Figs with honey and gorgonzola.
Fig and shallot pizzette with balsamic vinegar!
Figs wrapped in prosciutto and drizzled with pomegranate syrup.
Figs roasted with just a sprinkling of feta.
Fig and walnut tart!
It all sounds good, huh?
Not gonna happen in my mom’s house. This, however, is:
Maybe your mom or dad or auntie got fancy with fruit. My mom just didn’t. I don’t remember my mom ever doing anything with fruit besides cutting it, and often not even that. We just ate fruit plain. The only fruity dessert I ever remember her making was her cheesecake, which took a can of fruit pie filling on top (usually cherry; sometimes blueberry). That’s it; I may think of something else, but it will certainly be an exception to the general rule of eating fruit out of hand, without doing anything to it. Oh, my dad ate salt on his watermelon; does that count?
Anyway, figs are a special favorite of my mom’s, and mine, too. I cried when my Aunt Edie cut down her fig tree, because the free figs were going away. And to this day, they’re an extra-special treat for me, especially since James doesn’t even consider them food, so they’re mine-all-mine.
Plain. No embellishments. Because that’s the folkway of my people.