March 29, 2012
‘Tis the season of la zagara, orange blossoms on the breeze.
Is there a sweeter scent in all Creation?
Overripe oranges hang heavy on the trees; they roll around in the street ripe, juicy, crimson.
You want fresh-squeezed OJ? Ask for a spremuta, pronounced spray-moo-tah. Nothing can compare.
Try not thinking of peeling an orange. Try not imagining the juice running down your fingers, the soft inner part of the peel. The smell. Try and you can’t…