I love me a fig. There is something so voluptuous and sexy about them. That is if fruit can every really be either voluptuous or sexy. The fig comes pretty close in my opinion. I got all excited yesterday when I found some on offer that were perfectly ripe and purple and exquisitely beautiful in every way. The fishmongers in my new village doubles as a grocer and has fantastic produce at a fraction of the price of the supermarkets – all round winning indeed.
Anyway, I planned to have the figs in a salad for lunch but I got completely sidetracked and then went bouncing around the Goose Fair so they were relegated to dinner. Not that this is a bad thing. I had sliced the figs open and drizzled them with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Then, because I got sidetracked, they sat marinating for a few hours on the kitchen counter. When I returned home from the Goose Fair (exhausted and over-stimulated by lights and noise) I put the figs into the oven at 180C for half an hour. The result was a perfectly cooked fig with a syrupy balsamic glaze. I had already thrown together a salad of rocket leaves, feta, avocado, salami and toasted pumpkin seeds. Atop this I added the figs and drizzled some of the balsamic oil from the pan. Easy, fabulous dinner with minimal effort.