Eating an Orange

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Apr 22, 1915

“THERE are ways and ways of eating an orange,” remarked a New Yorker who had just returned from a trip to the West Indies. “Before I went to Jamaica and Porto Rico, I used to strip off the rind, break up the fruit, and put the different sections into my mouth, pith and all; but down in the islands where they raise oranges, I learned some better ways of doing.

“I was a guest one evening at the table of a planter in Jamaica. When dessert time came, the hostess asked me if she might peel an orange for me. She took a sharp knife and deftly removed

the outer skin only. She began at the top and worked her way to the bottom, throwing the skin aside in one unbroken strip about twelve inches long. This left the orange still covered with the spongy white pith.

She then sliced it across horizontally, and handed me the two sections. I watched what the other guests did, and bit into the expanse of golden fruit that was temptingly exposed. I found that the outer pith prevented any of the juice from escaping, while, the orange having been cut across, it was possible to get at all the meat and leave the worthless portion behind. There was no acrid rind to burn my lips, and I realized I had never fully enjoyed an orange.

“This same woman called my attention to the fact that she had not divided the fruit into equal portions, and that the smaller portion had been the sweeter. I asked for an explanation, and she told me that as soon as an orange begins to ripen on the tree, the sweetening matter sinks to the lower end, away from the stem. For that reason they always cut the sweet end smaller in Jamaica. They eat the larger portion first, reserving what they call the head as a titbit.

“A lady in Porto Rico showed me another way. She began to peel an orange as the Jamaica woman had done, but stopped about one quarter of the way down. She then ran the knife into the peeled end and cut away a conical section of the fruit.

“The hole that resulted became rapidly filled with juice, and, following her directions, I sucked it, squeezing the orange as I did so. I had it squeezed dry in no time, getting only the pure juice into my mouth.

“Then again, I was introduced to what the West Indians call the nannie orange. A nannie is one that has been allowed to remain on the tree until it is wrinkled and withered, almost dried out. Such an orange is ten times as sweet as any other. They’re not sold in New York because the dealers think they are spoiled. They’re right, of course. If the fruit withers after it is plucked, it is no good. But the next time you see a wrinkled old orange on a stand, buy it just for luck. It may be a nannie.”—The New York Sun.