Fig Books

“Cassie speared one of the fried balls and placed it on her plate, along with a scoop of the dark brown paste. They looked simple enough, like any bar food. When she cut it open, though, it erupted with steam, gooey Gruyère cheese, and shredded duck meat. She cut it into quarters, rationed out the fig butter for each piece, and took a bite. Salty and crunchy, the meat sweet and savory--- and Ben was right. That fig butter--- the creative addition of fat and sweet jammy fruit, punctuated with large crystals of crunchy sea salt--- made the dish sing.
"It's the holy trinity of sugar, fat, and salt," Ben said, and took a drink of champagne.
The pizza arrived just as the group polished off the last croquette, filling the air with wafts of nutty truffles.
"Some say that truffles taste like the forest floor, but some say they taste like the human body," said Kelly, as she stabbed an egg yolk, releasing a thick yellow goo all over the pizza. She pulled a piece onto her plate.
"Oh yeah, I wrote a story on this," said Ben. "Feet, body odor... sex. Truffles have a particular form of stink that attracts people in an animalistic way--- it's what explains why people will pay so much money for even the slightest hint of truffle."
Cassie pulled a slice of truffle from the pie and put it on her tongue. Certainly nutty, cool, crunchy... but sex? She didn't get it. She shrugged and took another bite.”
― Emily Arden Wells, Eat Post Like