I often pass on dessert. I’m a savory kinda guy. I’m usually too stuffed when that dessert card hits the table. On this occasion, the sell was in the words. Nectarines? Vanilla gelato?  “We have an abundance of fresh fruit here in California,” my waitress offered. Oh lord. Who was I to say no? The flavor of this fruit. The buttery, lightly sugared crust? And I can only imagine the provenance of that gelato, here in everything-fresh-sourced Sacramento. I left full. And happy.