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Favourite things – Part 3

Life — my life, let’s be clear — is fantastic right now. The bounty of summer, showering me in free fresh fruit since spring, has turned into figs. Fresh wild figs.

It's the most figgyful time of the year!

Oh, I’m one happy blogger/knitter/eater/person/pantry wrangler. I’m so happy I could weep, but it’s so hard to weep when you’re kicking your heels up. It’s the best part of autumn: the wild figs growing along the banks of the creek at my parents’ property have burst into fruitfulness. We had a go at them earlier in the year and ended up with a bagful that were kinda-sorta-ripe. Edible, but not incredible. Now, though, look at them: they’re sticky, juicy, and dark dark red. They’re beautiful.

So much happiness...

What do you do with figs? If you’re me, you have trouble not eating yourself sick on them. If you’re anybody else, well, shoot, I don’t know. I’ve had them every morning for breakfast, chopped and warmed, with honey and home-made yoghurt. They’re heaven with blue cheese and a little balsamic (or vino cotto if you can manage it). M’s pro tip: serve on raisin toast with blue cheese. You could, in theory, stew them, turn them into jam, bake them in a tart, or dry them in a cool oven/dehydrator, but why would you? I mean, look at them:

Bowl o' bliss

Asking what do you do with figs is a bit like asking what you do with puppies. They are their own purpose and pleasure. (They’re apparently really high in fibre, calcium (weird for a fruit) copper, potassium, magnesium and oh frankly who cares? They’re fantastic.)

I wish I could remember when I found out Mumini and Dadini had wild fig trees on their property. I like to imagine it must have been a sublime moment, when my heart trembled and hands shook and tears pricked my eyes as I begged them to repeat such glad news. In reality, I was probably wrist-deep in washing up or kitty litter or something. My actual response would probably be more like “whuh? Wodger say?” than “O speak unto my trembling ears those nectar-laden words, sweet parents!” But who cares? Figs is figs and they’re going for free. Free fresh wild figs. Yes. My life is splendid.

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