So I read this incredible post on Luxirare and knew immediately that I had to have it, or, at least, something pretty close. So we picked up a baguette, slathered on some salted Vermont Amish butter, and briefly cooked down some incandescent baby strawberries in a bit of orange zest and white granulated sugar. We debated even cooking the strawberries at all, because in their raw, fully-formed state, they already taste like little bombs of syrupy jam. They’re expensive, but so worth it — and nothing like their distant Dole cousins, which are outlandishly big, have the texture of sawdust, and taste like air.