Roasted figs with prosciutto and gorgonzola

I'm not sure why figs are so romantic for me. Perhaps it is because I associate their arrival with the last smouldering days of summer. Or because they remind me of eating figs from paper bags, bought from markets on the hot streets of Athens one summer. There is definitely something sensual about biting into a fig - voluptuous and heavy, bursting at the seams with sweet ripeness - and taking in its rosy, honeyed flesh.