Focus on Figs

I'm very fond of figs. Until I came to New Zealand, I had known only the dried version. Wonderfully sweet and with those irresistible crunchies that come from the many single-seeded fruits that develop from flowers inside the structure of the fig. What an amazing plant it is.  

I may have told this story at some point in the past, but I intend to tell it again, because it's a good one in my opinion, and brings me pleasure to remember it.

Allie first told me about the figs here. She told me about a large tree that grew along a walkway that she took from the train station in Ranui to her work. I found it one day, but the fruits where not ripe at the time. And they were way up in the air besides, I couldn't see them well. It was a very large tree. 

But I was excited. I wanted to see what a fresh fig looked like and of course, tasted like.   

I'll always remember an episode of Masterpiece Theater entitled, I, Claudius, in which fresh figs played a role. In one episode, Livia, wife of the Emperor Augustus, fatally poisoned him.  

He had become so afraid that someone would poison his food that he vowed not to eat anything but fresh figs that he had picked himself from the trees in their garden. Livia stole out each night and painted the ripest figs hanging on the trees with poison and chuckled the next morning as her husband gathered his undoing. He didn't last long. (Modern historians now doubt that story.) 

This is a picture I took of some figs I picked from a friend's tree. (not completely ripe) It was planted right next to his fence and several of its branches hung over the sidewalk I would often use.  I decided the first time I saw them and picked a few, that I wanted to get to know the guy who owned the tree.  

The next time I passed his yard, I saw that he was working on his boat, which stood in his driveway.  I walked in, introduced myself, and said that I couldn't help but notice his tree.  I asked, "Is that a fig tree?"  I told him that I had never seen one growing before, having lived all my life in the snowy north country of Michigan. 

He assured me that it was indeed a fig and he went on to tell me all about them.  Well, we became friends. He invited me a couple of times to sit and have a drink with him as I walked past his place and once gave me a bag of figs to take home. 

One day, sometime later, there was a sale sign in his yard. He and his wife had bought a caravan (motor home), planned to travel permanently, and were selling their place. I went in to say good-bye. As a going away gift, he took me out to his tree, broke off a four foot length of branch, and said to stick it in the ground.  

"Stick it in the ground," I said, "You mean it would actually grow?"  He assured me that it would, that it was how he got his tree in the first place. 

Well, I had serious doubts about it but did so and it did grow, and become the tree from which I harvested hundreds of figs over the years.  

Now that we live at Waitakere Gardens, I get my figs when the gardeners collect them from our own trees and put them out on the carts in the Atrium on Monday, Thursday and Saturday mornings.  

I like to stew them in a sugar syrup for about half and hour and then refrigerate them for a few days before eating. While cooking the batch you see below, Jeanne suggested that I add some lemon  juice, which I did, and am glad I did so.  It adds a little tang without disguising the flavor of the figs.    

As I write this, our fig season is over for the year.  We've enjoyed them and look forward to next year.  

I hope that if you haven't already, you'll someday get a chance to try a fresh fig. I've found that the ones sold in fancy markets for about $2+ each are the best ones. Huge, soft, moist and sweet. Those that come from trees around town are okay, but nothing like the farmed varieties. That's why I like to stew them. It elevates them.   

The last picture shows some tiny, hot peppers and bay leaves which we are allowing to dry. The peppers are from our gardens, but someone brought lots of bay tree branches in from outside the village and put them on the 'free' table in the mail room. I took a few and snipped each leaf free, enjoying the smell. They're very aromatic.  -djf

 

"Scott's Last Expedition"

I think it all started when, as a kid, I read, To Build a Fire, the short story by Jack London. I was a child of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and the Lake Superior snow belt, so I knew what winters could mean. I knew cold, down to about -30 F., but finding that the main character in this story was experiencing -75 F. as he attempted to dry his feet, fired my imagination. 

