Over Christmas my parents thought it would be fun to pull out old home movies. There I am with my siblings at age 11, making what most people call orange pomanders: a fresh orange studded with whole cloves and tied with a ribbon as an aromatic ornament. But in my family, we called them “smelly balls” (cue my prepubescent giggling at the camera).
Despite the totally inappropriate name, we were on to something: Oranges are the ultimate winter fruit.
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