Figs: The World's Most Luscious Fruit
An Article by Marie Simmons

I moved from Brooklyn, New York to the San Francisco Bay area five years ago. At first I missed my family and friends. I still miss them, but not as much as I used to. I think it's the figs.

I have never seen so many figs in one place in my life. Mounds of them appear at our local farmer's market in June, and again in August through to September and, if the weather remains warm, into November. Plump greenish-yellow figs, small purplish black ones, and shapely chartreuse figs, their rounded cheeks painted with a brush of purple. Figs in more different sizes and shapes than I ever imagined. All mixed together, I am amazed that the farmers treat what I consider precious cargo with such nonchalance.

I stand back and watch early morning market devotees gather tightly around the tables of figs. Mostly I see many hands. One hand after another hand gently selects a fig, cups it softly and contemplates its worth. It either goes into the bag with the other selections or is gingerly returned to the pile for another searching hand to retrieve. I watch in expectation. I can't wait for a space to clear so I can take part in this ritual.

I am a regular at the market during fig season. On weekday mornings the market is not as busy as is it on Saturday. I use this quiet time to quiz the farmers about varieties, taste, and ripeness. I am puzzled as to why some farmers don't sort the figs by variety and some do. One farmer explains that his orchard contains fig trees of different varieties. Putting them in one flat is easier for the pickers. One farmer, sensitive to my enthusiasm, takes the time to explain the different varieties to me and patiently answers my questions. But it is his demonstration of ripeness that leaves me weak in the knees. Carefully he picks up a fig and turns it over. "Here", he says, "is a perfectly ripe fig". There is a single teardrop of syrup oozing from its blossom end. (This I later learned is called the "eye" of the fig.) I am uncharacteristically speechless. Then he lifts another fig from the pile and offers it to me. It sits on my out stretched hand. It is warm from the sun and so heavy with sugar its sides are literally bursting with rivulets of syrup.

Right then and there I have an epiphany: I'm in fig heaven.

I bought so many figs that day that I spent the weekend cooking (and eating) figs. Here is a preview of some of the recipes I had fun cooking and that will be in my cookbook.

Recipes

• Fresh Fig Quesadillas
• A Trio of Stuffed Figs
• Fresh Fig and Asiago Cheese Frittata

Also Available:  Roasted Gorgonzola Stuffed Prosciutto Wrapped Figs

Copyright © 2003 by Marie Simmons. All rights reserved.