Over the years and into my adulthood, I sought out stories of the far north. I'm sure I read at least dozens, probably scores of them. At one point, I even entertained a fantasy of overwintering in Alaska, miles from anywhere, alone in a cabin on a river with sled dogs for company.  I'd sometimes work on drawing up a list of supplies necessary for man and dogs for such an adventure. (Cocoa was high on the list early on, but morphed into scotch much later) 

Then, some years ago, I started reading the on-line journal of Captain Robert Falcon Scott and his disastrous attempt to be the first to reach the South Pole.  When we moved to Auckland, we went to Kelly Tarlton's Sea Life Aquarium, where I was able to see a replica of Scott's Antarctic Hut. 

While I applauded the bravery of Scott and his men, as I continued to read and research his expedition in greater depth, I became aware of how little they really knew of what confronted them, and even more damaging, how little they knew of what their clothing, travel and nutritional needs should be. 

He and his men started their journey from England in 1910, they landed on Antarctica in 1911, the polar team died in 1912, and the book, chronicling his last expedition and containing his journal, was published in 1913. 'What a book to read,' I thought to myself.  

It's funny how things have a way of working out sometimes. One never knows what lies just around the corner.

A few years ago, around my birthday, a guy moved into Waitakere Gardens. I'd see him in the halls now and then, and he seemed an intelligent and amiable sort. Since a tradition of mine has been to give out miniature bottles of scotch (whiskey) to friends on my birthday, I stopped him as we passed one day, introduced myself, and presented him with a bottle. That led to an invitation to his apartment for a couple of beers, where I got to know him a little better. 

It turned out that he is an artist, educator, film-maker, and historian. He has lived a remarkable life, rubbed shoulders with fascinating people and is full of stories. Over the years since, he and I have had many conversations, usually in the lounge in front of the fireplace in our own Opanuku Cafe. I'm not without a few stories myself.   

Not long ago, during one of our chats, I mentioned my fascination with Scott. He suggested that I stop over sometime, that he had some books on the subject. Accordingly, a few days later, I gave him a call and arranged a visit.  

When I arrived, he showed me to his library, a small, comfortable room with lots of light and two easy chairs. His collection of tribal masks and shelves of books covered two walls. We made ourselves comfortable.  Reaching up, he grabbed a couple of books and presented me with his first edition, two-volume set of Scott's Last Expedition. 

I was in awe. The books I was holding were 112 years old. I never thought that I would get the chance to see them, much less hold and read them. Now, they were mine to borrow, study and enjoy.  

As I type this, they are sitting on my reading table, next to my recliner and lamp. I've spent the last several days paging carefully through them and discovered that they contain, not surprisingly, more than just Scott's journal, with which I was already somewhat familiar. One section talked about the winds that Scott's party endured, versus the winds that Amundsen's men reported during their simultaneous, and successful bid to reach the pole first.   

I found it all very interesting since I also have Amundsen's journal saved on my computer and have spent many, many hours comparing the two expeditions.

My inclination here is to continue writing, describing what I've learned about both treks. I'd love to tell you about it because I find it fascinating, but there is just too much to say. I think rather, I'll end with my thanks to Ray for loaning me two of his treasures.  

I'm not going to keep them long. I've already gone through them enough to suit me. I know what they look, feel and even smell like now. (I've said it before, there's nothing like the smell of old books.) And I've even taken their picture to share with all of you.  

Now, as I continue to study about Scott and Amundsen from other sources, I'll remember these tomes. The descriptions of events from both explorers will come alive for me as never before.  There's no doubt about it. Ray, I owe you a bottle of the best. 

-djf

Sheep cheese

Hello again. It has been a while since I last talked to you.  I've been absent because I found the pressure of getting out posts each week was getting to me. I needed a break.  Even after this, my 'sabbatical,' I think I need to reconsider how often to post from now on.  Maybe I'll get back into the weekly habit, but probably not.  I've done 658 of them after all.  

I'm 73 now, and live in a retirement village. I'm not exploring the Auckland area as much anymore, so it's harder to come up with topics.  You might find that I will start doing more of 'domestic' sorts of posts. I guess we'll both have to wait and see.  

