In Praise of Figs

Are figs the most feminist fruit?

All the figs I ever ate as a child or as a youth were the dried black figs, California Mission Figs. We lived on the edge of town, with fig orchards on two sides of us, and we kids loved it when the fog would roll in. Then we’d creep over to the fig orchards and pretend that the spindly limbs poking out at us from within the murky white were the magic apple trees from The Wizard of Oz, except we thought they would throw figs at us instead of apples. We just lurked up and down in between the trees, but we never once took a piece of fruit — they weren’t our orchards.

It never occurred to me until I left home and moved to Berkeley, where there were farmers’ markets, that figs could be found fresh. Wow, what a taste explosion when I first tried fresh figs! Because fresh figs have a short season and only last about a week after they’re picked, they are a real connoisseur’s delight. Others agree:

To eat figs off the tree in the very early morning, when they have been barely touched by the sun, is one of the exquisite pleasures of the Mediterranean. — Elizabeth David

California also has Calimyrna Figs, which have greenish-yellow skin and light yellow-pink flesh, and Kadota Figs, greenish-yellow skin with purplish flesh. Calimyrna Figs have a sort of nutty taste, and are the most popular dried fig.

One of my walking friends and I used to stroll along some overgrown canals, and one had a single wild or feral Mission fig tree half leaning over the banks. We would watch it avidly every summer for the first figs to ripen so we could pick one each to enjoy as we sauntered along. It broke our hearts to see that one winter storm had undercut its roots so that it fell over and died.

Growing up, I read about the ancient Greeks growing figs, but I just learned from Wikipedia that figs are one of the first foods ever cultivated, beginning 9400–9200 BCE, in Jordan.

When I was in my most ardent feminist phase (early 20s), I remember thinking how cool it was that Kadota Figs and Black Mission Figs have all-female flowers and don’t need external fertilization. We took it as our standard, and when we argued with The Patriarchy, we would shout out, “We don’t give a fig!” for it’s double meaning.

These days, I try not to argue with anybody, and just enjoy life as much as I can. To that end, I bought some dried fruit to mix into my morning oatmeal. The last package of dried fruit I bought came pre-diced, but when I opened a new package today, I saw whole dried fruit, and then my eyes lit on the single fig! I haven’t had a fig in almost two years (because I’ve been living in Asia, and trying to eat local), and I could hardly believe my eyes.

I was so excited! I took it out and admired its golden color (probably a Calimyrna), and then I cut it into about 20 little pieces, so I could taste one in every bite. While I was eating breakfast on the covered deck, warm rain began to cascade down, and I felt a moment of complete contentment.

Yes, I do give a fig!