I love figs. I have been know to go to great lengths to acquire excellent figs. I have even been known to steal them from the neighbors. Though I prefer the term urban foraging.

Figs are difficult to buy at the grocery store they do not pack or ship properly. Very good figs should be allowed to completely ripen on the tree. But once ripe they only last a few days.

All of these facts make me love figs all the more. Because the truly special. The utterly delicious, and the mind blowingly perfect deserve to be a wee bit finicky in my opinion.

So I am always surprised when tried and true foodies say to me “I don’t really like figs”. Well, in truth I don’t really understand that statement regarding any food. But with figs it’s is particularly baffling.

So before you ask, let me just say. “No. You can’t replace the figs with cherry LifeSavers in this recipe.”

So here’s how my mind works. Grab a pen because I paid people good money to get to the bottom of this.

I recently roasted some less than spectacular off-season tomatoes. I made a fairly time consuming, but very delicious, panzanella salad. I called it a winter panzanella because I roasted those off-season little buggers to try to coax as
much sweetness out of them as I could.

This is great trick. But based on some of the emails I received I need to point out that I am not a genius. This method is not something I “invented”. I’ll say it again. I AM NOT A CHEF.  I cannot save you culinarily.

But there is one thing I do know. There are very few tricks in cooking (read life) that have not been tried before. I first had winter tomatoes slow roasted like this at Babbo in New York City a very, very long time ago. Not the 1800s long time
ago. But Bill Clinton was President and my 401k looked pretty healthy. Healthy enough to pay for overcooked tomatoes in a city across the country from where I actually lived.

But I have digressed.

Well it’s happened again. I ripped off KCRW’s Good Food. This time my victim was the chef at Rustic Canyon in Santa Monica, Evan Funke.

When I left the house this morning for the Hollywood Farmers Market I had an open mind about what I would find for my weekly Market Matters post. But when I got there, the market felt a bit off to me. I think we really are transitioning from the winter crops to the early spring stuff. I even saw English peas in the pod. A sure sign that spring is on it way in. But the peas were not really peaking and I’d rather wait a few more weeks and be rewarded with perfect peas.

All the usual suspects were to be found though. I saw great citrus, and the winter greens are still aplenty. There were carrots, carrots, and more carrots. Some nice potatoes too. But nothing really inspired me. Then it hit me. That interview with Evan Funke came bursting to the forefront of my consciousness.

Okay, you have to understand that I store information about food in my head the way most Angelinos store obscure rush hour short cuts. You never know when your gonna need ‘em and you have no idea where the information comes from. But there it is, like magic; just when you need it.

What I am trying to say is I was not intending to steal from Evan Funke. But, after really scouring the market, I came home with a bunch of baby purple artichokes. It may sound like a great choice (and it is), but it was not really MY own unique, one-of-a-kind choice.

Since it is February, and I am doing re-runs. I thought it was a good time to remember my mother. She was born, got married, conceived me, and even passed away in the month of February.

The 1970’s were when my own awareness of food began to develop. My mother was a fantastic cook. She probably learned most of her skills during this same period and I’d bet that Julia Child, Simone Beck and the whole “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” craze were her primary sources of inspiration.

While other kids were scarfing down “Tuna Twist”, “Mug-O-Lunch” and “Shake-A-Puddin”, my mom was serving us Bouillabaisse, Duck a la Orange, Mousse de Foies de Volaille. She even taught my little brother and me how to make perfect little crepes so that she could have 2 or 3 pans going at once for her famous dinner parties!

I recall bringing celeriac roumalade to school in my lunch box. I knew the difference between a béarnaise and a hollandaise. We did not eat meat cooked beyond medium rare (even pork). Ever! So in many ways, you see, these are my comfort foods.

watch video

You know, I intended to write about food and the wedding tradition. I imagined an eloquent metaphor linking food, happiness, and a community of family and friends coming together in celebration. After all, I do not think I have ever been to a wedding celebration without food.

But, it’s funny because I couldn’t find too much information affirming this notion.

It’s true that food is a part of most weddings. It may have always been that way. But these days I could mostly find ranty-blogs by people complaining about the wedding they were attending: rubber chicken, tasteless pasta, cloying cakes, expensive caterers, pointless gifts, boozy relatives, philandering brides and grooms. You get the idea.