Ruby Chocolate Dipped Figs

Some foods are so much a part of a place that you never think of one without the other. Belgium’s got their waffles. Champagne has their bubbly. Buffalo has its chicken wings; Nashville has its hot fried chicken. In the Spanish village of Almoharín, they’re all about their figs.

Welcome to Fig Town.

Population: 2,000. Three hours west of Madrid and an hour east of the Portuguese border, Almoharín is in the heart of Spain’s remote Extremadura region. More figs are grown in and around Almoharín than anywhere else in Spain. Maybe more than anywhere in the world. You’ll find dried figs, fig jams, fig breads, fig pies, figs in syrup, fig cakes. At dinner, your meat or stew will be garnished with figs. Visit during the harvest in September, you’ll be part of the annual Almoharín fig fair. (Yes, there will be DJs. And they will be eating figs.)

The figs grown in Almoharín are famous not just for their plentitude, but for their flavor. They grow a variety called Calabacita. Calabacitas are relatively small for figs, remarkably sweet, and have a thin, greenish-yellow skin. That thin skin is key: before harvesting, ripe Calabacitas are often left on the tree to dry for a few days to amp up their flavor. A dried fig with a thicker skin can end up tough and leathery. With their thin skins, dried Calabacitas have a chewy, toothsome texture, and massive amounts of figgy flavor.

What’s the most popular way to eat figs in Almoharín?

No contest: fig bonbons.

Everybody in town makes fig bonbons. Most use a similar technique, so the bonbons generally look alike. About an inch tall, each teardrop-shaped fig is coated in chocolate and stuffed until plump with a rich filling, like salted caramel ganache, or hazelnut cream, or chocolate ganache.

While they may look alike, flavor is another matter. For my money, the rabitos fig bonbons made by second-generation, family run La Higuera are the best I’ve ever tried. Using the original family recipe, they puncture the bottom of each tree-dried fig and fill it to bursting with a boozy chocolate ganache spiked with a heady dose of brandy. Then they enrobe the figs in a silky-smooth layer of chocolate.

As soon as you rip open the packaging, you’re immersed in the rich, punchy aroma of brandy.

One rabito is the size of a large chocolate truffle. You could eat it in two or three nibbles or devour it all in one bite. When you do, the chocolate cracks and snaps between your teeth before giving way to soft ganache. Rich, sweet chocolate coats your tongue first, followed by a sharp hit of the brandy, then the tangy, fruity acidity of the fig. The flavors marry, then linger for a long time after you’ve finished.

They lend themselves naturally to pair with all manner of drinks. With a good strong cup of black coffee or some milky tea. A dessert wine: a Sauternes or a port. (It’s counterintuitive but true that sweet wine and sweet figs are a great match.) A cognac or a brandy. Even a good cup of milk. If you’re feeling adventurous, try it with cheese. Rabitos are great with a tart cheese like a good fresh goat’s milk cheese, or a hard cheese that’s salty and fruity like Lincolnshire Poacher, or a creamy blue cheese like fudgy Bayley Hazen Blue.

Preserved figs aren’t a food that’s lighting up many culinary radar screens. But I think they should be. They are great in all sorts of ways. With yogurt for breakfast. With cheese. With ice cream for dessert. And as a gift for someone with an eye for rustic foods with real flavor, you won’t find much better.

The fig never really caught on in America.

Even though figs are the most popular food mentioned in the bible and America was originally settled by avid bible readers, the fig never caught on here. There weren’t any fig trees planted in the U.S. until the first one came to San Diego in the mid 1700s. Commercial cultivation didn’t catch on until the late 1800s. Even today, we’re most likely to have eaten figs in newtons than we are fresh or, as we have them here, dried. Most of the fresh figs you see in U.S. produce markets are one of two varieties, Common or Mission, the latter named for the Franciscan monks who planted them. They’re both big with relatively thick skin.

The ones we feature, dried on their own or with chocolate or nuts, are often smaller with thinner skins. The Calabacita, a tiny fig that grows in only one village in Spain, in chocolate dipped figs. The Pajarero, paired with Marcona almonds in fig and almond cake. The sweet Portuguese pingo de miel. And the dotato from Calabria.

The dotato is the cream of our fig crop.

Picked and preserved by Franco Rao once a year in his home town of Cosenza in Calabria, far southern Italy. Franco starts with dotato figs that are left on the tree until they’re fully ripe, beginning to dry and concentrate. After hand picking, they’re caramelized over twenty-four hours in a low temperature oven. That’s a step almost no one else takes because it adds extra time and expense, but the difference it makes in flavor is huge. It gives the figs a roasted, caramel-sweet flavor that’s irresistible.

Next comes my favorite part. A handful of figs are molded into a sphere the size of a big apple and wrapped in aromatic fig leaves. It’s a traditional way to store them, rustic and attractive.

Moist, luscious and slightly honey sweet, Franco Rao’s figs will be a hit wherever you serve them.

Fig serving tips

Figs with cheese is very common in Italy and Spain, so pair some with any of those country’s cheeses. I like the combination of figs and saltier, tangy sheep’s milk cheeses. Pecorino Toscano and Manchego are great choices.

Figs and ham. Italian prosciutto, Spanish jamon serrano, American cured ham. They all make natural accompaniments.

Figs and yogurt are a natural combination. I love adding a couple of Franco Rao’s figs, plucked from. under the fig leaves, to fresh, plain yogurt for breakfast or a late night snack.