When you crave juice but the large carton in the fridge shakes empty, do not give up hope. There in the crisper looms a large box of madarins, reach in through the netted plastic veil, lift out one of these orange planets, and admire for a moment its perfect shape and colour, the phenotype of all phenotypes. Only then should you dig your thumbnail under its crust and peel away tectonic plate by plate, letting the acid sting the skin under your nail. Therein lies the pith, clinging to and dulling the glow of the flesh, like mist at sunrise. These cobwebs must be swept away. Gently tug and the vines will detach from the fruit like the world's borders being drawn up and out of an atlas. It is a delicate task, removing the clinging veins without ripping through the organ's flesh, but worth it for a smoother treat with less residual chewing. Orange you glad you did?
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