Nigella Eats Everything

And at last, figs are here. The bounty of the season! Let’s frolic under heaving fig trees or shove armfuls of them into our bags-for-life at the market. Make snow angles in the teetering piles of them building up all around us. Or not. You may be thinking that a fig and caramelised onion flatbread is all well and good, but it’ll work only if we have access to said fresh figs. Figs, well they are tricky little blighters aren’t they.

Every season, there is a fruit that has ghosting down to an art. Remember these names – blood oranges, elderflower, damsons, and figs – and blacklist them. I like to think I’ve learnt my lesson by now as every season they send me all these signals you know, then when I want to go further, maybe eat them, they’ve vanished. Market sellers grow vague about when they’ll next appear. Don’t make excuses for them, I know where I stand.

Except.

Ugh, I can’t even follow my own advice, I always go crawling back. Fruit messes with your heart, guys. When you want to make fig jam or some fig leaf ice cream, or maybe a fig and caramelised onion flatbread you will let them get away with all the heartbreak they throw at you.

Even here in Toulouse, figs are noncommittal. I was hoping, nay expecting, to see market stalls heaving with them, rather like the bushel of cherries back in late spring. Bah, no! (that was very French of me, I apologise).

Instead, a handful of market sellers stocked a tray or two of sadly squashed fresh figs. I chose the couple with the intact skins and prayed to the god of figs they would survive until I got home. I can never find a middle ground with figs – either the few available are inedible, such as at the supermarket in the UK where the figs are lovely green chunks of rock, or there’s the other end of the spectrum where I feel like Tantalus stuck under the boughs of a groaning fruit tree which drift out of reach every time I make a grab.

Down my road, along my usual route to the metro stop, there is a gnarled fig tree in someone’s garden. It’s bent double over the hedge, almost completely obscuring the post box below, its limbs twisted in protest. One day last year, I walked past to find the ground absolutely covered in figs. There were piles of them scattered all over the pavement, great bulbous spheres, some starting to brown and darken, others already squidgy soft and trampled to mush by some utterly crazy people who don’t care about the figs.

I filmed the scene and posted it on Instagram along with the genuine question about whether these figs were still the property of the neighbours and if it would be acceptable for me to dash home for a bigger bag. I received mixed responses, but one lady said that unfortunately yes, they still belonged to the neighbours. Now, I don’t know the ins and outs of property law, but I have since googled it and it turns out, once a fruit has dropped, it still belongs to the owner of the tree, so I’m glad I didn’t help myself. Risk-taking is not one of my middle names.

There are no figs on the tree this year. Sneaking over there under the cover of darkness, and Gaylord has told me many times he’s a ninja (although apparently it’s a secret) meaning he could prove to be useful, would now be fairly pointless. I fell in line and figs have evaded me again.

So, if you can’t get your hands on fresh figs this summer, believe me, I know the feeling. But, if you can… do you want to make a fig and caramelised onion flatbread?

How to make a fig and caramelised onion flatbread

I feel like flatbreads are cool right now, what do you think? Rav Gill, who wrote The Pastry Chef’s Guide and followed it with world domination, made some goat’s cheese and grape flatbreads at some of her many pop ups back in the day and I swear I see them everywhere as a result. You can’t conquer the world without controlling people’s cravings.

Rav’s flatbreads look so perfect – springy crisp edges, all caramelised from the oven, the centre just laden with cheese, thyme and grapes and sticky runnels of honey. I could taste the photograph. It’s not often I want to eat my computer screen, so I took that as my cue. One round of fig and caramelised onion flatbreads coming up.

To business: what are fig and caramelised onion flatbreads all about? Well, they’re a bit like pizzas, springier though, with more chew and body. Pizza can be thin and crunchy, whereas with flatbreads, your teeth tear and rip. They end up being consumed in a rather frenzied manner, I’ll admit. Not only that, but also unlike pizzas, these flatbreads are cooked before the toppings go on.

First, the flatbread

Rav’s flatbread recipe is little time-consuming as there is a poolish involved, so you can’t expect to be eating flatbreads for dinner. As I had about an hour to an hour and a half until dinner time, I needed the last-minute option, so I turned to Jamie Oliver, the king of quick cooking. While his 15 Minute Meals are just a cheeky marketing ploy, he does make an extremely easy flatbread.

Start off with his bread dough – a simple mixture of strong bread flour, dried yeast, sugar, salt and lukewarm water. Knead until silky smooth then leave it to rise until doubled in size, and in the summer, that can take less than half an hour.

I divided the risen dough into quarters, shaped wonky circles out of them, then lightly greased a heavy-duty frying pan with olive oil and preheated the grill. Once hot, I threw in a flatbread frisbee although it needed readjusting to make sure it cooked evenly. Then, when the edges looked dry, the pan and flatbread went under the grill to cook the surface. In less than 5 minutes, the base of the fig and caramelised onion flatbread was ready for the toppings.

Then, the toppings

All and sundry can be added as toppings. In this case, I chose a nice squished scoop of onions I’d just caramelised, creamy slices of brie, then sliced figs, the ones I’d bought at the market that had just managed to survive the journey. Then, after a quick blast under the grill to melt the cheese, these fig and caramelised onion flatbreads were drizzled in balsamic reduction.

I promise you’re not in a time vortex. Yes, I did just say balsamic reduction and it’s not the early 2000s. I even made it myself so Gaylord, innocently walking into the kitchen, was blasted in the face with the fug of balsamic vinegar and had to leave due to choking and running eyes. So I warn you that the process can be potent. But so worth it as I feel like these photos are giving off an early millennium vibe.

Personalise your own fig and caramelised onion flatbreads as you wish. If brie isn’t for you, try goat’s cheese or blue cheese, or go in opposing directions with prosciutto or some sun-dried tomatoes and capers for the much-needed umami.

I love how the flatbread is greasy with olive oil (so it’s good grease, not like KFC-grease) and so chewy, whereas the figs and caramelised onions are tenderly soft and sweet, simply needing to be gulped down. Lunch today will probably be fig and caramelised onion flatbreads again – that is, if I can get my hands on some figs.

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