Blood Orange Quotes

“-Queria te levar no baile amanhã.
Marfiza, que partia a laranja ao meio, ficou ser reação aparente. A lâmina em movimento terminava de atravessar os últimos milímetros do bagaço da laranja e continuou o corte até a primeira camada da pele e seguiu em frente, epiderme-derme-hipoderme abaixo. Atônita depois do convite, cortando-se a si e nenhum pio. Até o susto com o sangue em jorro denso. Chafariz pintando o rosto dela e o dele também. Um gritinho baixo, miado e cataploft. Ele desmaiou por entre as pernas dela esguichadas de sangue. Ela atônita pra mim, olhos maiores que a cara: morto?
Adelmino estava vivo. Tão vivo que alguns anos depois se casaria comigo. Pai dos meus quatro filhos. Pamonha ali estatelado.”
― PAULO SALVETTI, Cara Marfiza,

“One early morning last week, I walked through a terraced garden over the ocean, peeling a blood orange. It was a Taroco orange, or arancia rossa, brought from Sicily many years ago, its skin thin with a hint of blush, its flesh the color of a setting sun, its sweetness beyond that of any other orange."
Pursing his lips in remembrance, he went on, his voice rich with reverence and wonder. "The salt air on my lips, combined with the sweet juice, inspired this new effort. Try it for me. I'd love to know what you think."
Celina brought the dark chocolate-enrobed delicacy to her nose and inhaled, reveling in the juxtaposition of aromas. Biting into it, a complexity of flavors melted across her tongue. The intense aroma of blood orange with its singular sweetness... a bitter edge of dark chocolate with hints of tropical earthiness... a tart explosion of sea salt that intensified every flavor.”
― Jan Moran, The Chocolatier

“It is, without a doubt, the most delicious orange I've ever eaten. Notes of raspberry give it a tartness and complexity that leave the classic supermarket navel orange in the dust.
"It's sunshine. It's bittersweet. It's perfect. My god," I say, gasping. "I think I just fell in love. I'm going to have a civil partnership with an orange."
Leo, who has been fairly quiet for the last half hour, leans forward onto his elbows. "They're not for everyone," he says, taking a segment. "Very fleshy, delicately juicy, and not obscenely sweet."
"Fleshy?" Luca says, tipping his glass toward us, playing with his mustache.
"Delicately juicy?" I say, raising an eyebrow. I expect Leo to feel embarrassed, but instead he shoots Luca a cheeky grin, eyes buzzing with mischief.
"Seriously, Olive," Luca says. "For me, the orange is so special to Sicily. We juice it, we ice it, we bake it, we zest it. It's an aperitif, a pasta dish, a dessert. It's the color of sunset on the outside, and a bleeding heart inside.”
― Lizzy Dent, Just One Taste

“My first encounter with the bittersweet taste of the Moro, a Sicilian blood orange, was sitting outside under a gnarled olive tree, during the height of a June heat wave. Small puffs of cloud the only blemish in the otherwise perfect blue sky, the bloodred flesh yielding a juice so refreshing it felt as close to perfect as I've ever come. The second encounter came at a fish market in Catania, where a group of men in flat caps spooned red-orange mounds of Moro granita into their mouths between games of cards. I was back in my dad's world, and the memories of oranges were everywhere.”
― Lizzy Dent, Just One Taste

“He dug his thumbnail into the blushing peel and pulled until the dark red fruit appeared, spraying citrus oil everywhere. As he pulled the fruit into its sections, it glowed like rubies. It made the fruit I'd bought at the supermarket for our ill-fated experiment look dry and stale in comparison.
"Why do you have to show me now?"
I stopped cold, because he'd grabbed my chin. His fingers were soft, insistent.
"Because I want to. Open," he said. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Determination?
When I gaped at him, he popped the orange segment in my mouth.
I bit down, and my eyes fluttered shut. Sweet-sour fireworks exploded across my tongue, and I couldn't help but moan a little bit. I tasted orange, of course, but there were raspberries and a little bit of rose petal, too.
"That's incredible," I said once I'd swallowed. "Like eating a sunset."
When I opened my eyes, he was staring at my mouth. I felt fireworks again, this time in my stomach. But a second later, he smiled big and said, "I was going to say a party in my mouth, but I guess that's why you're the writer.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“There is sheer delight at the bowl of peeled segments of fruit, each crescent glowing, a hugger-mugger pile in a moat of orange and rose-pink juice.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts