Taste and See

by Margaret Feinberg

  3.Place fish on aluminum foil on grill. Cook each side 4–5 minutes on medium heat until the fish is moist and flakey.

  4.Heat tortillas on the stove top with a squeeze of lime.

  5.Build your tacos with tortillas, slaw, cheese, lime, and extra Sriracha.

  Serves 4.

  3

  A Plate of Sweet and Succulent Figs

  TASTE AND SEE GOD’S SATISFACTION

  After Leif and I moved to Salt Lake City from Colorado, I would often slip out on late-afternoon walks to explore our surrounding neighborhood where fruit trees dotted the streets. The sweet fragrance of their spring blossoms soon gave way to the ripening of apples and apricots, pears and plums. In nearby yards, grapes crawled along brick walls. I felt like I had arrived in a fruit lover’s paradise.

  I have always been a frugivore and can eat fruit for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every snack between. So I started asking my new neighbors for permission to pick from their yards. “Gather as much as you want,” they said, delighted to share the fruit rather than watch it rot on the ground. My exercise and mealtimes soon merged as my walks evolved into a multicourse menu. I savored a soft nectarine followed by a juicy plum, then made a beeline two blocks over for a honey-sweet apple. Six blocks farther and I would pluck a handful of flavor-bursting cherries for dessert. Each time I brought home another basket of foraged fruit, Leif would give me a look that murmured, Here she goes again.

  What started out as delightful strolls turned into something more. When I mentioned my tasty capers to newfound friends, we formed a ragtag fruit-pickers club. Before I knew it, we were harvesting the neighborhood.

  I never imagined the bonding that could happen as we explored backyards and parks gleaning unpicked fruit. Budding relationships blossomed. Many of my friends’ children knew fruit only from the grocery produce section. Their eyes lit up when they realized they could pick fresh fruit and enjoy all the samples they wanted. The conversations felt natural as our hands stayed busy. Fresh juice dripped from our chins amid bursts of laughter. Our tummies and hearts filled, and our kitchens overflowed with tangy goodness. We experimented with recipes for apple pie, peach cobbler, and a magical pear tart. We picked and baked and taste-tested and recipe-shared our way through the summer. By early fall I had established real friendships around these experiences. Fruit had brought us together.

  As I set out to explore food in the Bible, I naturally took a fruit-forward approach and placed it toward the top of my list. I would never have predicted that the word fruit would appear almost two hundred times in Scripture (if you add fruitful, another three dozen mentions arise). The first hint of fruit in the Bible occurs, well, in the beginning. On the third day of creation, God handcrafts the trees to bear fruit according to their seed, and humanity has been enjoying the natural sugars ever since. The first humans commit the first sin by misusing—you guessed it—fruit.

  As the Bible’s narrative progresses, fruit continues appearing. God instructs the Israelites to give their “first fruits.” And the Promised Land sounds like a Zagat-rated, sugary buffet since five of the seven foods found there are technically fruits—figs, dates, pomegranates, grapes, and olives. (Sorry, wheat and barley.)

  Until I scouted for fruit in the Bible, I never realized how much meaning could be picked from its pages, some of which I had overlooked my entire life. When a particular variety thrives in a region, a nearby town or city was often named after it. Carmel, the site of the famed showdown between Elijah and the false prophets, means “vineyard,” and Anab, mentioned in Joshua, means “grape.”

  Suddenly I couldn’t help noticing the significance behind fruit everywhere I went. Dates are one of the primary ingredients in my favorite protein bar, but I can’t say I know how they grow. In the Bible, whenever palm trees appear, they’re referring to date palms. The “City of Palms,” later named Jericho, is an oasis surrounded by dates. When Jesus enters Jerusalem for Passover, people line the streets welcoming him with boughs of date palms. The fruit of these trees symbolizes victory over death. Whether or not the people recognized the prophetic nature of their actions, we don’t know, but they set the stage for One who will soon conquer the grim reaper once and for all.

