Askada Farm: Organic Dried Figs from Kymi
The history of a millenary tradition on the shores of the Aegean Sea is revived thanks to the will of Litsa and Stathis, founders of Askada Farm
To get to Kymi from Athens, you have to go through the Liosion bus station, the second bus terminal in the Greek capital. Litsa, who is waiting for me with her family, has given me all the coordinates, which bus to take, on which platform, how much to pay. The route connects the mainland with the island of Evia until it empties into the Aegean Sea. Four hours of a winding journey to the land of askada figs, the first visit heralding a bond that continues to this day.
The bus stops briefly at the small station of Kymi. It is already late, the surrounding streets are completely dark. Only the bus office - closed - keeps a light bulb on. I have arrived earlier than expected and I have no way to call Litsa, nor do I know how to get to her house. The driver hurries, but he notes my concern, asks for Litsas number and manages to tell her that her South American guest is waiting for her. Fifteen minutes later she arrives with her car and we go to her home, where her husband and kids are waiting.
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Kymi is located on the island of Evia, where fig trees have an ancient history. Askada is a specialty of this area.
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Litsa and Stathis after work harvesting and drying the figs, which are dehydrated under the sun. Both founded Askada Farm in 2013.
Upon arrival, the dinner is being made. Traditional cucumber, tomato, olive and feta salad, slices of paximadia with tahini, dried figs, fresh figs, semi-dried figs, fig compote. Before going to the table, Stathis, Litsa's husband, leads me to the sofa where I arrange my bundles - I have with me more than 20 samples of the fig bread I make in Peru and dozens of papers I collected at the fig conference in Naples, held last week - and introduces me to his parents and two kids.
Before going to rest, we all gather in front of the TV. On the one hand, news about Tsipras' latest statements and the social exaltation that is taking place all over Greece due to the financial crisis that has put its permanence in the European Union under discussion. On the other hand, the weather forecast, as a heavy rain could wipe out the fig harvest until next year. Despite the uncertainty, we are going to rest in good spirits.
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The whole family takes part in Askada production. Working with the figs encourages togetherness.
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when the ripe figs fall down, they must be picked up immediately. Such figs that lie on the ground and look quite appetizing are recognized as muskada.
Shortly before dawn, we put dozens of jabas in a double-cabin pickup truck and head for the fig orchard, located about three kilometers from home. Litsa has to take care of the drying, very close by, and will join us at noon. The geography is undulating and stony. Some 700 young fig trees, all of them of the kymi variety, stand in the middle of a mountain full of Hellenic biodiversity. If we crossed the Aegean into Turkey, in a straight line, this same variety would be recognized as sarilop. They are yellow figs, full of natural syrup, pollinated and fleshy.
The askada is apparently simple: cut the fig in half and expose it to the sun. But first the ripening times on the tree must be respected, and the best technique is to pick the figs from the ground, in a semi-dry state. When the pulp reaches a honeyed texture, the figs stick together, and remain under the sun for a few more days. Stathis explains all this to me as we visit each fig tree and fill the orange jabas. "This is only the first phase, then comes the selection and cutting with scissors," he explains as he meticulously checks each fig picked. "The ones that are very small we turn them into paste for the bars, jam and syrup, nothing is lost."
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the askada just before sticking together. This recipe is the manifestation of the connection between ecosystems, craftsmanship, organic farming and history.
It's already noon. Stathis indicates me to load the jabas into the Pick Up, and in five minutes we have twelve boxes neatly arranged in the truck. We finish this day's harvest with a spanakopita (a puff pastry with feta cheese, olive oil and spinach) and go to meet Litsa, who is waiting for us with her parents in law in a sober orchard where the wooden panels will be covered with figs until they finish drying.
Askada Farm began as a return to the origin. Litsa and Stathis studied in Athens (she, communication; he, economics), but they longed for rurality. Their respective families already had a link to the land, so the transition to the countryside was harmonic. In 2013 they had the project well delineated and a lot of desire to revitalize an old recipe through organic farming. Recognition came very quickly: in 2014 they won the Great Taste Greece with a balanced selection of products such as askada-style dried figs, fig syrup, fig jelly and energy bars with oats, local almonds and cocoa.
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Figs are ready and now they need to be sterilized with hot water. Such processes are also used in Spain and Croatia.
We repeated the askada ritual for a whole week. The proximity to the Aegean Sea gave us some more than deserved licenses, such as snacking on marinated anchovies (gabros marinatos) with homemade bread, olive oil and tchipurou –a grape distillate twinned with Peruvian pisco– in some tavern of the village, or the photo sessions in which Litsa and I took advantage of the last glimmers of sunlight to compose still lifes with her products. If the rain came, we would cover the panels with a huge film and keep the figs safe from extreme humidity (and premature rancidity).
And finally: the askada. Two figs stuck together, neither too soft nor too stiff, reach exact ripening after about six days. Each specimen must be palpated an infinite number of times, and a daily visit to the drying panels is a must. The shape evokes the symbol of infinity, and so they are stored in boxes until the drying is complete and the figs are treated with a water bath, vacuum packed and distributed throughout Greece.
We repeated this ritual for four years in a row, always in September, in the twilight of the season. In 2018, we met for the last time, when Askada had already become an emblem of the millenary fig culture in the land of the fig. Now they make fig salamis with Greek spices and dried fig chocolates with 70% cacao, give talks on the holistic management of their plantation and welcome students to the fig orchard, an understandable vocation, since they welcomed me as a student and friend.
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