I had tried to eat fresh fichi (figs) last year and bought a few. I must not have picked well because I didn't like them at all. I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I've had dried fichi, which I like quite a bit, but the fresh ones didn't seem like much to me. This last Wednesday, I went to Alessandro's parent's house for lunch and his mom put out some fichi for me to take home. I ate one to be polite while I was at their house, and finished all the other ones they gave me as soon as I got home.
When I went to the mercato (market) with Bari yesterday, I thought I knew how to pick the fichi. I got the softest ones that felt like little bags of pudding. I ate a few of them for dessert, but I was disappointed that they weren't that sweet and didn't taste like much to me.
I arrived for lunch today at Alessandro's parent's house and they showed me fresh fichi that they had picked this morning from the father's brother's campo (field/land). My mouth watered as I gently squeezed one of the fichi. I wanted to eat it, but I knew that I couldn't just eat one.
Before I left their house, his mother packed up some avanzi (leftovers) for me for the next day and even added a bag filled with ripe fichi. I put everything in the cestino (basket) on my bike and set the fichi on the top so they wouldn't get crushed. They made it all the way home without any damage.
I had to take a picture of them from my terrazza (terrace) as soon as I got home because I wanted to show off my newest love. I even ate one of them as I sat on my terrazza and looked out at the Arno. How much joy can one feel in a day?
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