©2009 Amuse-bouche for Two
A bowl of newly ripened figs sit in our fridge. Each day we peel and eat, peel and eat. As they grow softer, skin chilled, gravity starts to take hold, their bulbous bodies start to favor one side over the other. Signs of atrophy.
Last night before the last signs of peach tart were devoured we grazed over a prepared plate of figs that I had sectioned and brought down to room temperature. "They're not that sweet", the words thought by one and spoken by the other. Agreement that the rain we experienced in the Spring managed to dilute the otherwise milky, obscenely sweet fruit.
What a strange year of weather we've had. Even these hazy, hot and humid days of summer are borderline at best. Low 90's instead of the high 90's with heat index's in the 100's our bodies have become used to.
It seems as though the fig tree is just going through the motions and thus we do as well, eating them as they become ripe before the birds do.