Tart Round Fruits

When I was a line cook, one of the greatest pleasures was stepping outside after the last order had been served but we hadn’t yet started to break down and clean the line. We could, for a moment, leave the unending heat generated by the burners and ovens that had been on before noon. My favorite nights were in the winter, when steam would rise from our skin in the bitingly cold air. We’d stand in a loose circle, no coats in the subzero air, and talk about service—what went right, what went wrong. There was more than a little complaining, and in that icy air, we’d finally stop sweating.