Easy Chinese Test

[Ottavia Delamar]

Oranges are my favorite fruit, and if I didn't see another one until next winter, I'd be OK with that. Citrus of all sorts is in peak season right now, so I make it my mission to jam as many segments into my mouth as medically possible during this halcyon time. But over the past few years I've had to reassess my diet and cut back on the quantity of acid I consume. In turn, the quality of the fruit matters more to me now, and I've come to realize that not all oranges are equally awesome.

For the purposes of this test, I included spherical, orange-skinned citrus that could be peeled and pulled into segments. That netted me navel oranges, mandarins, tangerines, honey tangerines (a.k.a. Murcotts), cara caras, blood oranges, Minneolas, clementines, Valencias, an Ugli, and a few other varieties. All were stored under the same conditions, and anything that didn't have a sticker with a price look-up number (a PLU), variety, producer, or country, I classified by signs on the bin. I ate them in three sittings because ouch.

These are ranked from my least favorite to most, and while your taste may vary from mine, try taking a closer look at the sticker the next time you're at the store and you just may peel open a new favorite.

If aliens tasted this as their first orange on earth, there's a good chance they wouldn't ever reach out their sticky little appendages for another. This thick-skinned orange was a pain to peel, and there was precious little payoff. A 4013 is on the smaller side of the navel spectrum, which often results in a juicier fruit, but this one offered wan, dry, sour segments that tasted more of membrane than anything else. It's a miserly little orange.

The sticker touted its supposedly "easy" peel, but it didn't prove to be any more so than a standard tangerine. The powerful citron scent was a promising start, but it gave way to segments with very little flavor, a riot of seeds, and lots of webby pith. If you've ever made OJ from concentrate and used the can to ferry water from the tap to the pitcher, think about the second or third time you've filled it up and how the water is maybe slightly haunted by oranges, but nothing like the juice in the pitcher. That's the level of flavor we're talking about. I tried a second from another location a couple weeks later because I wanted to give the benefit of the doubt and I was equally disappointed.

This orange was like a Victorian convalescent child confined to the nursery who subsists on tea-dampened toast. Its thin peel came away cleanly, unlike many of the other navels that left a bitter shag of pith behind, but revealed sweet, weak, watery fruit for which the sun was a distant memory.

Here was a teaching moment: The only thing separating this from the other Midknight much higher on this list (spoiler!) was its size. I've come to find that my preference is for small and mid-sized oranges rather than great big galoots that often feel like they've sacrificed flavor for heft. This fruit was a beast to peel and left behind a thick blanket of pith over oddly medicinal segments. If someone told me this had been grown in an underground lab under interrogation lights, I'd believe them. Midknight, indeed.

Think of all the worst qualities of an over-acidic grapefruit, that love-it-or-hate-it almost chemically sweet, long-lasting aftertaste of a cara cara, and add a little gumminess to the mix. It was pretty, sure, that's a gimmie for this kind of orange, but that's really all it had in the plus column.

I nearly broke a thumbnail digging into the chalky skin and my reward for the trouble was arid, listless, bitter fruit. The only thing that kept this from ranking even lower was an unexpected pop of sour, like, at least it was trying something. Just not a good thing. I became very wary of large navels fairly quickly after this.

My wariness was validated. I actually tried two different Sunkist 4012 oranges from two different stores and came away with the same impression. The hefty peel came away easily but raggedly, and the fruit was juicy, extremely sour, and generic as heck. The segments of one snapped in the center, rather than separating naturally. A good orange tastes of the sun and sky. This felt like a basement.

This was everything good about a watermelon Jolly Rancher, immediately followed by a blast of near-rancid sweetness. It would have been less of a disappointment had the initial bite not delighted me, but my pleasure plopped straight off a cliff after a few seconds. Again, caveat, cara cara fans will probably be thrilled by it.

What an annoying orange. Hard to peel, left a residue of pith, and was packed with large seeds that obscured what would have been otherwise promising fruit. Like bobbing your head to a song you like and all of a sudden Kanye shows up and starts doing that unnnhhhhh noise. Mood ruined.

I'm glad this ugly duckling exists and I got to try it, but I'm not going out of my way to acquire another. I had to use a knife to saw through the peel, then to cut out the segments. My prize: basically grapefruit. I dig an underdog, but you can't coast by on quirk.

