Four perfect figs
… It is in the smallest details that the flavor of life is savored.
–Sarah Ban Breathnach
This morning for breakfast, along with my usual farm egg, I had four perfect figs. Little baby figs, about the size of my thumb above the joint. Lavender purple and green, tender, smooth, perfectly sweet. Delectable, in a word, with tiny seeds just whispering texture. Each bite (eight, in all) was a moment of perfect pleasure.
It’s at times like these that I’m so pleased I’ve made time to go to the farmer’s market. These figs were grown onsite, about two miles from my home. The only things more local are the basil and oregano I grow on my front porch, or the peppers that grow in my flower bed. (They have a lovely little purple blossom before the pepper comes, and truly beautiful foliage.)
Yesterday was a particularly busy Saturday, with errands and appointments in three cities, including my own. The organization required to get to all of them on time seemed akin to a military operation. The reward is these wonderful figs.
Not all my farmer’s market purchases turn out so well. There was the watermelon that had all the sweetness of your average vegetable, not to mention the huge fibrous peach that required baking to make it palatable.
But when it pays off, it pays off big. I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot. Even the gourmet grocery store has nothing to hold a candle to these.
This afternoon, I bought the farmer’s market pottery berry basket I’ve been wanting a reason to own. Next Saturday, I hope to fill it to the brim with perfect figs.