Bloody (Time Change) Sunday!
I usually associate Sicilian Blood Oranges with Christmas. They proliferate like crazy in markets in Europe during December and into January, then seem to disappear. The bright color and the intense tangy taste seem to fit in with holidays and celebrating New Years.
So when I san some yesterday at the Farmer’s market, I was a little surprised. It turns out that the California growing season is longer than the Sicilian, all the way till May.
I figured everyone was going to be a little crabby this morning, a little rushed (retail waits for no one), pissed that they have to get up early.
The only one who is usually happy about getting up early is the dog, who can’t really understand that people want to sleep when the sun is already shining. But he toughs it out and dozes fitfully alongside us until we finally wake up for good. He goes nuts when someone gets up a little early - maybe to go to the bathroom- and then goes back to bed. He’s in full tail motion instantly, and it takes a while for him to realize it was a false alarm, and to grump and moan a little before settling back down – ever watchful for anyone actually getting up.
Anyways – I found the blood oranges, had a Proust moment remembering wonderful breakfasts across Europe, especially Italy, where everyone sits in rows outside of cafes in the sun, already sporting the latest in sunglass fashion despite the early hour. Hard to tell whether it’s the sun, or the hangovers. In my case it was usually the hangover. I could almost feel the warm sun of Ascona on Lago Maggiore (Jazz and Classical music festivals), or balmy heat of the Mediterranean air in Agrigento (mainly sun worship, despite the temples and culture to be experienced).
Some southern California rain drops hitting my upturned closed eyes brought me back to reality.
Despite the outrageous price, I bought a few pounds of them, with the intent of making some blood orange champagne cocktails to go with breakfast – a treat to help ease the pain of the cursed time change.
Well, as is often the case with best intentions, no Champagne ever got bought (more transfer of teenagers to movies and a sleepover).
So it’s just blood orange juice. Still a treat. Still special. With closed eyes (and with the dog out of the immediate vicinity), I can almost smell the wonderful aroma of that first Cappuccino which is certainly on it’s way to my café table right now …
To go with it, ripe plantains pan-roasted in butter, and scrambled eggs with a fresh red pepper Serrano chili salsa on top – courtesy of TeenBoy (I’ll see if I can get his recipe).
Tags : Recipes : Cooking : Blood Oranges : Food and Dining