Usually this space is reserved for talking about writing, or books, or writers, or games. But today I’m kvetching about oranges.
A couple of years ago I posted with delight that we’d finally found a good source for local oranges. They were sweet and flavorful and, darn it, tasted like oranges. Alas, that brand of organic oranges isn’t carried by the local markets anymore, and all other brands are either sour or simply tasteless. Plus they have really tough texture, which is a by-product, I assume, of some breeding program to make them more resilient. Now chewy AND tasteless!
People must be buying these damned awful things or the markets wouldn’t carry them — but who enjoys them?
And what’s up with orange juice? I’ve tried every brand carried by the local markets and they range from bad to terrible. I just don’t understand. We claim to be the greatest country in the world, yet we can’t figure out a way to get decent oranges and orange juice into the web of commerce?
When I was in Paris last year nearly every street side market could get you fresh squeezed orange juice and it was always fantastic. I don’t speak French, so I won’t be moving to France, but I want THAT orange juice, and I want THOSE oranges. Heck, if I had access to those oranges, I’d squeeze them myself!
The weirdest damned thing of all is that when I was a child, those tasty oranges were the ones that Mom brought home from the grocer in Indiana, and that I devoured. If we could get good oranges in the 1970s why can’t we get them now? Grr. Hulk Smash! I’m tired of spending money on a sack of oranges only to find them terrible! I think I’m going to have to swear off of them again for a few years. I might as well be setting money on fire.