Nigel Slater’s kitchen diary: roast duck meets late-summer figs

Photographs by Jonathan Lovekin

This year, the fruit ripened in batches from July onwards. I’m eating the second batch now, their green skins streaked with mauve and maroon, their seedy hearts as soft and sweet as raspberry jam. The variety is brown turkey, which is prolific and good for our climate, but not the best for flavour. My local grocers sells dark purple ones as tender as a bruise, and tiny Turkish ones in shades of gold and chartreuse, like Christmas baubles.

A laden fig tree feels like the epitome of good fortune, though even a single, ripe fruit feels like a feast. Mentioned in both the Bible and the Quran, it is one of the oldest plants in civilisation and will live, thrive even, on the poorest of soil. My own has grown monstrously during this year’s parched summer.

The tree’s roots have long burst through its original container, a steel box designed to restrict the tree’s rampant roots, which is also said to encourage more prolific fruiting. Every year I promise myself to use the leaves, like Anna Higham does at Quince, her north London bakery, where they sometimes use them to flavour buttercream. A teasing idea that I will get to grips with next year, when the leaves are young and pale.

Now, mine are the size of dinner plates, waving in the breeze like giant’s hands. Soon they will fall and cover the stones beneath them. Unlike other trees, the fig tends to lose its leaves in two or three massive avalanches. They take me by surprise every autumn.

The best breakfast this week was a slice of sourdough toast as thick as a short novel and with almost as many holes as crumb, slathered with ricotta and slices of deep purple figs. A trickle of dark honey and a scattering of chopped walnuts was almost unnecessary. There was coffee, too. Lots of it.

This was one of several good things on the table this week. An eve’s pudding eaten at home, made with my own greengage jam. A salad of warm, honey-fried apples in a salad of blue-veined Stichelton and blackberries, and the last of my own tomatoes, grown on the roof of the kitchen, spread with a paste of green olives and basil. The crowning glory was a plate of plump, pearlescent hake with courgettes and potatoes on a late summer evening on the terrace at Toklas.

There are a few other last treats to be grabbed before the season changes. The last of the runner and borlotti beans; the final harvest of homegrown tomatoes and the first of the season’s hazelnuts, the latter to be eaten with a wedge of caerphilly.

But back to the figs, I suddenly have a fancy to put them on top of a sweet pizza, its crust swollen and scorched, holding a filling of molten mozzarella, crème fraîche, honey and deep purple figs. Another time.

Serves 2. Ready in 1 hour.

I invariably serve duck with some sort of fruit to balance the glorious fattiness of the rich flesh and skin of the bird. Apple sauce – from a tart variety such as bramley – is most successful. Other good ones are plums and sour cherries. Figs work here, too, especially if you let them cook until almost on the verge of collapse, plump with the stock wine and roasting juices. I sometimes toss in juniper berries, crushed with a pestle, to introduce a faint note of bitterness. Last time I made this we ate it with spinach, the leaves cooked in their own steam with a squeeze of lemon juice and a few flakes of sea salt to season.

duck legs 4
duck fat or olive oil 2 tbsp
thyme sprigs a small handful
chicken or vegetable stock 100ml
figs 8, small
dry marsala 100ml
honey 2 tbsp

Heat the oven to 200C/gas mark 6.

Put the duck legs in a roasting tin. Rub them all over with the duck fat or olive oil, then season them with salt and black pepper. Tuck the thyme stems among the legs.

Place the duck in the preheated oven and roast for 45 minutes or until the skin is honey coloured.

Holding the duck legs in place with a spatula, pour off most of the fat from the tin and reserve for another day (it will be wonderful for roasting potatoes).

Cut the figs in half, snipping off and discarding the tiny stalks, then tuck them around the duck. Spoon the honey over the legs.

Pour in the stock and the marsala and place over a moderate heat until the stock and marsala have evaporated by half and the figs have softened almost to the point of collapse.

Lift out the duck legs and the figs on to a serving platter or plates, then turn the heat up under the tin, letting the liquid bubble. Correct the seasoning with salt, pepper and should you wish, a tablespoon more of honey. Taste as you go along. Drizzle over the duck and figs, then serve.

• You could do this recipe with duck breasts instead of legs. The cooking time will need to be slightly shortened, so test them regularly.

• Should you wish, use red wine in place of the marsala.

• As an accompaniment, there is little that could beat a small dish of sautéed potatoes.