An ode to citrus fruits

by Redazione Fine Taste

The idea of ​​dedicating this short and atypical blog to citrus fruits was born after rereading the Leopard, in particular after this paragraph: "Now in fact the road crossed the orange groves in bloom and the nuptial aroma of the orange blossoms canceled everything like the full moon cancels a landscape: the smell of sweaty horses, the smell of leather padding, the smell of a Prince and the smell of a Jesuit, everything was canceled by that Islamic perfume that evoked houris and carnal afterlife.”

Talking about citrus fruits, yes, but how? Describing its beneficial properties? By enhancing its richness in vitamins? Briefly listing the list of both sweet and savory preparations that see them as protagonists on our tables?

None of this! The Fine Taste editorial team has made this bet: to celebrate these extraordinary fruits with literary verses dedicated to them. Using the power of poetry to release Mediterranean scents and atmospheres, reading and traveling with taste and thought. The fruits that become the expression of a state of mind, of a geographical place, of a place of the mind.

Bet won? The sentence is yours!


“Sicily is the land of oranges, of flowery soil whose air, in spring, is all a perfume... But what makes it a land necessary to be seen and unique in the world, is the fact that from one end to the other , it can be defined as a strange and divine architectural museum. “(Guy de Maupassant – “Journey to Sicily”)


“Listen to me, the poet laureates / only move among plants / with little-used names: boxwoods, privets or acanthus. / For myself, I love the roads that lead to grassy / ditches where in puddles / half-dried the boys grab / a few haggard eels: / the lanes that follow the banks, / descend between the tufts of reeds / and put in the vegetable gardens, among the lemon trees... / Here of the amused passions / by a miracle the war is silent, / here we poor people also get our share of wealth / and it is the smell of lemons... / When one day from a poorly closed door / among the trees in a courtyard / the yellows of the lemons show us; / and the coldness of the heart melts, / and in our chests / their songs / the golden trumpets of sunshine thunder. (Eugenio Montale – excerpt from “I Limoni”, “Ossi di Seppia”)


“Do you know the land where cedars flourish? Golden oranges shine among the brown leaves, a sweet zephyr blows through the blue sky, the myrtle sprouts humbly, the laurel stands tall..." (Goethe)