The autumn equinox has passed, and at sundown today, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, begins. (Happy 5773!) One of my favorite parts of this important but still joyous holiday is the mandate to start the year with sweetness. No radicchio, no vinegar, nothing bitter or sour. That will come in due time, as part of life. But right now, while the new year is still untouched and full of promise, it should hold nothing but sweetness. Honey is a traditional part of the new year's table, as are new fruits, those that have just ripened during this autumn season but haven't found their way into your kitchen yet. They can be served as is, baked into desserts, or slow-braised with chicken, duck, or brisket.

We have a rich variety of such fruits to choose from this season: dusty blue, oval-shaped French and Italian sugar plums, excellent for baking in cakes and tarts; luscious juice-dripping melons; grapes of all colors and sizes, from golden, winey Muscats to brilliant Autumn Flames; the first greeny-yellow Bartlett pears and rough-skinned amber Asian pears. And of course, figs, the crown of our fall harvest. There are Black Mission and Brown Turkey figs, green Kadotas and crazy Candystripes. They are frankly seductive, not juicy like a peach but lush and yielding when perfectly ripe.

Ripeness is all, though: an unripe fig is a hard, chalky thing with all the appeal of seedy spackle. So, first rule of thumb: make sure your figs are ripe. How to tell? A ripe fig should give a little. A drop of clear, sticky juice oozing from the tiny hole at the base is a good thing. You don't want moldy or wrinkly, but softer is better.

It also depends on what you're doing with them. Almost-mushy figs are the tastiest, but they're not going to slice neatly. A wonderful salad for firmer figs this time of year is arugula and mixed lettuces tossed with wheels of peeled orange and quartered figs, dressed with a shallot-sherry vinaigrette and showered, just before serving, with sliced, toasted almonds and nubbins of fresh goat cheese (chevre). Or you can make a divine hors-d'oeuvre by cutting a cross in the top of each fig, tucking in a nubbin of goat or blue cheese, drizzling them with pomegranate molasses and running them under the broiler until the fruit swells and the cheese just begins to melt. Truly, one of the best ways to treat a fig that I've ever discovered.

A warm fig is a sexy fig, and so I love baking with fresh figs this time of year. I can imagine this schiacciata d'uva made equally delicious with halved figs instead of grapes. The cake below started as your typical fall apple cake, loaded with diced apples, toasted walnuts, a sweet spice mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. But it grows up and becomes a little more elegant when the apples and walnuts are swapped out in favor of figs and almonds, and when the cinnamon is nudged out by the fragrant, camphor-y aroma of cardamom. The seeds of one or two pods of fresh green cardamom, freshly ground or crushed into a cup of sugar, will give more than enough perfume to this cake. You could also crush the dried blossoms of a few stalks of lavender into your sugar instead, to a different but equally lovely effect.

Recipe: Fig Cake with Almonds
Summary: Want to go wheat-free? You can replace the white and wheat flours in this easy autumn cake with a mixture of oat and barley flours.

Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 25-30 minutes
Total Time: 45-50 minutes
Yield: 1 cake

Ingredients:
1 cup all-purpose unbleached white flour
1 cup whole-wheat pastry flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
6 oz (10 tbsp) butter, softened
1 1/3 cup cardamom or lavender sugar
grated rind of 1 orange
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
8 ripe fresh figs, stems removed, quartered
2 tbsp honey
1/4 cup sliced almonds

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 F. Grease a 10” round baking pan or 9"x13" rectangular pan.

2. Sift flours, baking powder and soda, and salt together in a large bowl. Set aside.

3. Cream butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing until each one is thoroughly incorporated into the batter before adding the next. Beat in orange rind and vanilla.

4. Beat in one third of the buttermilk. Using a rubber spatula, gently fold in the flour mixture in thirds, alternating with the remaining buttermilk.

5. Spread batter in the prepared pan. Press figs lightly into the batter, cut side up, in a decorative pattern. Drizzle with honey and scatter with sliced almonds.

6. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean and cake is pale golden-brown. Let cool on a rack before removing from pan.

7. Serve with a dollop of crème fraiche or Greek yogurt mixed with honey.

I love figs. They're on the short list of my favorite things, so I have always had difficulty with the phrase "I couldn't give a fig." The meaning of the phrase, of course, is that to give a fig is to care little. To not give a fig means to care even less. Of course, the true purpose of the word "fig" in that phrase is commonly thought to be as a replacement for another, unprintable-on-this-website "f" word. And that depresses me. It's given the fig a bad name.

