Anyone else remember that critical moment in "I, Claudius" when Emperor Augustus, recognizing his wife Livia's murderous treachery, decides to eat a diet of only ripe figs he picks himself from the palace garden? Nonetheless, Augustus mysteriously worsens and dies.
Only after his death do we learn that Livia coated each and every piece of fruit on the tree with poison.
Death by fig.
And yet, when I see them at the local produce market, I can't help but pick up a few of these pitch-black plump beauties. Livia be damned, they are the perfect breakfast. I slice them to reveal their bright pink centers and serve them over a cloud of fresh ricotta, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with rosemary and sea salt.
A meal fit for an Emperor -- and most definitely for a Vamp.
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