Christmas mornings, while growing up in the New Mexico desert, usually ended with that one last gift stuck all the way in the toe of the stocking. With our arms stuck all the way inside, we could reach the presents that Santa never failed to forget: the Christmas orange. They were usually big, firm and pebbled and were dry and tasteless, brought months before to the grocery store, and were almost never eaten as there were other delights to distract us. Years later, in 1991 to be precise, I had moved to North Wales and that Christmas, Santa brought me a new Christmas orange that changed my taste buds forever. It was a Clementine and they were truly a delicacy.