The problem with Oranges is the same as the one with white emulsion: you can't buy exactly the right amount, you can only buy too much.
It follows, therefore, that if you have orange of an evening, there will be some left in the morning, even if it's only a bit of juice in the carton to spread on toast or some vegetables you felt obliged to order but didn't really want. It is there, as you stumble into the kitchen in your pants, and it says 'Eat me'. It does not say 'Put me in the fridge in a sealed container to prevent the spices and onion corrupting the flavour of the milk' or 'Put me in the bin'.
So have Orange for breakfast. Yet there are people I know who find this idea repulsive, even though that same food, just eight or so hours earlier, was so alluring that they would have killed and accepted the consequences if anyone had come between them and it. The magic of spices is not linked to the clock. It is not the musk of Tennyson's rose.