French Fig Jam

Jam has become such an industrial, mass-produced product that it might be hard to imagine making it at home. This is not the case in France–or much of Europe, for that matter. When I visited my friend on her farm in Burgundy, we drove around for hours only to discover that all of the stores were out of preserving supplies. We ended up ordering a case of jars from an online shop, because the figs were ripening fast.

My friend follows a recipe that has been in her family for several generations. We cut figs into quarters and weigh them to determine the amount of sugar. It’s 2 parts fruit to 1 part sugar. Figs are sweet, so we add lemon juice. As their juices melt into sugar, the syrup becomes pink, then purple, then burgundy, like the famous wines of the region. The green perfume of figs transforms as they cook. The fragrance of natural coumarin in their peel, the aromatic that smells of toasted almonds and cherries, becomes more pronounced and richer. The lemon zest gives the fig jam a twist reminiscent of Shalimar.

Homemade jam is so much better than even the artisanal brands that I can’t recommend making it highly enough. I’ve already posted several jam recipes, and as I mentioned previously, make a small amount and see what I mean about perfume and taste. Back in Brussels, for instance, I only have access to expensive, imported figs, so I make only a jar or two of jam. Yet, it’s such a sumptuous treat with cheese, bread or yogurt that it’s worth the effort.

The effort, at any rate, is not extensive, since you can break up the work. You macerate figs with sugar and lemon juice in the evening, bring the mixture to a boil in the morning, and then the next day, bring it to a final boil and it’s done. Autumn has been bottled.

Confiture de Figues à l’Ancienne

You can use any type of fig you want for this recipe. Black figs make for a beautiful burgundy jam, while yellow ones cook down to a warm beige hue. Some recipe call for removing the lemon peel once the jam is cooked, but I like its sharp flavor, so I leave it in.

Of course, this jam can be canned and stored in your pantry, but since I make only a jar or two, I keep it in the fridge.

500g (1lb) fresh figs
250g (1 1/4 c) granulated white sugar
1 lemon

Squeeze juice out of the lemon. Remove the yellow zest in strips from one half.

Wash the figs, dry thoroughly and remove the hard stems. Cut into quarters. Cover with sugar, add lemon zest and juice and leave to macerate overnight. Bring the mixture to a boil the next morning over low heat and once the sugar starts dissolving stir gently with a wooden spoon to encourage the rest of the sugar to dissolve. Remove from the heat and leave till the evening or the next day. (Once the mixture is cool, you can cover the pan).

The next day, bring the mixture to boil once again and simmer it over low heat till the fig quarters begin to look translucent and the syrup thickens. (To test the thickness, pour a drop of syrup on a plate and see if it forms a wrinkle when you touch it with your finger. It occurs at 220F/105C.) It should take around 10 minutes, but the time depends on the water content of your fruit. Remove jam from the heat, remove the lemon peel, if you wish, transfer into clean jars and once it cools down, store in the fridge. (Or you can look for the canning instructions online.) Refrigerated, the jam will keep for 5-6 months.

I prepare the jars by washing them with baking soda, drying and then heating them in the oven at low temperature (225F/130C) for 20-30 min.

Photography by Bois de Jasmin

Reader's Comment

Muriel: Hey Victoria, so I went and bought some figs and followed your recipe and while it was cooking, the wonderful smell made me think of something I’d read in school. It’s taken from Fables de Mon Jardin by Georges Duhamel, and it is all about the smell of the jams : “Ici, monsieur, lui dis-je, nous faisons nos confitures uniquement pour le parfum. Le reste n’a pas d’importance. Quand les confitures sont faites, eh bien! Monsieur, nous les jetons.

J’ai dit cela dans un grand mouvement lyrique et pour éblouir le savant. Ce n’est pas tout à fait vrai. Nous mangeons nos confitures, en souvenir de leur parfum.”