It really did start as a dream.

When I was 21, I dreamed I walked into a casino, placed a bet on the number nine at a roulette table, and won. I woke up, drove across state lines to Indiana, placed the bet, and won on the very first spin of the wheel. True story.

Not long after that, I had another dream. I stood in my Brooklyn kitchen juicing fruit: one grapefruit, three Valencia oranges, a half a lemon. I remember being almost mad at myself for having such a mundane dream but then I drank the juice and it was perfect, jackpot once again. It made me happier than when I saw the little ball come around the track tucked into the pocket marked “9.”

I’ve been dreaming, on and off, about grapefruit and citrus ever since. The push of sweetness and pull of tartness, the intensity and brevity of peak season—those tensions hooked me early, going all the way back to the yellow half grapefruits we ate at my grandparents’ table before every meal.

I’ve always been drawn to intersections: moments when life pulls in two directions at once, when opposing forces introduce something new. Some of the most compelling gifts we’re given are abundant and fleeting at the same time. There’s magic there—like noticing the joy of summer most clearly at summer’s end.

It’s the kind of delicious tension we wish for our candy. When I started in my kitchen last March, I wondered if I could make the best, most expressive and fun sour candy in the world. It’s a crazy, weird, unrealistic goal but one we are pursuing anyway.

-Jeff