FIGS, MEET HALLOUMI

And halloumi, meet figs. Because the world’s ripest, seediest, sweetest, most romantic fruit is heading our way.

It’s going to be a year of small pleasures – finding them, holding on to them, making the most of them.  Like figs, which bring a magical perfumed sweetness to the table.

They come in at the end of summer, and usually last through to mid-Autumn. You can almost feel them ripening on the trees right now, blushing in NSW, still green in Victoria. Hang in there, it won’t be long now.

And when you do get your hands on them, dive in headfirst, roll around in their ripe seediness, and do thrilling things to them for no reason other than your own pleasure.

Some thoughts:

# Top home-made pizza with gorgonzola and halved figs, and you’ve created a Caravaggio you can eat.

# Serve fresh figs with Basque burnt cheesecake, that blackened, full-bodied, rich-but-light cheese cake created by chef Santiago Rivera at San Sebastian’s La Vina restaurant in the 1990s. My Masterclass recipe here on Good Food.

#  Do figs the Chez Panisse way from Berkeley, California – roast them in the oven with a dash of red wine, honey and vinegar for about 15 minutes, and serve with ice-cream or yoghurt, or cool to serve with a crumbed goat cheese salad.

# Serve half a fresh fig in a glass of sweet botrytis-infected dessert wine.

# Instead of a sauce for seared duck breast or roast pork, just pan-fry halved figs in a little olive oil and serve alongside as a sweet, seedy relish.

# As I said, halloumi. Caramelise this crazy-good Greek-Cypriot cheese in the pan, add figs. Drizzle with honey and lemon. Like this.

Honey + halloumi + figs = heaven. Scroll down for recipe.

# Breakfast on bircher muesli with darkly romantic quartered figs, blackberries and cherries.

# Serve fresh figs with a block of seriously dark chocolate.

#  Slice open a freshly baked croissant, insert sliced figs and a slather of ricotta, close and eat.

# Make a velvety, vegan cashew cream as a bed for fresh figs – get the two-ingredient recipe here.  Or swap out the cashew cream for hummus, and scatter with sesame seeds, as shown here.

Figs have so many friends: Yoghurt, honey. Prosciutto, jamon, salami, coppa. Sauternes cake. Cheese - blue cheese, soft triple-cream, stracciatella, burrata, mozzarella.

And if you’re out and about:

# Book in to Fico (Italian for fig) in Hobart for their beautiful sourdough bread served with a luminous green pool of fig leaf oil.

# There’s a honey gelato on the menu at Byron’s new Belongil Beach Italian Food that would be AMAZING with figs, but I’m sure they will think of that themselves soon.

A crusty baguette or grilled pita bread wouldn’t go astray.

RECIPE: FIGS, MEET HALLOUMI

I’m pretty sure this is what all those angels eat up in heaven while lolling about on clouds: soft, warm, juicy figs; salty bites of caramelised halloumi; the bish-bash of honey and lemon juice. Light, fresh, simple, summery.

200 g halloumi, drained

3 figs, halved

2 tbsp olive oil

3 tbsp honey

1 tbsp lemon juice

• Whisk the honey and lemon juice together and set aside.

• Slice the halloumi into 8 fingers.

• Place olive oil in a saucer and coat the halloumi in the oil. Dip the cut-sides of the figs in the oil as well.

• Heat a dry fry pan over gentle heat, add the halloumi and cook for 2 to 3 minutes or until browned – not just golden brown, push it until it’s brown-brown (but not black-brown). Turn once to cook the other side for 10 seconds, then move to the serving plate/s.

• Add the figs to the pan, cut-side down, and cook for 1 minute or until warmed and juicy.

• Serve the figs on the halloumi, drizzle with the honey and lemon juice and serve warm (halloumi gets as hard as a church pew when cold). Serves 2 to 3.

Halloumi – I’ve found some great Australian ones such as Barossa and Tilba which are usually cow’s milk. Greek-Cypriot brands such as Christis are made of the traditional blend of goat and sheep milk and the gorgeous Aphrodite is just goat milk, but they’re all good.

PS. YOU’RE EATING FLOWERS.

A fig is a type of fruit that isn’t really a fruit. Technically, it’s a syncomium, variously described as a fleshy hollow receptacle, a fleshy stem or a globular inflorescence. The strange and surreal beauty of a syncomium is this inflorescence – the flowers are on the inside, massed against the interior wall. So when you’re eating a fig, you’re basically eating flowers. How nice is that?

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Thanks for reading – feel free to add a comment, or share with a friend, or subscribe for more Jill Dupleix Eats in your inbox every Thursday.  And special thanks to my right-hand man, Terry Durack, for going all over to find me some beautiful figs.

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I would like to acknowledge the traditional owners of the lands and waters upon which I work, live, cook and play; the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. I fully support the Uluru Statement from the Heart, and for an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voice to be enshrined in Australia’s Constitution.