According to The Phrase Finder and numerous other sources, the saying is based upon the Spanish "dar un fico" (substitute the "o" in fico with an "a" and any Spanish speaker will know the not-so-subtle change in meaning), which gave its name to the traditionally obscene gesture of placing one's thumb between one's first and second fingers-- roughly the equivalent of giving someone the finger-- the third finger-- but en español.

And the list goes on. There are several more unpleasant fig-related associations. Here are but a few:

The word "sycophant" (from the word sykon) is derived from a Greek term roughly meaning "to show the fig". According to one interesting source, when valuable, sacred figs were stolen, a man sucking up to authority discovered the theft and revealed the figs and accused the robbers on the spot.

If one writes the word in all capital letters-- FIG-- one could be accused of referring to the Libyan terrorist group that once attempted to assassinate Mohammar Qaddafi. The attempt was made, I believe, in exasperation over their repeated attempts to force the press into settling on one official spelling of his name.

Cleopatra took her own life with the bite of a snake hidden in a basket of figs.

And then, of course, there is the penchant of likening the fig to a certain part of the female anatomy, which may or may not be a bad thing, depending on your point of view. Fortunately, the reputed First Woman found that a large leaf from the fig tree would do nicely in concealing hers.

A Little Bit of History.

The fig is ancient. Remnants of the fruit have been found in excavations dating from 5,000 B.C.E. in Western Asia Minor. The tree and it's fruits quickly spread around the Mediterranean.

Demeter gave them to Dionysus. Plato mentioned that Greek athletes were fed on a diet of them to increase their strength and speed. Temporarily. Figs contain a high concentration of sugar (up to 50%). Think of them as ancient Power Bars. Jesus, in a fit of ungodly pique (Matthew 21:18), cursed a fig tree for not producing any fruit for Him as He passed by, thus killing the tree and ensuring there would be no second chances for it. Unless, that is, He chose, in His infinite goodness, to resurrect it at a later time.

The leaves of the tree have been used to provide shade, wrap food, and hide the naughty parts of statues. The tree itself was an easy source of quick-lighting firewood.

The fig is one of only five fruits mentioned in the Quraan along with olives, grapes, pomegranates, and dates. That's some good company.

Eat Them While You Still Can

Unpleasant associations aside, figs are inherently good on the inside. They are high in fiber, yet according to the ancient Egyptians, have a mild laxative quality to them.

They are rich in calcium, iron, phosphorus, and potassium. Less so in Vitamin C and B vitamins, but they are sourced there, too.

Figs are excellent dried, stewed, or eaten raw. They add a subtle depth to sweet dishes, and sweetness to savory ones.

How anyone could see their way to giving this simple fruit, one which exudes such sweetness, sexual suggestion, and history with every mouthful, is beyond me. And frankly, I simply couldn't give a fig about this poor fruit's detractors.

I shall think no more about it. Instead, I plan to continue making myself sick on them until the season is over.

Fig Salad

I like this preparation because it basic-- if not as old as the hills, it is possibly older than the Bible. All the ingredients have been in common use in and around the Mediterranean for more than 7,000 years. That's about 1,000 older than the earth itself, according to Young Earth creationists.

I am not giving specific amounts for any of the ingredients because that would complicate such a perfectly simple dish. The amount of each ingredient is entirely up to your preference.

Serves as few or as many as you wish.

Ingredients:

Ripe figs, well washed, to reduce the risk of poisoning from scheming Roman matrons.

Any soft, faintly salty sheep or goat milk cheese at room temperature. Goat cheese will add a wonderful tang to the dish, while sheep’s milk lends a certain umami to the overall outcome. I do not recommend cow's milk cheese-- it's just not biblical.

Olive oil. Extra virgin.

Honey. I prefer mine warmed. If one replaces the period with a comma in this last sentence, the meaning is very much changed.

Chopped pistachios. Or almonds. Your choice.

Preparation:

Wash the figs well, dry and bisect. Place them on a serving dish with the cheese which you have broken into reasonably attractive chunks. Drizzle figs and cheese with olive oil and honey. Sprinkle dish with chopped nuts to garnish. Eat.