Andrew had remarked the other day that he liked the oranges in Crete, and wondered if we could could buy some. Since the kinds of oranges he wanted could not be bought in a supermarket, I had to find a street side stall or a farmer’s market. Fortunately on the way to Lasithi there was an older man selling all kinds of Cretan produce.

His oranges looked quite miserable. They were beaten up and dirty and small. Our reaction was to be disdainful of the whole affair and turn to leave. The Cretan noticed our disdain, noticed how we were gingerly picking through his produce, and in a fit of pique, reached for a bag, and began to fill the bag himself.

Convinced that we had offended his Cretan pride, we bought the oranges and headed out, convinced that we had been had. These dirty, small, beaten oranges could not be that tasty, now could they?

Boy were we wrong! These must have been the tastiest oranges we have ever eaten without a hit of the acidity. They were pure breathtaking sweetness. Just look at the orange…

Andrew heard me moan in pleasure as I ate my orange, and could not be bothered to completely peel his, removing enough skin to begin to eat.

And he attacked the orange with passion and energy.

Just look at how juicy the were…