The Invisible Flower

Photos © Derek Richmond 2009

The fig, in season now, is one of the first fruits cultivated by humans and predates the story of the birth of Christ by about 9000 years.

I don’t remember when I first had my taste of fig but I do remember my father planting a fig tree in the garden, stubbornly in the middle of the lawn.  We later learnt that a fig tree likes to grow with some constriction, perhaps against or wall or planted in amongst some rocky earth.  Our tree still grows today,  quite large and fruiting a little.  We won’t move it.  The tree stands awkwardly and stubbornly proud in memory of Martin.

My other memory of figs is a tree across the street from a friend in London.  Much to her consternation I would carry a step ladder to the fence and scrump the plump, luscious fruit.  Only the offerings that hung on the public side of the street would I take, is that so bad?

Dried figs; figgy pudding; figs soaked in wine, brandy or marsala; figs in bread and butter butter pudding; figs with cheese or fig salad, drizzled with honey on some bitter leaves with toasted pine nuts and mozzarella.

The English figure of speech, “I don’t give a fig”, relates by way of a Bengali proverb, perhaps to the fact that the flower of the fig is invisible (the flower is actually the fruit inside).  One says it to mean, ‘I don’t care’  (I don’t see you).

But I do care, I care very much that you like figs and you must eat them with abandon in season.

Running water and a stove at last

Photography by Johanna Lowe and Derek Richmond © 2009

Almost 4 months without a kitchen sink or a cooker.  It started out as kind of fun, like camping is, until the rain starts and your shoes are soggy and all you want is a quick cuppa without the rigmarole.

But, now I have it all, almost.  The function is there, the prettiness is yet to be done.

My diet has been affected by this experience. I have been grazing on nibbles of food rather than whole meals and it’s interesting how this changes one’s approach to eating and nutrition. I have been eating much more simply.  Each piece of food is in and of itself.  I get to appreciate a piece of cheese, a slice of salami, an olive, a good piece of bread.  Sounds rather like peasant food.  I like it. I like the simplicity of eating in this way.  I went to the farmers market this Saturday and bought a baguette and some apricots. I had a lovely lunch of those with some soft brie that had been left out to ooze in the warmth of the summer day.

I think we complicate food.  When I go out to eat I get confused by all of the ingredients in one dish.  Not just confused, but put off.  For instance, I don’t want a million different elements in my salad.  I want to taste the greens. I want to have a dance of green and a spark of brilliance, a tango perhaps. I don’t want a teenage smothering sloppy smooch.

I made a plate recently of cheese with caremelised walnuts. The cheese was a french crottin, a goat cheese that has a nutty flavour and is good as is or baked to be soft and oozing.  I drizzled it with honey and added some thyme for extra fragrance in the nose.

Like life, food should be humble and good.

Sardines

Photos by Derek Richmond © 2009

Sardines.  One thinks of them in a flat can in oil or water.  Or if you live in a busy city then one thinks of them as human beings packed into the subway or bus.  My perfect idea of a sardine is fresh, glistening like an oil slick, smelling of the sea.

Fresh sardines are such an easy meal and so good for you.  An oily fish full of omega 3 that partners well with lemon and parsley, potato salad, frittata and a crisp bottle of white wine. Perfect Summer feast.  Holidaying in Southern Spain whilst in my twenties beget me many a meal of sardines.  Standing at the bar fumbling Spanish, ordering tapas, everything caught that day, grilled simply, ate quickly.

I don’t know if or when I’ll ever return to that place in Spain but my memory of it endures, along with another of a hill top restaurant where we would go for brunch.  Ajo Blanco, a cold garlic almond soup, with frittata and bread.  Looking out over the pool and across the soft valley, morning fog in my head, sweet garlic taste and cold fresh eggness in my mouth. Life, oh joy.

A recent trip to Isaac and Stein fish wholesaler in Chicago landed me some sardines.  I brought them home, split them and removed the backbone (pretty easy, they are a soft fish) made a stuffing with breadcrumbs, garlic, parsley, lemon zest, salt and pepper, preheated the broiler and threw them under, turning once for maybe 15 minutes total cooking time.

I like to keep the heads on my fish, some of you won’t.  I like to see the creature afore me, make friends with it as such, eye to eye.  You can of course remove the offending member if that is your wish.  However, be assured, be close to what you eat, know it like you know yourself.  I hope you know yourself.

Warts and all.