I love blood oranges. My introduction this red globe of goodness was when I was in school in Europe. The lady with whom I lived, aka Frau Mudder (a rather fierce Viennese lady -- very formal and somewhat frightening to this fish out of water American who was living with her urbane German husband and she during a semester abroad) placed a small glass of blood red juice on the breakfast table in front of me. "Ummm, what is this?" I asked quizzically but politely, not wishing to offend with my ignorance. "Blood orange juice," she replied in that somewhat clipped manner of which she was so very fond.
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