Prickly pears

Josep Portella Coll/Alaior – The days of pomegranates, quinces, jujubes and prickly pears are coming. They are all humble fruits, most of which are lost along the way. The other day I saw a news story about a group of volunteers from Isla del Rey who had taken a shipment of prickly pears to the Xoriguer factory to be transformed into an alcoholic beverage.

As you already know, there are two types of figs: the Christian ones and the prickly pears, called de moro in Menorca. The same old terminology tells us which ones our grandparents considered good and which ones were considered bad or of lower quality. The Christian figs were more varied; There were and are, parajales, Catalans, lady’s collar and friar’s collar, etc. The name “higo de moro” is not exclusive to Menorca, since they are known that way throughout the Catalan linguistic area. Do you know that in Roussillon they were known as “Mahon fig”?

I have searched and found that they are originally from Mexico, specifically from the deserts of northern Mexico. During the day, they are distributed throughout the Mediterranean, both in the north and in the south. In Menorca, the prickly pear is very common, much more than in the Valencian Community or Catalonia, where it grows wild and somewhat spontaneous.

I remember that every year, my father brought home a cube, which he peeled himself. In fact, I remember seeing him pick prickly pears with his bare hand. He had a callus so thick that the spikes didn’t hurt. With a knife, he cut the two crowns and made a longitudinal cut in the middle, with his fingers he separated the shell and it was ready to consume. My mother had to tell us not to eat too many of them because they caused tummy ache and bloating, and we held back because we liked them a lot, fresh and juicy.

In every place there was a fig tree. The Christian fig trees were scattered along the fences, protected by a circular dry-wall enclosure, but the Moor ones were usually gathered in a fig tree near their houses.

I especially remember those of Sona Marineta, owned by the painter Bernat Benejam, where we worked some summers. I remember the peasant Colau, Madonna and two daughters. The fig tree was behind the houses on the property, a paradise for spiders and geckos, where it was easy to fill a basket. The figs were also good, with the stones removed, to make rice and syrup.