My thumbnail wasn't sufficient and I had to grab a knife to get through. I held high-ish hopes for this organic edition which delivered a decent sweet/tart balance, as often happens, oranges this size are mealy. The pith bittered away any pleasure and the whole enterprise wasn't worth it.

They're only available for a brief time each year, so if you've gotta get your fix, I get it, but if you truly care about cara cara, you can hold out for better. The flesh of this medium-skinned orange was generous and grapefruit-tangy, but with a slightly lower level of complexity than another higher up the list, and a finish that's almost cloying and saccharine.

There was a curious little nipple at the top of this orange, but not much more set it apart from the pack. The fragrant peel left a whole lot of pith behind, and it housed some sunny, sweet, extremely juicy fruit that tasted more like an orange juice product (think Sunny D) than an actual orange.

You don't bring a juice orange to a snacking fight, but this was good at its assigned task. The peel was a beast and needed to be nicked with a knife to come away, but it ripped away with no pith and contained extremely juicy (no shock) fruit that was too bitter and acidic to pick up and eat, but might likely rock in a smoothie or tempered with another fruit in a drink.

It ain't pretty to look at, but that's not the point. There's something really satisfying about clawing off an easy-give peel, even if it leaves some shaggy pith behind. The fruit inside was oddly almost savory with no acid at all, but possessed of a honeyed sweetness like some of the tangerines I'd encountered as well. A perfectly adequate mandarin.

Aaallllmost, but not quite on the mark. The scent was enticing, the juice a-flowing, but the acid burn at the back of the tongue was just a bit too intense to be pleasant. This would make grand OJ, but not an ideal solo treat.

What a weird, pointy little fruit, and a welcome break to the monotony of orange orbs. This boasted a better balance than some of the other navels, and much thinner skin and more modest segments which made it a distinctly better eating experience, even if the flavor was just average.

I'm always going to be swayed by the loveliness of a blood orange, and this was no exception. I could marvel at, Instagram, and muddle them endlessly, but at some point, the mouth has to come into play, and that's where this one suffered. It wasn't a bad orange by any stretch, but lacked that characteristic, almost savory depth of off-sweet flavor that defines an excellent blood orange and tended toward a less-nuanced tartness. It's a perfectly good piece of fruit and would play well in a cocktail, salad, or as a snack, but as a blood orange goes, it's on the average side of interesting.

This was less rapture-inducing (though probably easier to obtain) than its Aussie counterpart higher up the list, but still violently beautiful once cut open. It's more restrained, a tad drier, more tart, but still piquant and more pleasurable than some of the mealy navels.

This may be just a me thing, but if I can buy a stem-on orange, I do. It makes me feel clever and fancy. The segments came apart easily, were fully plump and juicy, and despite a little shag left behind by the peel, there was no pithy bitterness. Perfectly pleasant, plenty of lingering sweetness (maybe even too sweet for me) with very little acid. Top of the middle of the pack.

Look, I'm as shocked as you are that a cara cara ranked so high, given my general antipathy, but this brought all the ripe grapefruit glory tempered by a minimum of that fake-ish sweet aftertaste that makes me cringe. The internal pink hue isn't quite as dazzling as some of the other specimens, but it's still a damn sight prettier than another wan, flabby navel.

No fancy cultivar name or producer, just a generic store sticker on an ugly little fruit, but hooboy, was this a delight. The knobbled peel was satisfyingly loose and easily gave way to generous, sweet, tart, deeply flavored segments that were delightfully easy to separate and dry to the touch, but a genuine treat and a perfect snacking tangerine. (Perfect name for your new indie psych-pop's first single.)

This is a grown-up's orange with tartness only on the finish, preceded by a deep, honeyed, mellow sweetness, and not at all cloying. Like that weird shift where your friends start bringing bottles and growlers to a party rather than a sixer of whatever cans are cheapest.

If you're in charge of the snacks or breakfast, this is a great mini-swagger. This orange was adorable and with easy-peel skin that's ridged like a little pumpkin. The fruit inside was sunny and full, juicy, with very little tartness and a distinctive honeyed sweetness. It's a showy little orange worth seeking out.

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