Carnivorous Figs and Front Yard Veggie Gardens
Plus! Upgrade on Spa Water, California Rice, and Melon Soft Serve
When we bought our place in Brooklyn in 2011, there were not enough smudge sticks in the world to clear the bad juju (nor were there enough contractor bags to contain the rat feces, bare mattresses, and discarded condom wrappers). When we moved to our current house in Los Angeles, I had the opposite problem. While the home was in a state of termite-ridden disrepair, I was loathe to expunge the traces of its former owner, a woman name Barbara whose personhood we pieced together through the books she left behind, and the notes and poems she stuck inside her closet doors.
Over 30 years she lived in this house, she transitioned from married woman, to mother, to widow. Once filled with family, the property evolved into the peaceful backdrop to the final chapter of her life. Here, Barbara had become an art therapist, studied Buddhism, experimented with Chinese cooking, and cultivated flowers. This house was the container for a life well led.
Any avid gardener can appreciate what it takes to steward a plant as it bears fruit and flowers, but also, through its dormant stages and pruning, the “awkward haircuts” of its life. Barbara’s dedication to her roses, proudly positioned on the street side of the house, was obvious. I connected with Barbara through her hand in the landscaping. But, at the same time, the sunny front garden was undeniably the best location for a vegetable garden, and growing food year-round was high on my list of reasons I was willing to move to LA. I prayed for forgiveness, and razed dear Barabara’s roses to make room for tree collards, curry leaves, Orach spinach and a hugelkultur for my creeping strawberries. We symbolically transplanted one of the original rose plants in the backyard, where it blooms as a tribute to its late custodian (or maybe as a “fuck you” to me, from beyond the grave).
A vegetable garden in the front of the house was an unconventional choice in a neighborhood that still leans towards thirsty lawns and rhododendron. We have no fence or ornamental border plantings, only mandarinquat and limequat trees at the sidewalk’s edge. Every morning, as I tinker amongst my veggies in my pajamas, speed walkers and dog walkers stop to tell me how much they enjoy watching my garden grow and change. They are eager to know what funny fruit hangs like Christmas ornaments on a spindly tree (tamarindo), or they proudly recognize an herb from their ancestral home (Rau Ram or Trinidadian seasoning peppers). That’s my queue to cut them a fragrant bouquet, or fill their pockets with the specimen in question.
People often ask me if I worry that my bounty will be pilfered in the night. That would be my greatest accomplishment! To the jogger who is overcome by their passion for sorrel -- be my guest (and ring the bell to introduce yourself next time).
READ
The desk chair content that best supports my garden fixation is Sam Roger’s Substack, a maniacal weekly dissection of seasonal produce. Her most recent post demystified the fig, a fruit that is available at grocery stores, that drips over my neighbor’s fence, and grows in my backyard (deliberately planted and volunteer). But did you know this common fruit has such a salacious story all its own? (I did, but I take every opportunity I can to reveal this shocking tale).
The fig tree is a fruiting tree, but have you ever seen a fig flower? If you have a basic grasp of plant biology, you should be scratching your head right now. Flowers are critical for reproduction, and generally, they arrive before a plant produces fruit. You have never seen a fig flower because the flower is INSIDE THE FRUIT. The dense collection of seeds that characterize the gushy guts of the fig actually function as a treasure trove of tiny flowers just waiting to be pollinated. But how?
Take it away, Sam:
There are roughly 900 species of figs and about 900 species of fig wasps, engaged in a bizarre ballet of extreme "codependency." Fig wasps are crucial in transferring pollen between male and female flowers to achieve successful pollination.
Pollination is straightforward for most flowers, but it's a bit more complicated for the fig since the flowers are encased in a protective fortress. When a female fig wasp is ready to reproduce, she climbs into a fig through a small opening called an ostiole. Once inside, she deposits her eggs and brings pollen from other figs, fertilizing the flowers. In burrowing into the fig, the wasp loses its antennae and wings, trapping herself inside. The wasp doesn't make it out alive, and the fig digests her body.
So think of that the next time you indulge in the sticky sweetness of the ripe fruit/flower. It’s a wild world!
COOK
If I didn’t just completely ruin your favorite fruit for you, here are a few ways to use figs in the kitchen:
Wrap figs in prosciutto and roast them on a baking sheet in the oven at 325° F until the meat is crispy and the fig is bursting with hot syrup. It’s not a “Pig in A Blanket,” it’s a, “Fig in a Pig!”
Slice figs in half and top them with a smudge of blue cheese and a walnut, and roast in the oven at 325° F until they are warm and gushy. These are great in a salad with arugula and balsamic too.
If you are lucky enough to have a fruiting fig tree, you might be looking for some preservation solutions. In Puglia, they make “married figs.” Slice the fig in half but keep the tip connecting the two sides intact. Sprinkle with a couple of whole fennel seeds and place a single blanched almond inside. Squish the two sides back together and dry them in the sun or in a dehydrator.
Dry the fig leaves in the sun and turn them into a powder in the Vitamix with Kosher salt. Use this to rub chicken before roasting. The leaves have a grassy, toasty green tea aroma.
HOARD
It was a gut-punch to hear that Robin and Ross Koda, the farmers responsible for California’s most beloved rice, are calling it quits. (Read this story by Tejal Rao in The New York Times). I cycle between their brown rice and their sticky, sweet rice all week long, and the future is looking bleak. In Los Angeles, many of us look forward to seeing Robin herself working her stand at the Santa Monica farmers market (she’s impossibly chic).
The Kodas sold the trademark to a larger company, so while it isn’t the end of the brand, who knows how the sale will impact the quality? I am stocking up! Koda Farms Rice is sold at Mitsuwa Market in large bags, at Cookbook, and similar upscale shops.
EAT
I returned to my favorite Alhambra spot, Yang’s Kitchen, for dinner last week and it was even better than I remembered, from the considered wine list and the dry-aged fish collar, to the endless Taiwanese inflected preparations of farmers market veg. What endears me to this place is their commitment to sourcing. You can taste it, you can smell it, it’s the key to their success.
These days, I am hitting the farmers market twice a week just to keep up with our family’s melon consumption, particularly the varieties from Weiser Family Farms. So you can imagine my delight when I was offered a Weiser melon and vanilla swirl soft serve for dessert at the close of my meal at Yang’s. Creamy, fluffy vanilla was cut by the refreshing, floral sorbet in soft serve form. Unparalleled.
Note: Yang’s is closed Tuesday and Wednesday, and they don’t have ice cream on Mondays.
DRINK
I have all kinds of schemes to make water more enticing to drink throughout the day. It seems I am not alone in this — Bristol Farms sells 8 oz bottles of “house-made spa water” these days. Instead of paying for yesterday's soggy cucumber in a plastic bottle, I make tisanes and infusions to keep in the fridge. (I also just ordered one of these infusers tops from 24Bottles, who make great quality water bottles for adults and kids’. I pop some herbs in there, giving my water some personality without having to clean the bottle constantly).
Here are a few ways I dress up water at home so you stay hydrated throughout the day.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Salad for President Substack to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.