My topic today, as you can surmise from my title, is about cheese making.  However, I know of at least one of you out there who will, if I dive right into my latest experience in manipulating casein, will say, "Hey wait a minute! In your last post, you said you had more pictures from Kaitarakihi Beach to show us. What about that, huh?"   

And I'd admit you are right. I did say that. So, to keep my word, I'll start today with two last shots from our Christmas Day adventure.  

I do love its rocky outcroppings. I wish the sun had been out.    

But now, to cheese. I've made cow's milk cheese several times from both regular Holstein milk and more recently from the richer Jersey milk.  I had intended to make some goat cheese this time, but when I arrived in the dairy section of our supermarket, I discovered they had only sheep's milk. Wow, even better. I've tasted both goat's milk and the cheese made from it, but never tried sheep milk. 

You may notice in the picture that the right hand bottle shows evidence of sampling. Jeanne and I just had to taste-test it first of course, and found it very rich indeed. Even more so than Jersey milk. This stuff should give me a very good yield.    

To this batch of cheese, I'll add salt and some chives from Jeanne's garden.  I grind regular table salt in a mortar and pestle until it is even finer than pop-corn salt. I want to mix uniformly with the cheese.  

I'll also need a thermometer and some white vinegar to power the reaction.  

It's so easy to make cheese.  I think everyone should try it. Not only do you get a good tasting product, but you get to watch a cool chemical reaction.  When you add the vinegar, an acid, you lower the pH of the hot milk and set in motion a number of changes which are visible and highly satisfying.  

You simply heat whatever milk you choose to just below boiling. I generally go to about 185 F. with mine. Stir the milk often as you heat it.  

This milk is at temperature and I've just poured in the white vinegar. Almost instantly you see an effect.

I stirred the milk so I'd distribute the vinegar and this is result just seconds later. The curds and whey are separating.  

Wahoo!  I got a great yield.  I continued to stir the pot for a minute or so, but gently, and then let it sit for about 5 minutes.  I've also turned off the heat.  Here's my first spoonful.

You can either spoon it out of the pot like I'm doing here, or pour the curds and whey through the cloth and colander and into another big pot. There is a lot of steam doing it that way and I prefer this safer method.   

I first pressed the curds in the cloth/colander from above with the wide spoon, to drive out the whey, and then I gathered up the corners of the cloth, made a ball of the curds, and used the spoon to continue to press my 'cheese ball' until almost no more whey was coming out.

I then dumped the ball of curds into a large mixing bowl, sprinkled salt and chives all over it, and gave it a good mixing.  It was still quite hot at this point.  

I put it into a bowl and pressed it down firmly all around. This is my result.  The small bowl is for sampling. 

I returned the whey to the bottles as another sort of yield measurement.  

I put a plate over the cheese and a bottle of something on top of the plate for additional weight. I cooled it in the fridge for about 5 hours and then turned the cheese out onto the plate.  It's very good. Just salty enough and the flavor of the chives comes through. Sheep's milk cheese seems to have a little more tangy flavor than cow's milk cheese does.  

If you'd like to make some cheese, I'd suggest you go to YouTube and watch some of the many videos there. 

You may find some of them suggesting a lower milk temperature. A woman said she used 162 F.  I once did a batch at a lower heat and got only a modest yield. Disappointed, I turned the heat up on the remaining whey and vinegar and as the heat rose, more curds formed.  I was delighted, and a bit smug. A real lesson in how temperature affects a chemical reaction. 

If you watch enough of them, you'll learn that you can use lemon juice, chemicals, and either animal or vegetable rennet to curdle your milk. I tried lemon juice once but prefer vinegar. I've never tried the others. They're more expensive.   

You may still think that the process is complicated and you may even find it so your first time.  After that though, you'll realize how easy homemade cheese really is.  

One tip.  If you do make some cheese, take your milk out of the fridge early and let it warm to room temperature before pouring it into the pan. No, this makes no difference whatsoever in the yield or quality of your cheese, but saves the electricity and time you'd have used to warm the milk from cold.

Anybody know where I can get some yak milk?  

-djf