  As for pomegranates, the stately fruit has an actual crown, a symbol of royalty that sits atop. God instructs that images of pomegranates should be positioned on the pillars outside of the holy of holies and the hemlines of the high priests’ robes.

  Grapevines snake through the pages of Scripture, too. God tells the harvesters to leave enough grapes on the vine for the needy among the people; he compares himself to a vintner who finds Israel as pleasing as “grapes in the desert.”

  Just when you think you have plenty of ingredients for a biblical fruit salad, apples show up, too. Solomon compares his lover’s breath to the fragrance of apples. And who knew that the phrase “the apple of my eye” comes from the Bible, which describes God’s delight and devotion to his people as well as our delight and devotion to God’s instruction.

  As I learned more about fruit in the Bible, it quickly became clear that I had to narrow my search. I decided to focus on one of the most prominent fruits of the Bible and one I wanted to know more about: figs.

  That’s when I noticed that after the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and the Tree of Life, the Bible mentions a fruit tree. While Scripture never specifies the kind of illicit fruit consumed by Adam and Eve, some argue that it was the fig. With their lush, appetizing exterior, figs appear “more pleasant to the eyes” than apples, and we know the fig tree stood nearby since its leaves provided the first covering of sin and shame. This biblical fruit seemed ripe for the picking.

  IF YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO A FIG FARM

  My smartphone contact list isn’t exactly filled with fig farmers, so I employed the same method I used to find my Israeli tour guide, Ido. I asked everyone I encountered if they knew someone who grew figs, trusting that God would again make a divine connection. Soon I boarded a plane to Madera, California.

  When I arrive at the farm’s main offices, I meet Kevin, who I sense would rather be walking his fields than stuck in a room full of people. With his windblown hair and sun-soaked face, you may assume he spends his days catching waves, not as one of the world’s foremost fig experts.

  The gravel road rumbles and kicks up a dust cloud behind Kevin’s truck as we turn into the orchard. The truck grinds to a halt in the middle of the acreage. To my knowledge, I have never seen a fig tree before, or if I have, I didn’t realize it. The lush trees have wide leaves that canopy the grayish branches until they all but disappear. Kevin says that if the trees remain unpruned for a few winters, even their trunks will vanish behind the lush leaves.

  I never expected such tiny fruit to emerge from such mighty trees.

  From a distance, the fig tree appears fruitless; only when we draw closer does the fruit appear. This first harvest, also known as the breva crop, is beginning to ripen into a deep magenta. Kevin scoops up a fig that’s fallen to the ground, pinches off the stem, and offers me a taste. The sweetness explodes in my mouth like syrup. Layers of berry jam notes unfold among the gentle crunch of seeds. The inner flesh appears rose and amber, like the insides of an overripe watermelon. I’d heard the finest pastry chefs’ most innovative desserts don’t stand a chance against a perfectly ripe fig. Now I understand why. Not only does the fruit taste scrumptious, but each fig contains more potassium than a banana, more fiber than a prune, and more calcium than a glass of milk.

  * * *

  Table Discovery: Ready to pick out fresh figs? The perfect-looking figs in the grocery store are not the best-tasting. Look for the fresh figs that have a wrinkle known as a “growth crack” or a white line down the side. The fig will appear like it’s just begun to dehydrate naturally. That’s when they’re most delicious. Snap off the stem and eat whole—including the skin.

  * * *

  Kevin explains that dried figs are more well-known because the window
to sell a ripe fig is so narrow. Once plucked from the tree, a fresh fig has only an eight- to fourteen-day window to be enjoyed. Many grocery stores refuse to sell ripe figs because of their high perishability.

  Sweat beads on my forehead, and Kevin leads me beneath the shade of a taller tree. The temperature drops a dozen degrees. An insect buzzes near my head and I remember reading that figs need wasps to pollinate, but Kevin says that’s only for select breeds of fig trees—not his. I can tell I’m not the first to ask him that question. He explains that his self-pollinate, then ripen in similar fashion to other fig trees.

  I look up the tree’s spiraling interior where fruit lines the branches like Christmas lights. Those closest to the trunk ripen first. Figs grow up the branch of last year’s growth, he explains, and don’t ripen all at once like other fruit. They ripen toward the tip of the branches last.

