Ah, these figs from the ficus in the yard? Round, funny-looking fruits that sit on the ground until brushed off and rinsed under the tap. Here's one. It's small and sits in the palm of your hand, without much weight. They're bright green, like limes can only dream of. A small stem raises off the top, a nub, curling slightly. It almost makes the fig look like a tiny, cartoony bomb ready go off at any moment.

The knife presses in, the skin yielding gently. The outside is not tough, but gives easily under pressure. The inside is faint red, a dark sullen pink like a Florida seashell. Bumpy white lumps are striated throughout the middle.

The slice is picked up by curious fingers and the teeth bite into it. The skin has small hairs that tickle the lips as the fig is chewed. The inside of the fruit is spongy and forgiving. The flavor ... not completely sweet but not bitter either. The kadota fig has a taste that grows and becomes more complex as more of it is eaten. The seeds roll around on the tongue, dissolving to be swallowed easily.

How would you describe a food to someone who could not taste of it and never will?
