Thursday, September 11, 2008
An Ode to Figs
Those of you who know me well might want to skip this post altogether, because I'm about to wax rhapsodic about my favorite fruit and one of my favorite foods: the fig.
For years now, I've been eating dried figs every day, usually on their own, but sometimes baked into French tarts (with fig pastry cream and paired with grapefruit wedges on top); sliced and placed on top of bread spread with mascarpone cheese and garnished with fresh basil leaves; or (perhaps my favorite) stuffed with walnuts and baked in vin santo, honey and some orange zest.
The real treat, of course, is the unparalleled fresh fig - proof that despite the madness in our world, the pleasures of this Good Green Earth can make us remember that life is full of deep joy.
"Why now?" you might be asking with impatience. "Why does he blather on about his obsession on this particular day? "
Mostly, because my hubby sent me a link to a story on NPR about the fresh fig.
Also, because one of my favorite vendors at the farmer's market told me that she would have figs this coming Sunday. I plan to be there before the 9 a.m. opening bell so I can sweep them up by the bucketful.
For someone with Italian roots and someone who is a deeply sensual person, this fruit is an orgiastic culmination of what life has to offer.
So, as a spell of indulgence and pleasure, I challenge all of you to go out and buy fresh or dried figs and eat them daily, perhaps chanting some mantra to sensual delights or allowing the flavor, downright naughty texture and juiciness to be the prayer itself.