We came across this abomination while grocery shopping earlier this week. My first thought was: why? My second thought was: oh, I miss those orange rolls that we used to eat when I was a kid. My third thought was: huh, I always hated those growing up.
The thing is that the orange rolls, like the clearly-too-sophisticated-for-me orange marmalade that was common in our ‘fridge when I was a kid were not something I liked at all. I made fun of my dad for enjoying them, rolled my eyes when we had to track down some marmalade at Shoney’s for his toast (though I should have just appreciated that it meant more strawberry jelly for me).
By the time I went to England with dad, a father-daughter trip inspired by his then-recent diagnosis with cancer, I’d clearly changed my tune on all thing orange, so much so that I brought my orange-chocolate hating husband back almost nothing that wasn’t orange-and-chocolate* – excepting for the marzipan covered sweets which I think he disliked even more than the orange-chocolate confections.
It wasn’t until after dad died that I tried orange marmalade again. Thanks, dad. I had no idea it was so yummy. I don’t think I’ll give okra** a shot next though.
* To be fair, I remembered that “Marc” and “orange-chocolate” were related somehow, I just didn’t recall that it was by a strong disliking.
** Dad and his fried okra love have always struck me as odd. But okra, like tomatoes, is too slimy for me to be able to give the flavor a fair shake.