Oranges à la Cannelle

Winter oranges are made for this plate, heavy in the hand, bright under the knife, full of juice when the rest of the market is quieter. You don't cook them. You pay attention. Peel away the bitter white pith, slice them clean, and let the cinnamon fall lightly so it perfumes without burying the fruit.

The orange-flower water is the little key. Too much and the dish tastes like perfume. Just enough and the orange tastes more like itself, fresh, cold, and alive. La balance est dans les yeux, the scale is in the eyes, but here it is also in the nose.

This is what comes after a generous meal, when everyone says they are full and still reaches for one more slice. It is quick, yes, but not careless. A table is a door you leave open, and a plate of oranges at the end keeps people sitting together a little longer.