An open letter to every bag of oranges I've purchased this winter:
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for neglecting you, for piling you into a bowl and storing you improperly, for keeping you in my overheated kitchen, for letting you turn stony and tough. I won't do it again.
Instead, I pledge to notice when my oranges are starting to look a little wrinklier than they should—and I'll pull out the juicer and the microplane and make the following recipes.
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