It is said that an English businessman once bought a few cases of oranges from a Sevillan vendor and returned with them to England without sampling his wares. Expecting sweet, tangy tropical fruit, he was dismayed to discover how overpoweringly strong and bitter the Sevillan oranges were when he finally tried them.
He apparently then gave them to a native of the UK named Janet Keiller, and she swore that she would find some use for the fruit, as unpalatable as it was. She first attempted jam and preserves, but found that the fruit was still so bitter as to make it a futile effort. Her final solution was a variation on preserves, but with pound upon pound of fresh sugar added to the mix, she created the sticky, strong, tart and sweet spread we now know as marmalade.
I don't blame her in the least.
We began noticing orange trees that were scattered throughout the downtown areas of Spanish cities when we hit Cordoba, and in Sevilla my curiosity and penchant for doing the unexpected got the better of me and we stopped on a quiet street corner near a still-fairly-laden tree with plump, delicious looking oranges hanging just out of reach. One very small hop later, I returned to earth holding in my hand a Sevillan orange.
I handed this orange to 80, a native Floridian who has forgotten more about citrus than most people ever learn, and she quickly removed enough of the peel to take a serviceable bite and sample our ill-gotten gain. She proceeded to make a noise, and face that were both unforgettable and hand the entire fruit, sans one bite, to me.
Once I had tried it myself, I understood her revulsion. Sevillan oranges are overpoweringly bitter. They have an extreme citrus taste and a wonderful orange flavor, but the raw strength of the sensation is almost enough to make a fan of navel oranges or clementines gag outright from shock.
We quickly decided that so many of the oranges were left hanging on the trees for a reason, and we would sample no more oranges from the streets.
However, on our way around the north side of the city, towards a remaining portion of the original city wall, we stopped in a small confectionery shop and discovered a sweet unlike anything I had seen before. It was an orange semicircular confection about 4 inches thick and maybe 6 inches on the diameter, and was obviously a local delicacy. I eyed it with some surprise and curiosity (especially considering my recent adventure with the orange from the tree just down the street) but my sweet tooth and sense of adventure won out and I purchased the thing.
I didn't learn the name, or what is in it, aside from (obviously) oranges, but I have never tasted such a confection in any of my travels. It was the most amazing thing. Almost sweet-to-the-point-of-death. Soft and moist and almost gooey at the bottom/center with a crispy, cool glaze. A completely fresh orange taste. And wonderful.
If any of my readership ever goes to Sevilla, you must seek out a local merchant that sells this amazing item and sample it. Beware though! Bring friends, because without someone to share that with, you'll wind up with a 3 hour sugar high.
Again, it appears that the only way to succeed in making the Sevillan oranges palatable is to absolutely inundate them in sugar. Not that I'm complaining, this thing was like the sinful goodness of a whole box of Krispy Kreme donuts compressed into a single fist-sized treat.
No comments:
Post a Comment