by Leah Koenig Every year on the cusp of fall, you can find figs hanging like fat jewels from broad-leafed trees across the Mediterranean, California, and even in the backyards of my Brooklyn neighborhood. Figs might just be the world's lustiest fruit: slicing through their tender skin reveals an obscenely lush cache of purple, honey-sweet flesh and seeds. Is it any wonder that figs have long been touted as an aphrodisiac and poetically likened to blushing lips (among other things)? Or why, after eating from the tree of knowledge, Adam and Eve turned to the supple, green fig leaf for cover?I spent a heartbroken month volunteering on a farm in....
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