So, falling back on primeval instinct, I swept into the kitchen and began cooking and cleaning at a furious pace. Chicken in the fridge? Slap it all over with spices, throw in pan! Onions in basket? Rip skin, hack into pieces, and throw in pan with chicken! Scrub chopping board, knife, immediately. Scrabble in storage cabinet- wait, custard-mix! Grab milk, make custard, stirring the custard to an inch of its life. And so on and so forth, if you get my drift. At the end of it, there was not only an amazing, tasty dinner; there was also a jaw-droppingly delicious dessert with flavors of fig, cinnamon, orange and apple. The big problem in my life NOW, as opposed to earlier, is what to name this heavenly creation of mine. I think, given the circumstances, I will call it the WHAT THE FIG.