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I noticed a bird making a fuss in the fig tree outside my office window, so I investigated and discovered that the early summer crop of figs were indeed ripening. I don't usually get very many June figs, what with the vagaries of spring weather, but my Grosse Monstreuse de Lipari (aka Ed's Big Yellow) had set a good dozen or so this year. So for dinner tonight we had roasted figs and sausages on a bed of salad greens, yum.

But when I pulled the dish out of the oven, I was suddenly reminded of an article I had just finished reading about Italian still life art and the sexual innuendos contained therein, like this piece attributed to Caravaggio. Split melons, ripe figs, cleft peaches, and, of course, those sinuous white squashes.