  “These ones are ready to pick,” he says, pointing to two purplish orbs within arm’s reach. The next two figs will ripen several days later, the next pair a week later. This continues for three weeks until all the figs ripen for the first harvest.

  Because these are the first figs of the season, they’re always the most anticipated, Kevin explains with a sparkle in his eyes. The next harvest will be sweeter and larger, but the breva crop is beloved among fig aficionados because it’s a sign that winter is over and figs will add sweetness to tables for months to come. This breva crop is what Hosea compares Israel to when he is “seeing the early fruit on the fig tree.”

  Unlike most fruit trees, figs are multi-cropping, which means they are harvested numerous times each year. In a few months, a second harvest begins where the breva crop stops on the branch. Once again, the figs will ripen from the bottom of this year’s new growth, in pairs or trios. While Kevin’s current fig farms produce only two crops per year, some of the fig trees in ancient Israel were known to produce three per year, meaning they produced fruit nearly year-round.

  The Hebrew word for harvesting figs, oreh, means “light of dawn.”

  Because ripe figs spoil quickly, farmers must wake early daily to see if the next handful is harvestable. Those who harvest figs must live expectantly.

  Among religious Jews, sitting under a fig tree symbolizes devout study of the Torah. Just as the figs ripen slowly on the tree, so Scripture ripens with new discoveries as we study. The more one observes, the more one discovers.

  * * *

  Just as the figs ripen slowly on the tree, so Scripture ripens with new discoveries as we study.

  * * *

  As we move from tree to tree, Kevin monitors my progress and points out the best fruit to pick. My mind wanders to two men who are likewise found beneath the leaves of fig trees. The Gospel of John describes Nathanael enjoying this particular tree’s shade when he learns of Jesus. And later, a man named Zacchaeus catches a glimpse of Jesus after climbing a sycamore-fig. The Hebrew name for sycamore-fig is shikma, a word whose root means “rehabilitate,” and that’s exactly what happens in this story. Zacchaeus climbs down from his safe observation post in the rehabilitation tree and into a whole new life, healed by Jesus and his love.

  Suddenly a giant plume of dust appears in the distance, and Kevin urges me back into the vehicle. The farm uses huge wind machines with airplane propellers to shake the thirty-foot-tall trees so the ripe figs fall to the ground. Then pickers rake the figs between rows to be sun-dried and processed.

  “Let’s take you to where we handpick figs,” he suggests.

  A few miles down the road, we enter a fig grove so heavily pruned the trees grow no more than ten feet tall. Their short stature allows the workers to handpick the fruit. The harvesters wear protective clothing from head to toe despite the triple-digit temperature. The layers and gloves safeguard pickers from the caustic, milky sap known as ficin as well as the irritating hairs found on the outside of fig leaves. I watch as the harvesters gather fresh figs in white buckets. When it’s time for lunch, the workers take breaks under the cool shade of the trees.

  Kevin hands me a pair of gloves and two clear plastic clamshell containers and invites me to fill them up. Recognizing a ripe fig requires a skill I don’t have. Kevin advises me to pick only those that have the darkest color, signifying they’re the ripest.

  As he points me to the best ones, I remember that Jesus doesn’t just call followers from fig trees, but he teaches parables about them, too. One of his stories centers around a fig tree planted in a vineyard. The owner in the story complains that he’s hunted for sweet fruit on this particular fig tree for three years, but nothing ever grows. In frustration, he suggests tossing out the tree and using the precious real estate to plant something more fruitful. The caretaker asks for another year to fertilize and care for the tree. If the tree still doesn’t produce, then it will be cut down.

  * * *

  Table Discovery: Ready to explore fig varieties? If you see fresh figs in your local grocery and don’t find a label, ask the staff in the produce department about the type. You may be tasting black missions, brown turkeys, sierras, or kadotas. Kevin’s favorite is the tiger fig, with its green and yellow stripes. If you see more than one variety available, try them all and share with friends.

