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hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:47 pm
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hetalia-kink.livejournal.com
2010-10-16 12:10 am (UTC)(link)
Maybe it's because of the colors. Grapefruit is more white, especially in the thick inside of the peel, lemons have a hint of green that never fully disappears, not even when they're mature, oranges are all kinds of orange, some bright, some soft and almost pink (but the best part about oranges is cutting them in half and discover a totally different color too, a sun-kissed yellow, a deep red like blood, or a mix, orange mottled delicately with red, like some sort of precious gem).
Maybe it's the smell. It's happy and energetic, and with a hint of sun that never disappear, even when the windows are white with fog and the night comes early.
Maybe it's that it's family. Romano has known this taste since before knowing himself - the Greeks, Rome, the Moors, the Germans, the Spanish, the French - they all stopped in some remote valley, breathing deep the smell of the trees, suddenly reminded of why they came chasing after this little insufferable brat in the first place. His daughters, princesses and little peasants alike, have gone to the altar crowned in white orange flowers since he has memory.
Maybe it's just that it's part of his routine - roll out of bed, grab the fruits, cut in half, press on the squeezer (he had a mechanical one for a while, but it was noisy and, well, he had been doing it in the same way for centuries, why fix what's not broken?) and drink. He likes to change it slightly every morning, according to season and what he has and what he feels like - half a lemon, an orange, a grapefruit, or all red oranges, or oranges and grapefruits only - there's so much choice in something so simple. (Hard to fuck it up, too, even in those days in which he obscurely feels he'd be better going back to bed, even when the day outside looks bleak and boring and he's more clumsy than ever).
But most probably, it's the taste. Oh, the taste. Romano has been accused, in the past, of being 'sour'. He has never seen the insult in that.
His brother would make a face, say 'it's too sour, veh!' and add sugar. Then again, his brother puts sugar and milk in his coffee, too - lots of it, and uses only the slightest hint of peppers in his sauces because 'too much spoils it', so he doesn't really fucking count.
This is his. Something that no invasion, no influence, no war, no change of government could take away from him - the smell of freshly pressed oranges, sinking his teeth in the thick peel of a lemon just to spite those who say you can't eat it like that, the consistency of the pulp giving in when you press it against the squeezer - and the taste, let's not forget it - sour in the beginning, but if you can stand it, there's a secret heart of sweetness to discover.
So earlier I was cutting oranges in half for my mid-afternoon merenda and I was, like, 'I bet Romano loves oranges - wait FUCK I HOPE NOBODY HAS DONE HIM YET ON THAT PROMPT' and whaddayaknow, nobody had.<3
References, in no particular order: sour, acido, in Italian has a double meaning similar to the one that 'bitter' has in English. I could've done this with coffee, on second thought, but oh well.
Citrus fruits are typical of Southern Italy - Sicilian oranges are famous, especially the red ones (nicknamed sanguinelle, 'little bloody ones'), which look orange on the outside but are really really red on the inside and give a really rich and sweet juice. Southern Italy has lot of traditions connected to citrus fruits, both food related and not - brides for example usually carry a bouquet or crown of orange flowers, called zagare (the flowers are white btw, not orange).
Before it was thought that it was the Moors who introduced citrus fruits to Southern Italy, but recently seeds and other traces dating back to the Romans have been found.
Northern Italians drink coffee the Austrian way (lungo, with milk and sugar), Southern Italians drink it the Mediterranean way (stretto, with coffee). Or at least so the stereotype goes. Same with spices - Southern Italians don't mind strong tastes, Northern Italians like their food a bit more delicate. Again, or so the stereotype goes.
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