In my village, they were always called ‘poor man’s chocolate’, but they are essential in my breakfast and salads.

Taking advantage of the last figs of the season to turn them into dried figs is as easy as it is comforting.

There are always culinary twists and turns that life throws at you. I remember my grandmother telling me about the hardships of eating nothing but desalted cod when she was young because it was all she could afford. And now salted cod is a rather expensive fish.

And now, as the fig season is coming to an end, I am reminded of a comment made by a neighbour in my village, telling me about a recent trip he took and how, to stave off hunger, he took some almonds and dried figs with him, ‘the poor man’s chocolate, as we have always called it’.

Now it’s almost ironic, of course. Fresh figs, one of my favourite fruits, are almost prohibitively expensive in big cities and are a well-paid fruit at source, which I am glad about.

That’s why carrying a handful of dried figs in my bag or on the mountain, as a friend of mine does when he climbs Los Galayos, in the Ávila part of the Sierra de Gredos, comforts me to a certain extent.

That poor man’s chocolate, if you take it to a shop, may be considerably more expensive than any bar of ultra-processed milk chocolate, and it is a much better product.

I must admit that while fresh figs are available, I pay little attention to other fruits, and I use them generously in yoghurts, salads or simply with a little cheese.

But when fresh figs are no longer available, dried figs remain an infallible complement to add flavour, intensity and, in my memory, a comfort that few foods can match.