Best. Salad. Ever.

It's a bold statement, I know. But seriously, anyone I have ever made this salad for has fallen deeply and passionately in love with me. Okay, maybe not in love with me, but they definitely liked me a little bit more than they did pre-salad. And on the rare occasion when they didn't like me more, they at least felt a deeper connection to lettuce. One friend actually gave props to this salad in his Facebook status last year. High praise indeed.

{Isn't she loverly?}

This beauty was developed on a warm afternoon two summers ago when my friend Jen joined me to celebrate the surplus of figs on my tree. She came to my house and immediately began to caramelize walnuts in butter and brown sugar to throw on top. God, I love that girl. 

Here are the other goodies comprising the best. salad. ever.

-Salad greens 

-Crumbled gorgonzola or blue cheese

-Ripe, fresh figs (if you don't have access to figs, Bosc pears are equally delicious)

-Walnuts (caramelized or plain)

For the dressing: Mince 1 clove of garlic with honey, balsamic or red wine vinegar, olive oil and kosher salt and pepper. Sorry folks; I don't measure. Just do it to taste. 

A (Fig) Tree Grows in Queens

A 100-year-old fig tree blooms in my backyard. Embarrassingly, before moving into my Queens garden apartment, I had never eaten a fig outside of the ubiquitous Newton. And now, from mid-August to early October, at least one meal a day contains that plump purple fruit. I spend the weeks leading up to their arrival surfing the internet for new fig recipes, and let me tell you, the results make my stomach growl in anticipation. A lot of them require cheese, pastry, nuts and honey, so if my new back-to-school clothes don't fit in September, we'll all know who's to blame.

First full bowl of the season. Don't hate. Congratulate.

It isn't often that a city dweller gets to pluck fresh fruit from a tree in their backyard, and every time I do it, I feel like a rosy-cheeked country girl swinging a wicker basket with a gingham lining. Then I walk out the front door and see a guy rummaging my garbage for empty beer cans and remember that I still live in Queens.

It's difficult to take my figs seriously when they look like the man-eating plants from Little Shop of Horrors. I can't help imagining that they're about to break into an uptempo  rendition of "Feed Me, Seymour". 

"Feed me Seymour, feed me all night long...Feed me Seymour, so I can grow up big and stroooong..."

But seriously, slicing them into quarters allows one to fill the figs with some inordinately delectable ingredients like ricotta and goat cheese. Of course, you could stuff a tire with ricotta or goat cheese and I'd like it. 

You can eat them right then and there, but I chose to roast them briefly, then drizzle with a bit of honey and a wee scattering of freshly ground black pepper. It was the right thing to do. 

I served them alongside a loaf of crusty bread and a few ribbons of salty prosciutto, my transition from harried New Yorker to rosy-cheeked European farm girl now complete. Mangia!