Art curator who saves the world’s rarest fruit

Former Tate Modern Director Vicente Todris founded Todris Citrus Fundacio to preserve rare citrus fruits and to compile catalogs of agricultural knowledge and inspire future generations.

Lemon’s preconceptions are very rarely challenged. But on a crisp November morning on Spain’s lush Valencia coastline, Vicente Todolí shows us the secret side of citrus fruit. That’s not what you saw on supermarket shelves.

The strangest and most amazing specimens are placed on the tables of his sun-soaked orchards. It has one of the octopus-like shapes with fat tentacles, wart-covered citrus fruits the size of a newborn baby, and colorful pear-shaped fruits scattered across green and yellow tied things.

They are not what I expected and are completely unsafe. “You’ll be burning,” warns Todri, pointing to the lush grass. Oils are phototoxic and burn the skin when exposed to purple light (it’s not dangerous to eat, but it’s very acidic). “Want to taste?” he asks. I hold the slices all the way to the sun and doubt it. The golden segment brightens like a stained glass window. I tilt my head back and squeeze my mouth, taking care not to touch my lips. The acidic needle that looks away stabs my tongue. I wipe it off with tears, but the thudri is already heading towards the next fruit, squeezing the pearly contents of my fingers into my hands. The little bowl pops in my mouth like lime-flavored caviar.

Todolí Citrus Fundació, a non-profit farm specializing in the study and preservation of rare citrus varieties, has even more unusual fruits. Hidden in the sleepy streets of the town of Palmera, this is Todori’s passion project. He was born and raised on the farm and continued to study art history before becoming director of respected galleries such as the Tate Modern in London and the Pirelli Hungarbiccacca in Milan.

Now Todori considers himself to be a fifth generation orange farmer. He is fiercely protecting his old family farm. This is one of the reasons why Todri’s citrus fanfacio came. In 2010, the Raze Palmera Orange Gloves project was launched to create space for real estate. He tried to derail it through his official channel. “I was called the enemy of romantic progress,” he recalls. However, Todori did not stop. With the tucks changed, he began buying plots of land. Some were abandoned patches of weeds, others were founded orchards. He has won about 4.5 hectares in total, an inexplicable fortress of precious farmland. “When I started, it was an urgent matter, I had to save the land,” he says.

At about the same time, Todri worked as a cultural advisor to Ferran Adria, the former chef of the iconic (and sadly closed) El Bri (formerly billed as the best restaurant in the world). One day, the pair visited a garden on the outskirts of Perpignan. The southern part of France is a little too chilly for citrus fruits, so the trees are planted in pots. In the summer they soak outside, and in October the gardener brings them into the greenhouse to keep them warm. During their visit, Todori asked, “How could it be that they did this amazing project with citrus fruits and no one in my area does that?” Adria replied: “Why not do it yourself?”

Todori was inspired. He knew that Palmela had the microclimate that was perfect for citrus fruits. No pot is needed. The Todolí Citrus Fundació is 3 km from the sea and is backed by the ripples of the mountains. As warm breezes move across the Mediterranean, moisture creates and when hit the mountains it drops the rain tub. The water drips from the mountainside to the palmerra, absorbing organic matter along the way. The fertile and nutrient-rich soil is known as alluvial soil, and the thudri is blessed with its buckets.

A crisp morning of Palmela also helps balance the flavor of the fruit, explains Todri. “In January, it’s one or two degrees in the morning and around 20°C in the afternoon. That’s what creates a balance of sourness and sweetness. For example, if you’re in Florida, it’s too hot. They’re too sweet, but they’re bland.

For inspiration, he turned to history’s most glorious citrus gardens. He learned the Italian gardens of the Medici family and the gorgeous Arabic palaces of the Alhambra in the 1500s. “For Arabs, gardens appealed to the senses. It was a paradise on earth and an immersive experience,” Todri says.

Similarly, the views, smells and sounds of the Todolí Citrus Fundació seduce visitors. The frog-sized cry of frogs jumps into the topic of mallows and bees among the wild flowers. There is a soundtrack of water dripping along ancient Arabic irrigation routes as you lick sour juice from your fingertips, and the enthusiastic cry of goldfinchs in the aviary. The frenzied scent of lemons will smell the visitors’ hands in perfume for the rest of the day.

There are other farms nearby, but they don’t look like this. The surrounding countryside is an orderly grid of single-crap fields, with rows of orange trees. Spain is one of the world’s leading exporters of citrus fruits, shipping about 4 million tons a year. To produce such enormous amounts, most farms lean significantly towards monochromatic colors, which can deplete soil and leave plants more vulnerable to disease outbreaks. Meanwhile, Todolí Citrus Fundació is a bank of genetic diversity. Miscellaneous bunches of over 500 varieties. The rarest plants include the ancient Valencian orange tree, which is used as a rootstock. The grafts were made about 150 years ago, and the thorax cut back the pods to allow the roots to grow freely.

“It’s like Jurassic Park,” he says. “You can see the extinct, resurrected variety.”

Like farm tours, the garden features events throughout the year. The poet read the stanza on a stage decorated with lemons at the annual Poecítrics festival, while Cine de Vanguardia is an experimental cinema celebration. Last year, visitors sat next to Chinot bushes to watch Ren Lai’s kaleidoscope film and Jean Luch’s immersive documentary.

Back on the tour, Todri’s right man Tong Gjekaji is waiting at the final tasting table. He is cutting the final slice of fruit. There is a passionfruit-flavored trifoliate orange, apple calamanchi and rosewater-scented sweet lime wedge, still warming from the sun. I eat all of them greedily and pop out the whole round carpel into my mouth. I try to write down the flavors, but now the notepad is covered in juice. The camera buttons are sticky.

There’s time to peek into the lab, a high-tech kitchen and a library. This is an experimental hub and is used by experts from all over the world who come to play with Todri’s extraordinary pantry. The chef makes bergamot ice cream. Bartender pickled lemon lind for gin and tonic. The fragrance then extracts oil from the almost extinct orange.

Agustina Basilico Miara, the drinks director at Tokulas Restaurant in London, says he visits three times and always returns home with new ideas. “It’s incredible. Every time we go, we take as many people as possible out of the restaurant,” says Miara. “It’s very exciting to arrive at the colour explosion, especially after being in cloudy London.”

Miara uses the skin left behind from the kitchen (such as fragrant blood oranges or Chandler Red Pomero) to make tea that turns her into syrup. She uses it on a variety of cocktails, just like she’s hot on classic whiskey highballs. “We also did a martini with Chinot, and we then injected the chinots into the vodka and then we made the fruit into candy,” Miara said. “Add another layer to the flavor, like an olive brine element. It’s very aromatic.”

After flicking through a few books (there are a pleasant rainbow of post-it notes along the spine, as all the citrus mentions are bookmarked), we finish our tour by tasting marmalade. The most delicious is made from Borneo Lemon, a cross between Pomelo and Key Lime, rather than lemon. The delicate and creamy marmalade tastes like a balanced lemon curd.

For Todori, this outdoor gallery is his legacy. It is a place that challenges preconceived notions, encourages biodiversity, and fosters local culture. “For me, it’s like a museum where it changes every day and you don’t have to refresh your collection,” he says. “People think that citrus fruits are what they see in supermarkets. They don’t know that it started 8 million years ago, that it was one of the oldest fruits in the world. It was very important in literature, poetry and art.”

Todori can see the art of citrus – and from his otherworldly orchards, he helps to see it in the other worlds.