I am sugar high on this. No, there is no photo. It feels like decadence despite having stood impatiently over the little pan waiting for the honey to burn just so. It's a Nigellaesque decadence: culinary labour as pleasure in itself. I'll have to wash the dishes later, of course. For now I can sit in bed spooning pieces of crushingly sweet pear and licking the spoon of darkened, ginger-perfumed honey. Who needs crust? Small pieces.