We are very pleased to have eight figs since last year we had just one fig divided carefully between the six of us. Eight figs amount to a veritable feast.
Everything about figs is somehow satisfying. Our tree has broad, solid glossy leaves; there is nothing feeble about it even though it’s only five feet tall. The fruit weighs heavy in your hand, more than you think it should. A fig has a reassuring bit of substance to it.
We ate most of them straight from the tree and each one has been sweeter than the last. Husband (who claims ownership of the fig tree) was resistant to the idea of cooking them, it seemed almost a waste as they were so good.
I used just two for this experiment and filled the spaces with plums.
I spooned some runny honey over everything, dotted small knobs of butter on the plums and scattered a handful of walnuts on top. That’s it. You could hardly call that a recipe. Medium oven for 10 minutes, et voila:There is a story behind the massacred poppy seed heads. Let’s just say that Teenage Son believed that he was doing me a favour. I served these with Greek yogurt because I love the stuff. To be honest, the plums could have done with five more minutes in the oven and more sweetness, maybe a sprinkle of brown sugar.
The figs and walnuts with honey were deeply satisfying. This was a guilt-free plate of food to make you feel good about yourself.
I’ve heard it said that gardeners are happy people because they have an investment in the future. Our eight figs may be gone but I’m already making plans for next year; we might have sixteen figs (2 and 2/3 each!) but we might have sixty-four. We’ll most likely have somewhere in between those two figures. I think that gardener’s are happy because gardening teaches you alot about managing your expectations. What do you think?