I am not normally someone who much likes dessert: I don't have a sweet tooth, and - at a fairly formal meal - am usually far too full, too pleasantly sated, to actually enjoy dessert.
Moreover, I find baking - the process - to be a difficult, demanding, exceptionally exact, extremely precise and rather unforgiving form of cooking, - anything but relaxed, or relaxing, as it calls for your full and undivided attention - and, given that I am relatively indifferent to cakes and desserts, I find that the endeavour and effort (and expenditure in ill temper) rarely matches the enjoyment to be savoured from the result.
However, there are a few exceptions to my general indifference to cakes and desserts:
Sacher torte - an exceptionally rare delight, - crème brûlée, an annual treat, apple or rhubarb or gooseberry crumble (my mother, bless her, used to make amazing crumbles and apple tarts), and, the French classic, tarte tatin, which I adore.
In fact, I will admit to a love for any of those incredible French fruit tarts - strawberry, raspberry, apricot......
However, Tarte Tatin (and I am usually gifted an amazing apple, or pear, tarte tatin at Christmas), is an absolute favourite, and will always and invariably persuade me to partake of dessert if my eyes encounter it on a menu.
Last week, when dining with friends I see once a year at an excellent (and yes, award winning) restaurant, there was tarte tatin on the dessert menu; peach tarte tatin, to be exact. Peach tarte tatin.......
This was just divine, actually, it was simply superb.