Figga

Figs. They are a treat. I love biting into a perfectly ripe one and feeling the juices bursting into your mouth.

Unfortunately, I have a hard time finding such perfect fig in San Diego. Most the figs I can find are black missions and they are usually a bit dry. So I make do with what I have. Instead of eating them fresh I cook them up to bring out the sweetness and the softness in the fig.

The Italians call figs "figga" which is also a slang for vagina. In many ways than one the name fits. You must treat a fig like a vagina; delicately with love. When a fig is perfectly ripe then you eat it. When it is dry you must warm it up gently and add a little love into it.

Tonight, I did just that. I took the figs and quartered them. Exposing their pink insides. I drizzled them with a little grape seed oil and salted them gently. I put them skin side down on warm skillet and allowed them to warm up. Once the juices started to flow, I gave them a stir and tossed in sliced Italian Torpedo onions. Within minutes you could hear the pan sizzle as the mixture started to caramelize.


While all that was going on, I decided to make a steak salad. I had a perfectly grown head of lettuce from the NC garden and a prime new york strip from my mother. The steak was lightly seasoned with salt and peppered and seared in a pan. The lettuce roughly chopped. I piled it all up, topped it with a creamy danish blue, and drizzled some of my favorite balsamic on it and within 30 minutes dinner was done.