  * * *

  Many who heard this teaching were acquainted with the care and maintenance of fig trees. The trees require fertilizer and pruning. The shoots that pop up from the roots like periscopes must be trimmed. If allowed to grow wild, they suck energy from the tree, impeding its ability to produce fruit. In addition, many fig varieties don’t grow fruit until their fourth year. Listeners to Jesus’s story recognize the caretaker’s response as one of wisdom and grace. If the tree is chopped down, though it would eventually sprout new life, it will take many more years to bear fruit.

  Instructing the disciples to pay attention to the times, Jesus turns to the fig again: “Now learn the lesson from the fig tree: as soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near.”

  I knew that most fruit trees blossom before the fruit buds. Like a pomegranate’s bright orange flowers or an apple’s pinkish blooms, the flowers indicate that fruit is coming. As we’re picking fruit, Kevin mentions that a fig is the flower turned in on itself; therefore, the flowers of figs are never visible. The most noticeable sign of coming figs is that the branches lose their rigidity and become more pliable.

  Then, he notes that figs themselves appear monochromatic. They change color only in the few days they ripen. If a person doesn’t pay attention and study the ripening of figs, the harvest can be missed. No wonder Jesus uses figs as a metaphor to look closely and pay attention for his return and everyday presence.

  A peek at the clock reveals my time on the farm has snuck by like a thief, and I race to catch my flight. Before I leave, Kevin gives me a bag to carry my figs home. Now I can’t wait to gather my fruit-picking friends and share the succulent figs as well as what I’m discovering.

  WHEN EXPECTATIONS SHAPE YOUR PERCEPTIONS

  My time with the fig farmer changed the way I read the almost six dozen mentions of figs in the Bible. As I reflected on the experience, I realized the fig was nothing I had expected. Up until my time with Kevin, I had always thought fig trees were like the other fruit trees I enjoyed while harvesting the neighborhood—blossoming in spring, growing during the early summer, and ripening just before fall.

  Whenever Jesus says, “Look at the fig tree,” he is challenging our notions of attentiveness and expectations.

  The figs can easily be missed. Instead of simply noticing showy blossoms, we must actually feel the branches to test their pliability. Then we must closely inspect them to detect the presence of developing fruit. We have to be close to the tree and engaged with its growth to reap the sweetest of harvests.

  But there’s a catch: Have you ever noticed that when you expect one thing, your attentiveness dulls to everything else?

  Psychologists call this “change blindness,” a term describing our tendency to mis
s shifts in our immediate visual environment. We assume that if something dramatic changes right before our eyes, we will, of course, recognize the shift. But actually, it’s impossible for the human mind to fully process and be aware of every visual detail at all times. Sometimes large changes in scenes go unnoticed either because of our preconceived notions or our focus on some other detail—so much so that we can miss them altogether. In one experiment, a person came alongside a pedestrian and struck up a conversation. During an intentional distraction, a different experimenter replaced the initial one. Only half of the pedestrians noticed they were now talking to a different person.

  Though we’re tempted to tell ourselves we would notice the difference, these kinds of changes slip by us in films every day. Have you ever noticed in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Han Solo’s jacket disappears and then reappears as he says good-bye to Princess Leia? And did you see the white cars tootling through the background of the medieval Scottish countryside during the epic “ancient” battle scenes in Braveheart?

  Our expectations shape our perceptions.

  And not just in movies. This happens in our ordinary daily lives. We can become so focused on a desired outcome, like landing the promotion or raise, that we become less attentive to everyone and everything else around us. Before we know it, we’re missing birthdays, arriving late to dinner with friends, and skipping sleep. Or perhaps we’re so focused on the ways our spouse or best friend isn’t meeting our needs that we miss all the opportunities for connection.

  This kind of change blindness happens to the religious leaders who encounter Jesus. The long-awaited Messiah has spent three years walking among them. He restores people such as Zacchaeus, heals those born blind, fulfills prophecy right and left; yet many people miss the cultivating, nurturing, life-giving work of the Savior because he isn’t who they expected a Messiah to be.