I first had a version of this plush, fresh dessert in Paris, in a crowded second floor dining room. People passed giant wicker cheese trays from table to table. There were red and white ch
ecks involved. It was there I had my first whole grilled sardine, juicy and laquered at the skin, with just a squeeze of lemon and fresh herbs. And there I had a simple dessert of just oranges and grapefruits, lightly gelled together into a slippery, silken slice.
In my version, the orange segments are suspended in a gelatin mixture of orange juice, bourbon, and lime zest. For some reason, gelatin is rather gauche in the United States. It's cheap (Jell-o), trashy (Jell-o shots), or some justifiably abandoned retro silliness. But what works here is a matter of elegant augmentation. The oranges are given a cushion, an extra pulp upon their pulp.
I made this before work, let it set, then ate it that night for dessert. The bourbon is, of course, unnecessary. But highly encouraged.
See what I mean about pulp upon pulp? You don't know where the orange ends and the gelatin begins.