Fig, Prosciutto and Goat Cheese Ciabatta Pizza
I can remember the first time I had a fig with eidetic clarity. I was five years old, and my grandfather, SB Owen, had two bushes out by the small barn by the farm house. He pulled one from the bush and cut it open with the Case pocket knife he always carried. I can remember thinking it looked almost like the inside of some animal and had a texture like nothing I’d ever eaten. I think I spit it out! Thankfully, since then, my pallet has become more sophisticated, and I realiz