The fig tree by Sarah’s backyard that was laden with figs only a week or so ago has born no fruit. The possums have been so voracious that not even one plump fig has fallen to the ground. The possums have bitten the blushing bums out of all the fruit, and then, once the rest has ripened they have come back for it, to finish the rest of the fruit off. What a sorry thing to watch. And at my house, the fig tree that usually overhangs my yard has been netted against birds and possums, so expertly that the tree has been tucked back over its side of the fence.
Please don’t tell my neighbours, and please forgive me (I guess they’ll know soon enough, when they take the net down) but I’ve cut a little hole in their net and have been secreting ripe figs over the fence. They are such grand purple figs, the size of my palm and I just couldn’t stand the torture of watching them ripen without me.
I reach my arm through the little hole and way up into the tree to find the ripest fig. And they should be very ripe, (remember they don’t ripen off the tree). So ripe they’re almost bursting, splitting at their bums, so that the flesh inside is almost caramelized from the sun. Eat them just like this, or with the chèvre they are just lovely. Wrap them in a little coat of prosciutto if you are feeling fancy.
ripe purple figs with goats cheese
6 very ripe purple figs, sliced in half
200g chèvre goats cheese
a drizzle of fruity olive oil
pepper and sea salt
Lay the sliced figs on a platter. Gently give each fig half a little slice of cheese. Drizzle with olive oil and a generous crack of black pepper and sea salt. Serve as a starter with a fresh cold drink. We’ve been drinking Aperol spritzers and Negronis.