Nonna’s Perfect Present

Carina has fond memories of the fresh figs her grandmother brought from Italy

EARLY September was when my grandmother – or Nonna – came back from her annual two months in Italy. She seemed ancient. She was 80 when she died – I was 10 – but I thought she was about 140! She travelled with one of those old travel trunks, and an entourage of her favourite grandchildren.

I was too young to ever go to Italy with her, but I was the perfect age to get a present when she came home.

The present was never a toy or a game; as you’d guess, it was food. Pecorino, salsicce, but most importantly fresh figs.

In 1970s Scotland, Port Seton Co-op didn’t offer fresh figs. The dried version were as hard as rocks, and probably as old, so there was no love for the fruit in its packeted form, but fresh – wow! Who needed a holiday to Italy when one exotic taste of these delicious fruits did the trick?

They were so beautifully and carefully packed, in a handmade wicker basket that had a long handle and a wicker lid.

Nonna would carry the figs all the way back on the plane on her knee to ensure no damage would be done. She was the sole custodian of this treasure.

The basket was what you imagine Little Red Riding Hood having on her visit to her grandmother. Inside, each layer of figs was carefully packed with layers and layers of fig leaves to make sure the fruit never got bashed or bruised. The basket also allowed the figs to breathe so they could withstand the journey.

Most of all, it was the smell of the figs that was one of my most evocative childhood memories. The other would have to be the huge vats of hot vanilla ice cream being boiled in the back of the shop. The highlight would be getting a cup of the hot custard before it was pasteurised – amazing!

But back to the figs. I was 18 years old when I visited my grandmother’s house in Italy for the first time and in the back of the garden I found the fig tree, where breakfast was served.

But the exact same smell brought back all those happy memories of figs from my Nonna’s café when I was six or seven years old.