Sykomaida: Corfu's Ancient Answer to Winter
Long before refrigeration, before supermarkets, before anyone thought to call a fig cake "artisanal," the people of Corfu were solving a simple problem: how do you keep the sweetness of summer alive once the fig trees go bare? Their answer was sykomaida, a dense, dark paste pressed from sun-ripened figs, perfumed with anise and fennel, and left to mature under the warm Ionian light. It is one of the island's oldest confections — part preserve, part pastry, part edible memory of harvest season.
This Fig Pie Chocolate-Brandy 150g from Lazaris takes that centuries-old island recipe and turns it toward indulgence. Where the classic version leans on ouzo for its warmth, this one trades the aniseed spirit for a quieter, richer pairing: dark chocolate and barrel-aged brandy folded straight into the fig paste. The result is less rustic meze, more after-dinner luxury — though it never forgets where it came from.
From a Corfiot Courtyard to a Modern Workshop
The history of Lazaris Distillery & Artisan Sweets begins in 2005 by Konstantinos Lazaris, inspired by the kumquat fruit, and both he and his team passionately continue the island's culinary history. What began as a tribute to Corfu's small, fragrant citrus grew into something broader: a full rescue mission for the island's disappearing sweet traditions, sykomaida among them.
The products are handmade, produced in small batches and steeped in Corfiot history and sophistication, with skilled artisans working from traditional Ionian recipes while constantly experimenting with new combinations. In their modern facilities the past meets the future — agricultural tradition and historical heritage combined with contemporary standards and modern gastronomy. Visitors to Corfu can even walk through the workshop itself: the production facilities on the road to Achillion are open to visitors, and the tour through the confectionery facility — where the traditional fig pie "sykomaida" is made — takes guests on a trip into the culinary history of Corfu.
It's a telling detail about the kind of producer this is: not a factory chasing volume, but a small Corfiot house that still thinks of a fig pie as something worth walking visitors through, step by step.
How the Figs Become This
The process honours the old island method almost entirely. After the figs are gathered, they are left to dry in the hot summer sun and then fermented together with grape must, ouzo and spices, with fennel seeds and black pepper uniquely combined in the mixture to give freshness and intensity to the natural sweetness of the fruit. It's a method built on patience: real sun, real time, no shortcuts to concentrate that deep, raisined sweetness.
For this chocolate-brandy edition, the house takes its one deliberate liberty: instead of the classic ouzo, the recipe is finished with brandy and chocolate, folded through the fig paste for a warmer, more mellow character. The anise and fennel remain in the background, offering a herbal lift, but the dominant notes shift toward cocoa bitterness and the soft caramel warmth of brandy-soaked fruit — closer to a fig-and-chocolate torrone than a Mediterranean antipasto.
What to Expect on the Palate
Unwrap it and the aroma arrives first: dried fruit, a whisper of fennel, and the rounder, toastier note of cocoa and spirit. The texture is dense and sliceable, almost like a fig salami without the casing — chewy, slightly sticky, packed tight with fruit rather than filled with air. The first bite is sweet but not cloying; the brandy cuts through the figs' natural sugar, while the chocolate adds a faint bitterness that keeps the whole thing balanced rather than sugary. It finishes long, with that characteristic anise tingle resurfacing just as the chocolate fades.
How Corfiots Actually Eat It
This is not a cake you eat alone with a fork. On Corfu it is traditionally eaten plain, but it also accompanies cheese and cold plates beautifully, or is mixed into green salads for a special aroma and taste. A few ways to bring that same spirit to your own table:
- On a cheese board: slice it thin alongside a firm sheep's milk cheese or a soft, tangy goat cheese — the fig's sweetness and the brandy's warmth cut beautifully through the saltiness.
- With cold cuts: set it next to cured meats as the Corfiots do; the spice and fruit balance the richness of the charcuterie.
- Crumbled into salad: a few small pieces scattered over bitter greens, walnuts and a sharp cheese turns an ordinary salad into something distinctly Ionian.
- As a digestif companion: its character fits exceptionally with distillates such as tsipouro, ouzo, grappa or brandy — pour something small and strong alongside a slice after dinner.
- On its own: simply sliced, at room temperature, with coffee or a glass of something dark and sweet.
A Taste Worth Bringing Home
Fig pie belongs to a quietly disappearing category of Greek food — the kind of recipe that exists because generations of island families needed to make summer last, and happened to make something delicious in the process. Lazaris hasn't modernised it into something unrecognisable; they've simply given it a second personality, one built for an espresso cup and a glass of something aged rather than a seaside ouzeri table.
At 150g, it's an easy size to keep in the pantry for whenever a cheese board needs one more interesting element, or to tuck into a gift box alongside the house's other Corfiot specialities. Either way, it carries something larger than its size suggests: a small, dense block of island memory, sweetened with chocolate and warmed with brandy, waiting to be sliced.
