Do Figs Have Bugs In Them

She’d just bitten into a fresh Brown Turkey fig I’d handed her, savoring its honey-sweet flavor, when she asked me about pollination. The expression that crossed her face when I explained the role of wasps? Priceless. But here’s the thing—she didn’t stop eating. And once I explained the full story, she understood why.

The question “Do figs have bugs in them?” is one I hear constantly at farmers’ markets, from curious customers, and even from fellow growers who are new to cultivating these Mediterranean beauties. The short answer is: it’s complicated. The longer answer involves one of nature’s most fascinating partnerships, a bit of biology, and some reassurance that’ll help you enjoy your next fig with confidence.

The Ancient Partnership: Figs and Fig Wasps

Let me start by painting you a picture of what actually happens in the wild. True figs—and I’m talking about the wild varieties and certain cultivated types—have evolved alongside tiny wasps called fig wasps, or more scientifically, Blastophaga psenes. This relationship has been going on for literally millions of years, and it’s one of the most intricate examples of mutualism in the plant kingdom.

Anna Gorelova

Here's how it works in nature: A female fig wasp, barely visible to the naked eye (we're talking about 1-2 millimeters here), crawls into a wild fig through a tiny opening called the ostiole. She's carrying pollen from her birth fig, and as she squeezes through this impossibly tight space, she often loses her wings and antennae. Talk about dedication!

Once inside, she pollinates the flowers and lays her eggs. The wasp dies inside the fig, her life’s purpose fulfilled. The fig then produces an enzyme called ficin that completely breaks down and digests the wasp’s body. By the time the fruit ripens, there’s no trace of the insect—she’s been absorbed into the fruit tissue itself.

Now, before you swear off figs forever, let me share something crucial that changed everything in my orchard and in commercial cultivation worldwide.

The Game-Changer: Common Figs vs. Smyrna Figs

In my orchards, I grow several varieties of what we call “common figs”—these include favorites like Black Mission, Brown Turkey, Celeste (sometimes called Sugar figs or Malta), and Kadota. These varieties have a superpower that makes them perfect for commercial growing and for people who get squeamish about insects: they’re parthenocarpic. That’s a fancy botanical term meaning they can develop fruit without pollination or fertilization.

Think of it like this—parthenocarpic figs are like self-sufficient entrepreneurs. They don’t need a business partner (the wasp) to succeed. They just develop sweet, delicious fruit all on their own through a hormonal process within the tree.

The figs I harvest and sell? Completely wasp-free. No insects crawled inside them, no pollination was needed, and no enzymatic breakdown occurred. They’re just pure fruit, developed through the tree’s own biological processes.

However, there’s another category called Smyrna figs—with Calimyrna being the most famous example in the United States. These DO require wasp pollination. In California’s San Joaquin Valley, where most American Calimyrna figs are grown, farmers actually cultivate male caprifigs and introduce fig wasps deliberately to pollinate their crops through a process called caprification. It’s fascinating agriculture, but it’s also very specialized.

What About Those Crunchy Seeds?

Here’s where I see a lot of confusion, even among experienced home gardeners. People bite into a fig, feel those tiny crunchy bits, and immediately think “wasp parts!” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to explain this one.

Those crunchy bits? They’re seeds. Just plain old seeds. Each fig is actually an inverted flower cluster—what botanists call a syconium. All those tiny granules you’re crunching on are individual fruits, each containing a seed. A single fig can have anywhere from 30 to 1,600 of these little seeds, depending on the variety and growing conditions.

In my experience growing everything from the intensely sweet Black Mission to the milder-flavored Adriatic (also called White fig), I’ve noticed significant variation in seed texture:

Seed Characteristics by Variety:

• Black Mission: Medium-sized seeds, noticeable crunch, almost nutty
• Brown Turkey: Smaller, softer seeds, less pronounced texture
• Kadota: Very small seeds, minimal crunch, ultra-smooth texture
• Calimyrna: Larger, crunchier seeds due to complete pollination

My Growing Experience: What Really Matters

After cultivating common figs in various climates and soil conditions, I’ve learned that what people really want isn’t necessarily a scientific breakdown of wasp biology—they want to know if their food is safe, clean, and healthy. And I can tell you with absolute confidence: the figs you buy at stores, farmers’ markets, or grow from common fig varieties are exactly that.

In my orchards, pest management focuses on real threats like fig beetles, birds (my goodness, the birds!), and occasional scale insects. I’ve never once dealt with fig wasps as a pest because, well, they’re not here. My trees don’t need them, don’t attract them, and develop perfectly without them.

