I must sing the praises of the Blood Orange. If you've never tried one: stand up, get your keys, go outside and don't return to this post until you've got one in your hot little hand. Seriously. I'll wait... hmmm, gotta call Linda back, do laundry this weekend, buy sexy black shoes with a lower heel I can wear with jeans-- oh, you're back! Good, let's get to it then.
Blood oranges are the lustiest fruit, their sharp citrus scent even smells adult. Don't waste them on the kids, or people who don't care about food. (Why are you hanging out with them anyway? You know they've got no soul.)
Originally from Sicily, these oranges dance on the tongue. The exterior looks like someone rolled it in red clay dust, and inside. Oh Goddess, inside each fruit is a complete and decadent sunset. I encourage you to peel the thin film that covers each segment; there is breathtaking variety in the colors within. And it varies with each orange, sometimes you see light pink that fades into a russet red-brown, or a deep fleshy purple with bright hits of orange, or even the color of claret wine.
And the taste. Blood oranges don't give themselves to you immediately, they tease and tickle on the tongue. They start with a nuanced tartness, not grapefruit harsh tart, but a hint of pucker that starts in the back of the mouth. The surprise and delight comes at the end when the high sweetness swoops in and magically balances it out, a twist that exhilarates.
How often do you find ecstasy in fruit? Their season ends soon, revel while you can.