Ruminations and recipes from a small kitchen in a big city.


Three figs.

Five years ago exactly, my partner bought me a fig tree, a fifth anniversary gift.

It was just a little one. I put it in the ground on top of plenty of rotted matter in the back yard of our beach shack. We wondered how many years it would take to fruit.

The last few weeks have been busy. We hadn't been down the coast for a while.

We left the city early Saturday morning and within ninety minutes we could see the twinkling waves.

Arriving, we unpacked the car and put the dogs into the yard. There sat the fig tree, now doubled in size, enjoying the sunshine all on its own.

On its still-slender branches were three perfect, ripe, purple-black figs, warm and soft to the touch after a morning in the autumn sun.

I sliced the figs lovingly (if using a sharp knife on something can be described as loving!), and lay the slices on a plate. Then I sliced some fresh mild mozzarella and lay that on the figs.

I grilled it and we had tenth anniversary figs and cheese.

Now I just have to figure out whether it is an entree or a dessert. I'm thinking entree, although what you drink with it could be the decider. Eat it with say, a chardonnay, it's entree. Eat it with a dessert wine, it's dessert. We didn't drink anything with it, so I don't know.

Whatever. It was delicious.

Ten years.

1 comment:

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