Oh My Darling

It's that time of year again. The time of year when my left thumbnail is constantly yellow. The time of year when scurvy is not a big threat, nor do I worry much about the fiber intake of our family.

It's clementine season.

They appeared first at Shaw's a few weeks ago, then I picked up a supreme box of tiny ones at Trader Joe's down in Massachusetts, and now they are in the introductory display case at Hannaford's grocery store. My excuse for making sure we are constantly stocked is that my 4 year old has just learned how to peel them by herself and will eat them with an eagerness she usually reserves for packaged candy. However, I have to admit that I can peel and eat several without really noticing how many I've eaten. They are a little bit like winter candy here in Vermont. (In fact, I know a local professor who taught a film class last year and brought in unlimited soda, candy and popcorn for his class. About halfway through the term, he started supplementing that with water and clementines, and they disappeared faster than the junk food.)

Clementines are not quite as exquisite as the variety of mandarin orange called satsuma (which is actually the mikan from Japan). Now there's a citrus fruit that could easily develop a cult following. We used to be able to get them during the "winter" in Palo Alto, and they were divine. They are so delicate, though, that they don't hold up well during shipping and thus are not widely available throughout the US. Clementines are a pretty good substitute, especially if the bees don't cross-pollenate them with something else. That's what gives you clementines with seeds: very annoying.

Eating a clementine is a multi-sensory experience. First, before any peeling begins, there's the color. Someone figured out that putting bright little oranges in a cobalt blue box is very eye-catching. And they were right. As I reach for one of these dazzling diminutive fruits, my mind goes wandering through imaginary orchards in Valencia, Spain, and fruit markets in Agadir, near the Souss Valley in Morocco. There's a subliminal connection to a warmer place where people are relaxed. I haven't even peeled the thing yet and already it's a positive encounter.

Next comes the peeling, which is so easy that a small child can do it. Not only is it effortless, but each rip of the pith releases a marvelous air-freshener of citrus oil. Ahhh, that smell! Now I have a small spiral of peel, and it's time to decide whether to separate the segments or just pull it into halves and go for the big juicy bites. That depends on whether this is my first clementine at this sitting, as well as my mood at the time. The first clementine, if I'm quite desperate for fruit, usually goes in a half at a time. This produces an overwhelming burst of delicious brightness, and is enough to satisfy my mouth until I can peel the next one. From then on, I usually segment them to make it all last longer.

As I said, this is an activity that can go on and on, slowing only when I take a look in the box and notice the pile diminishing. Clementines run between $5-7 per 5 pound box and, while this is not excessively expensive for fruit generally, it can add up if you go through too many boxes a month. I may cringe when I place the box in the shopping cart, but I know I won't regret it. The mini Mediterranean vacation and the 50 calorie sugar high and the sweet-smelling kitchen, not to mention the smiles on the faces of my little darlings, is always worth a box of clementines.