how thick it is.) Your kitchen will start to smell amazing after a few minutes.

The peel is done when it’s translucent.

It should look jellied and clear, like candy:

Drain the orange peel

Grab a baking sheet. Line it with a few paper towels. Set a rack on top of the towels.

A few at a time, fish the peel out of the syrup with a fork.

Set the peel on your prepared rack to drain. Repeat until all the peel is on the rack.

Let the peel drip dry for about 15 minutes.

Roll the fruit peel in sugar & dry out overnight

Remove the sticky rack with the orange peel from the sheet pan and set it aside on the counter. Put a clean rack in its place on the pan. (You don’t want to use the same, sticky one for the finished candy.)

After about 15 minutes, put 1 cup of sugar in a medium-sized bowl. Drop a few pieces of the peel into the sugar. (I do this a few pieces at a time to keep them from clumping together.)

Roll the peel around to coat on all sides.

You want each piece to be completely coated, like this. Give the peel a tap against the side of the bowl to knock off the extra sugar.

Set the sugar-coated peel on the clean rack.

Repeat with the rest of the peel until it’s all coated in sugar. Space them out so they’re not touching. Leave them out just like this, uncovered, to dry out overnight.

Save the syrup!

Don’t forget all that luscious syrup.

Run it through a strainer to remove any bits of peel that might be left in it.

Let it cool to room temperature, then pop it into the fridge and use it up within a month. Depending on how much liquid evaporated, it might solidify a little (or a lot) in the fridge. If that happens, just heat it up to dissolve.

Enjoy!

Don’t forget to enter this week’s giveaway!

The prize is a Nespresso espresso machine! The contest closes on Friday at midnight. Enter to win here.

Cheers!

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