Once, on a pilgrimage through Emilia-Romagna at the top of Italy’s boot, our host offered us grapes from a vineyard of something called Fortana Del Taro. We were riding bicycles, he was wearing brogues with dress pants and a crisp, white, collared shirt. Perfectly on script in a country where even the Carabinieri dress like supermodels.
The moment I bit down, all I could think about were two fabulously fake grapes of my youth: a brand of bubblegum (with a chipmunk for a mascot) and a variation of a famous orange soda. They were both very purple and tangy and acid: nothing like the table grapes we knew. But as I savoured that Fortana fruit, it was obvious that there really was something natural that tasted very like those after-school treats: something with Latin roots. And so, it turns out, does another far healthier, hyper-real favourite: the blood orange.
I can’t remember my first sip of Aranciata Rossa, but all I thought at the time was that it was delicious and made by an Italian mineral water brand, so they probably knew what they were doing. Years passed by before I held an actual blood orange in my hands for the first time, peeled it down to the flesh, gazed in awe at its colour and marvelled at just how accurate that fizzy flavour is.
In Pantone terms, they totally deliver on promise, but more notably, compared to any citrus we grew up with, the vesicles of these blood-red cousins are bursting with floral notes and sweetness and berries and bravado. Nikki waits all year for the narrow harvest window when cherries emerge from their spring blossoms. For me, the summer heat is worth enduring knowing there are blood oranges on the other side. And if you do happen to miss the moment at the market, all is not lost: you can keep the dream alive until next season by finding consolation in a can.