In his magnus opus on the ordering of the French meal, Jean-Louis Flandrin notes that “dessert” comes from “desservi,” which simply means that the table has been cleared. Before the dessert, everything would be removed, including the top table cloth, providing a fresh start for the selection of cheeses, fruits, jellies, ices and pastries that ended the formal meal. The word “dessert” was always singular, as it referred to the state of the table, and not to a kind of food.
I just “pre-inherited” an array of china from my mother-in-law, who neither serves nor clears with the ardor of her second youth, when china replaces romance in the feminine libido. Entering into my second youth myself, I am especially intrigued by the several “dessert sets” that have entered lately into my possession. Ablaze with flowers and curly edges, their embossed and gilded surfaces jar with my modernist tastes, but then, so does sugar, by and large. I do enjoy, however, setting tiny diamonds of Persian baklava and a dish of Jordan almonds from the local Iranian supermarket on a freshly cleared table at the end of a special meal, accompanied by Moroccan tea glasses bearing a light mix of fresh mint, tea, sugar, and orange blossom water.
Even if it’s just cookies and milk for the kids, dessert is always best when the bulk of the dishes have not only been cleared, but also washed. For a formal party, changing rooms as well as dishes can remix the seating and shift the ambiance. The post-prandial moment offers me as well as my guests a second chance for levity and a respite from culinary performance. In other words, I prefer dessert (a well-cleared and lightly redressed table) to desserts (dramatic confections that send the tummy into overload).
— Julia Lupton · 2009-01-13
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THE BOOK