When you reach to pull this dish out of the oven, dark brown juices bubbling and thick around softened, caramelized fruit, prepare yourself: what you will smell will be as good as pine needles in December or the crisp, cold air outside after a fresh snow.
And when, after you let it cool for a bit, you scoop some into a bowl, pouring that still-warm, coppery sauce all over, faint hints of steam escaping as you blow on a spoonful heading towards your lips, even that will yet be topped by the unbelievable taste to come: a sensation at once devastatingly sweet and slightly tart, with subtle lemon cutting through deepened, darkened sugar glaze.
These citrus-caramel roasted fruits are pure decadence, and by that, I mean they are the shining moments, and if the kitchen were a story, these would be the happy climaxes, which make all the rising action and disappointment fade away.
Truth is, I’ve been thinking about shining moments, how they change as we grow older (from the joy and rapture of knowing it is summer vacation and there is no! school!, for example, to the deep peace and satisfaction of sitting around a table with passionate people you’ve met for the first time but with whom you’ve found instant connection, instant friendship).