Oh, figs, glorious fruit. Did I mention that eating figs and learning to cook with them was the capstone of my year in Berkeley? They were on every menu, usually swaddled in prosciutto or paired with blue cheese. Note to restaurants: stop using the term “bleu” cheese. It does not make your bar snacks any fancier. If I want fancy, I will go to Per Se, not Gordon Biersch. And yeah, you saw that right, those were potato chips on the menu, topped with “bleu” cheese. And by the way, I can’t actually afford Per Se. I thought my kids would fall head over heels in love with figs like I did. And then the damn thing wasn’t ripe enough.
ME: So guys, this one is called a……..
LAUREN: A pumpkin?
SAM: A pumpkin?
SAM: Orange?
SAM: Banana?
ME: It’s called a fig!
SAM: Figs look like this (holding it up)
ME: What does it look like?
SAM: It looks like a mandarin orange.
LAUREN: I have lots of descriptions. When you hold it upside down it looks like a hot air balloon. And when you tip it over like this (holding sideways), it looks like a thin pumpkin.
ME: Did you guys feel it?
LAUREN: Wet.
EMMA: Elmo did it.
SAM: It looks like a volcano.
ME: Let me cut it open and you can see the inside.
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