Julia, thanks for another great recipe. The tart sounds delicious. As for its provenance, however, Tarte Bourdaloue may well have made its way to the Périgord but it originated in Paris, at a patisserie on the Rue Bourdaloue in the ninth arrondissement. According to Wikipedia, tarte Bourdaloue was invented in the 1850s by a pastry chef named Monsieur Fasquelle whose shop was on that street. According to lore, Proust was a fan. I discovered this tart (the pear version, not the fig) back in the 1970s when a man who was courting me brought one over in what turned out to be a successful attempt at seduction. I've been in love with it ever since...
I love everything about figs. Their flavour, their colour, their sensuous shape. But so do the wasps. Fortunately, we've managed a compromise. The wasps let me gorge myself silly until I can't stomach any more then I buzz off and they have their share.
Julia‘s posts are always such a pleasure and fun to read! As a child in Moscow playgrounds I made an early encounter with „idi na fig“ loosely translatable as f#$k off. In our climate fig leaves only grew on statues in Pushkin museum and I was left puzzled about the connection. In my adult years I became a passionate but still clueless figophile and am now thrilled to try trace the linguistic trail from the warmer but apparently equally rough-languaged Spanish courtyards to Russia.
On gastronomic side, I‘d like to mention the fig mustard popular in the Dolomites that makes a lovely addition to a cheese platter.
Every year, BC, we went to a conference in Estoril, Portugal, the end of June. Every year, I would pass by a fig tree, laden with fruit, not ripe yet- the top of the tree, on a lower level to our walkway, was within easy reach as we passed by. Would it be too crazy to fly there, just to pick the fruit when it was ripe? Great post, as always and ready to go buy some figs at the Publix, where they don't charge you for bags, you have your choice of plastic or paper, they bag your groceries and walk you out to your car, no tipping please! This late bit is for my Euro friends, whom I shall join shortly and go back to bag -yourself- shopping -hell.
Julia, thanks for another great recipe. The tart sounds delicious. As for its provenance, however, Tarte Bourdaloue may well have made its way to the Périgord but it originated in Paris, at a patisserie on the Rue Bourdaloue in the ninth arrondissement. According to Wikipedia, tarte Bourdaloue was invented in the 1850s by a pastry chef named Monsieur Fasquelle whose shop was on that street. According to lore, Proust was a fan. I discovered this tart (the pear version, not the fig) back in the 1970s when a man who was courting me brought one over in what turned out to be a successful attempt at seduction. I've been in love with it ever since...
I love everything about figs. Their flavour, their colour, their sensuous shape. But so do the wasps. Fortunately, we've managed a compromise. The wasps let me gorge myself silly until I can't stomach any more then I buzz off and they have their share.
Julia‘s posts are always such a pleasure and fun to read! As a child in Moscow playgrounds I made an early encounter with „idi na fig“ loosely translatable as f#$k off. In our climate fig leaves only grew on statues in Pushkin museum and I was left puzzled about the connection. In my adult years I became a passionate but still clueless figophile and am now thrilled to try trace the linguistic trail from the warmer but apparently equally rough-languaged Spanish courtyards to Russia.
On gastronomic side, I‘d like to mention the fig mustard popular in the Dolomites that makes a lovely addition to a cheese platter.
Every year, BC, we went to a conference in Estoril, Portugal, the end of June. Every year, I would pass by a fig tree, laden with fruit, not ripe yet- the top of the tree, on a lower level to our walkway, was within easy reach as we passed by. Would it be too crazy to fly there, just to pick the fruit when it was ripe? Great post, as always and ready to go buy some figs at the Publix, where they don't charge you for bags, you have your choice of plastic or paper, they bag your groceries and walk you out to your car, no tipping please! This late bit is for my Euro friends, whom I shall join shortly and go back to bag -yourself- shopping -hell.