The organic protocols I follow include:

1. Regular monitoring for actual pests like dried fruit beetles and vinegar flies
2. Timely harvesting to prevent overripe fruit from attracting insects
3. Sanitation practices including removing fallen fruit that could harbor pests
4. Bird netting during peak season (this is honestly my biggest challenge)
5. Beneficial insect encouragement to maintain natural pest control

The Nutritional Reality Check

Let me shift gears and talk about why you should be eating figs regardless of the wasp question—because the nutritional profile of these fruits is outstanding. Fresh figs from my orchard contain remarkable levels of dietary fiber, potassium, calcium, and antioxidants. They’re naturally sweet, requiring no added sugar in recipes, and they’re incredibly versatile in the kitchen.

I often joke with my customers that if a microscopic wasp gave its life millions of years ago to develop this incredible fruit, that’s a sacrifice we should honor by enjoying them! But in all seriousness, the common figs we grow and consume today are simply fruits—no different morally or nutritionally from apples, pears, or peaches.

Here’s a nutritional snapshot from my harvest testing:

The Cultural Perspective: Figs Through History

You know what’s interesting? This whole “bug panic” is actually quite modern and primarily Western. I’ve talked with growers from Turkey, Greece, and North Africa—regions where figs have been cultivated for thousands of years—and the wasp relationship is just accepted agricultural knowledge. In fact, in many cultures, the complexity of fig pollination is celebrated as proof of nature’s ingenuity.

The Bible mentions figs dozens of times. Ancient Romans considered them sacred to Bacchus. In my travels studying fig cultivation in the Mediterranean, I learned that traditional farmers viewed the fig-wasp relationship with reverence, not disgust. It’s only in our modern, sanitized food culture that this natural process became something to fear.

So, Should You Eat Figs?

Absolutely! Let me be crystal clear about what you’re actually consuming:

If you’re eating common figs (which is 99% of what’s commercially available in the U.S.):

• No wasps involved in development
• Those crunchy bits are seeds, not insects
• Safe, delicious, and nutritious
• My personal recommendation: Black Mission for dried figs, Brown Turkey for fresh eating

If you’re eating Smyrna-type figs (like Calimyrna):

• Wasps were involved in pollination
• But they’ve been completely broken down by enzymes
• No insect parts remain in the finished fruit
• Totally safe and actually quite a remarkable natural process

Think of it this way: we eat honey, which is literally processed bee vomit (technically regurgitated nectar). We eat cheese, which requires bacteria and mold. We eat mushrooms, which are fungal fruiting bodies that grow on decomposing matter. Food production is full of processes that sound weird when you break them down scientifically. The question isn’t whether the process sounds appealing—it’s whether the final product is safe, nutritious, and delicious. Figs check all three boxes.

The Bottom Line from a Farmer

Standing in my orchard right now, looking at my mature Brown Turkey trees heavy with nearly-ripe fruit, I can tell you this: the figs I grow are some of the most rewarding crops I’ve ever cultivated. They’re relatively low-maintenance, produce abundantly, handle heat and drought better than most fruits, and create products my customers absolutely love.

Are there bugs in figs? In the common varieties I grow and you typically buy—no. In wild figs and specialized Smyrna types—technically yes, but not in any form you’d recognize or that poses any health concern. The “bug” has become part of the fruit itself, broken down at the molecular level.

Have I seen this knowledge stop anyone from enjoying fresh figs once they understand the full picture? Never. Not once. In fact, I’d argue that understanding the incredible evolutionary biology behind figs makes people appreciate them even more.

So the next time someone offers you a fig, take it. Bite into that honey-sweet flesh, enjoy those slightly crunchy seeds, and marvel at the fact that you’re tasting a fruit that humans have cultivated and treasured for over 11,000 years. Whether a wasp was involved millions of years ago in developing this species, or whether your specific fig developed without pollination, doesn’t change the fundamental truth: you’re eating one of nature’s most perfect foods.

And if you’re still squeamish? Well, I can’t help but point out that FDA regulations allow for small amounts of insect fragments in virtually all processed foods, including things like peanut butter, chocolate, and wheat flour. At least with figs, if there ever was a wasp involved, it’s been completely transformed into fig tissue. You’re not eating an insect—you’re eating a fruit that benefited from an insect’s pollination service, just like apples, cherries, and almonds.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a harvest to finish. These Brown Turkey figs won’t pick themselves, and there’s a batch of fig preserves calling my name.