A German lass told me about a French fig conserve to serve with cheese today, she saw them in Antibes, a couple of ripe figs in a jar with a sugar syrup and I would be interested if anyone has seen them in Zurich.

She told me a story about some French woman many years ago who tried to become Pope. She didn't succeed but the Cardinals who choose who the next pope will be devised a test where the hopeful incumbent would sit on a chair with a hole in the seat, one unlucky cardinal would reach under the robes and feel what was there.

On one famous occasion, when asked what was present, he answered "they are like a couple of ripe figs". Hence the name of these figs in a jar.

Sorry that the details are a bit vague (I really can't remember the French name for them), I have this attention deficit disorder that kicks in when pretty young German lasses tell me stories about fondling balls, the popes or anybodies.

She has promised to return, maybe even for the Thursday evening drinks. I'll let you know if she continues the story.

Reminds me of a rather different product that I love eating with soft goat cheese, Dalmatia® Orange Fig Spread :

The things one learns over the internet ;










http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/vatican/esp_vatican39.htm

It's funny you should mention that business with the chair, Mr Grapefruit, as my Uncle Bertrand always enjoys relating the tale of how he came to grope the Pope's balls one afternoon in 1958.

It was in late October of that year, shortly after the death of Pope Pius XII, when my Uncle, having found himself in the Vatican, dressed in a red frock, on account of a favour he'd been owed by the late lamented pontiff, was called to establish the sex of the new chap they had in mind, a young fellow by the name of Herbert.

Young Herbert was supposed to bring a breath of fresh air into the stale chambers of the Holy See, and had been invited specially from New York in order to take up his position. He was very keen to take on the job, and, after an afternoon of heavy hospitality at the expense of his magnanimous hosts, accompanied by his lusty baritone rendition of "Tiptoe through the Tulips" (for he'd previously worked as a cabaret singer), when invited to sit upon the perforated stool, he eagerly leapt forward, spilling his glass of burgundy all over the polished wooden floor, before lifting up his gown and perching himself precariously over the hole.

My Uncle, never shy of a challenge, crouched down on his hands and knees and carefully edged forward to do his duty. It was dim underneath the stool, but he was able to locate the object of his (reluctant) search without too much difficulty. The pendulous fruit was warm and firm to the touch, and reminded my Uncle somewhat of a fresh Kiwi fruit, covered in a fine down, ready for plucking.

Alas, as my Uncle descended into his fructicultural reverie, he failed to notice the spilt wine upon the floor. He slipped, twisted his knee, and, in his panic, made a grab for the nearest hanging object.

It is said that the screams could be heard in Milan. It is said that nobody could tell where the burgundy wine ended and the... well, I'm sure you can imagine. It is enough to say that my Uncle was immediately defrocked, excommunicated and expelled from the Vatican, never to return (except under heavy disguise - as an albino, curiously enough - but that's a whole 'nother story).

Another Pope was chosen, of course, and the young man was never seen or heard from again. It is rumoured that he changed his name to "Tiny Tim" and made a meagre living as a travelling entertainer, but few people take such claims seriously.

My Uncle hasn't touched a Kiwi fruit since.

He should get some of these for his popemobile.

I have seen @ Jelmoli some nice jars of "mostarda" (? "Senf Früchte") made with figs or with oranges. Not the same thing as the young ball-fondler mentioned, but nevertheless it's a Very Tasty Combo in association with a good aged piece of cheese (firm, not runny).

Ciao

Paul

Your translation is correct GG.
In French it's called: Confiture Couille du Pape (for the jelly) and Confit (for the figs in sirop, stuffed with almond paste, walnuts, orange peel and rhum)
Due to this legend, figs have had this "alternative" name since the late Middle Ages around Lyon.
I believe it's served with goat's cheese ?