Figgy feelings!
Aylin Öney Tan
It must be in my genes; I cannot tolerate the heat in summer, especially when combined with humidity. With two grandmothers from North geographies — one German from Königsberg, and the other Caucasian from Crimea — I feel like a polar bear in a desert when heatwaves strike. I suffered a lot in Istanbul this summer and decided that Ankara is a better place for me. Suddenly, last week, things got better. The other day, on an evening in Ankara, I felt that autumn was coming. It’s that initial chill you feel, the very first shiver after the hot days of summer, when you suddenly start thinking about autumn leaves falling seemingly for no reason. While taking a stroll down in the Botanik Park with my daughter’s lovely dog Mochi, I murmured to myself: “Ecco prima ficus!”
‘Prima ficus’
“Prima ficus” literally means “the first fig.” It is a Roman term referring to the peak season for figs. The term does not only define the prime time for figs but also refers to the first feeling of autumn weather that triggers a slight shiver. When you smell the “prima ficus,” it means that summer is about to end. For me, it brings a sense of relief but tinged with a dash of sadness. This time, that sadness was particularly complex for me. Firstly, I realized that this summer I haven’t tasted a single fig yet. That can be solved. A quick visit to a market, preferably one of the weekly neighborhood markets in town, is the solution. But everyone knows that the best figs are always found in their own geographical territory, where they grow. Even better, the best ones come straight from the tree. I’m not particularly crazy about figs; I find them a bit overly sweet. But the joy of picking ripe figs is an experience that is best enjoyed in childhood. I have so many fond memories of collecting — or rather stealing — figs from fig trees, so a fig tree always brings me flashbacks of past summers.
Alluring smell of a fig leaf
A fig tree is definitive. Even if you do not see it, you can feel it is around the corner. It is because of the smell of the fig leaf. The poor fig itself does not contain a particularly attractive smell, but the leaves smell heavenly. When we say heaven, the fig leaf must have had its place in heaven, obviously, as Adam and Eve had to cover themselves with fig leaves when they were expelled from the Garden of Eden. Considering the nectar-like sweet taste of the fruit, the fig must be one of the seductive fruits known to mankind. I strongly suspect that it was not an apple that was the forbidden fruit, but the fig itself.
The fig tree is invasive. It can take root in the most unexpected places, and the roots can be wildly destructive. Every single archaeological site in the Aegean region has a sudden fig tree that has taken root in bygone times. There is a saying in Turkish which translates as “planting a fig tree in someone’s fireplace,” which is like a curse, meaning to wreck someone’s life. The roots will eventually blow every single stone apart, leaving a ruin behind. However, the fig tree is also alluring. Its unmistakable scent is surprisingly comforting, offering a sense of warmth and security that stands in stark contrast to the old Turkish curse. Sitting under your own fig tree is a peaceful feeling, and for me the smell of the fig tree reminds me of two homes that were special to me but now lost forever. First, it was my late mother’s summer house south of İzmir; the tiring, hilly road leading to her house always smelled of fig leaves. The other fig tree was around the corner of my house in the Princes’ Islands; when the scent of the fig tree invaded my nostrils, I knew I was at home. Both homes represent the past summer times.
Waving goodbye
This year I feel that “prima ficus” feeling is really about loss. The loss of the caressing summer heat, even if it is suffocating at times, waving goodbye to the summer love that you might never meet again, the lost paradise of Adam & Eve, mother’s summer house that does not exist anymore, or the idle Princes’ Island days long gone. The list can be long. This summer it also reminded me that own prime time is nearly over too. There is this inevitable psychology of being 65 plus, and “prima ficus” can well mean that fall (by all means) is near.
No crying over spilled milk! There are ways to enjoy the figgy feeling with a whiff of fig scent encapsulated in a jar. Unripe fig jam is a delicacy in the Turkish kitchen. When spring turns into summer days by the end of May or early June, you see bags of small figs, almost like fig buds, sold by women who painstakingly collect and peel them, ready to be turned into the most delicious jewel-like sweet preserves. Alternatively, you can have a few fig leaves and slightly roast them in the oven to dry. Once completely dry, crush them and pour in enough olive oil to cover them completely; you’ll have a bottle of Aegean summer in your pantry to bring sunshine to your winter table. The smell and aroma are exactly the same as a fig tree under the scorching sun of summer days. Fresh figs might taste heavenly at their peak, but sweet, honey-like dried figs will make a delicious figgy pudding for the New Year.