Oranges
A quantity of fresh citrus came my way last weekend.
Dad runs a fruit cartel on Cape Cod, trafficking Florida oranges and grapefruit
from Hyannis to Provincetown. I was lucky enough to be visiting when the last
batch dropped and I smuggled a bagful back into Providence. I must say, these
are impressive fruit – the oranges are the size of normal grapefruit, and
the grapefruit are well, huge.
Florida
has had a rough time of it this season, making this shipment an even more
precious commodity. In addition to erratic weather, one of the main problems is
citrus canker, bacteria which causes leaf- and fruit-drop. This is a highly
contagious plague that has haunted fruit growers on and off for a century, and
after a long period of silence, it has cropped up again in recent years.
According to the Florida State Department of Agriculture, an Asian strain of the
disease has been detected this year in 16 counties. The consequence is
devastating: when a tree is infected, all exposed trees within a 1900 ft radius
must be destroyed. The entire area is then quarantined and cannot be replanted
for two years. Almost 2.5 million trees have been destroyed in Florida to date.
It is quite an event when the
fruit trucks arrive on Cape Cod each season, and this time, when the shipment
threatened not to come, the wait was both anxious and excited. Dad and his
group gathered at the crack of dawn on a chilly November morning to await the
delivery. Meanwhile, I dreamed up a bill of fare that pays just tribute to
the orange: Spicy citrus roast chicken, asparagus with maltaise sauce, and
ice cream with caramelized oranges – a.k.a., dinner last night.
I buttered the bird and rubbed it with a
mixture of orange zest, garlic, salt, cumin, chili, and cayenne, laid it on a
bed of onions in the roasting pan, gave it an ample squeeze of OJ, and stuffed
whatever was left of the orange into the cavity. The plan was for the
juice to steam into the meat, giving it the idea of orange without tasting
fruity.
When the apartment started
smelling really good, I made the maltaise. Maltaise is basically
hollandaise with oranges and is one of the easiest things in the world to make,
which was news to me. You whip up a couple of egg yolks with a little
lemon juice, salt and pepper, more butter than I care to mention, and a dose of
orange juice and zest. You strain it and keep it warm in a bowl over hot
water, and voila, a perfect companion for asparagus.
By this time, the chicken was
ready. It emerged in glory from the oven, with crispy skin well-burnished
by the spice rub. It was very juicy, and held in both aroma and flavor the
complexity I had hoped for. The maltaise was sinfully divine. We
dipped our spears in it modestly, decorously, just for a taste... (OK, so
we slathered it on our asparagus, mopped our chicken in sin-sauce and very
nearly licked the plate – happy now?)
Nobody needed dessert, but I felt a
sense of responsibility to give the oranges their proper due – after all,
they had been through such hardship to get to my table. I made a caramel
sauce with orange juice and vanilla. In bowls, I arranged three slices of
orange that had been sautéed to a golden brown. Over these I
dropped a scoop of Haagen-dazs vanilla (because it was on sale, people,
please!), and drizzled the orange caramel over top. Beautiful! The
drizzle formed a sort of sticky shell, and the orange slices erred on the
unmanageable side, but taste-wise, we were in business. With the orange
cut up in a sort of caramel stew, this would be fantastic.
I liked how the oranges drew a unifying
line through each dish, and added a festive dimension to an otherwise ordinary
meal. Nothing tasted overpoweringly orangey, but I had the glow of them in
me at the end of the night.
Posted: Fri - November 21, 2003 at 03:11 PM