Good thing I picked ripe fig fruit yesterday, ahead of my bird & squirrel backyard friends. They get enough. Indeed! I’m virtually scrounging, here. That tree just won’t give up daily production. And since I gave helpings of my last batch to my Mexican housekeepers who’ve been with me 19 years, I’m scrounging again.
Sidebar: I write “19 years,” but it’s really friends and family of the original Rosa, my agency housekeeper from way back in ’94 when I was a single guy in an apartment. She was too good to be believed. But she got pregnant—NOT MY FAULT! She had to take leave, then came back, eventually went independent and has been with Bea and I ever since, plus her employees. She runs a competent cleaning business and her original ethic is always there. I said I gave them helpings of my Pan De Higo, today. I did. And this was after they broke something. First time in a very long time. But you know what? They never try to hide it. They always come clean, right in your face, and with an offer to deduct any costs…which we have never ever done in the half dozen broken things over 19 years.
OK, so another batch in the dehydrator.
Those are what you call “figs” and not “aliens”
OK, here’s another one for the artsy fartsy, hipsters, and fucktards in general.
I’m thinking this next batch will be just plain classic, but someone—with initials TT— suggested plantain flour for resistant starch to modulate the sugar effect (I used potato starch in the last batch), so I’m considering.