Elizabeth Harding's Blog - Posts Tagged "toast-marmalade-winter-recipe"
Toast and marmalade anyone?
On Saturday when the howling North wind was sneakingly slithering its way into the house through cracks and vents, when the sea was battling high at the Spring tide, when the sleet shrouding the full moon was blasting the faces of walkers and cyclists and the hail was drumming a rattling rataplan on the window panes, I knew that this was the perfect time and the perfect background for a bout of marmalade making.
Marmalade is a preserve made of citrus fruits and the making of it is a post-Christmas activity that is labour-intensive, fiddly but puts a bit of brightness into a grim, grey but non-snowy winter day. But where does it come from?
I grew up with two stories. First the Romantic story. They say that Mary, Queen of Scots was languishing in bed with some unspecified illness when her cook, hearing of this, made for her a special concoction made of oranges. This was presented to her for her delectation by a tearfully concerned cook because ‘Marie est malade.’ Hence the name. All nonsense of course but worth remaining in the culinary mythology.
The second story seems more credible. In the eighteenth century, in Dundee, a certain Mrs Keiller, a noted jam maker, bought up the cargo of a ship that, after breaking down, had hobbled its way to the port. She experimented with the bitter oranges that formed the main cargo and came up with the breakfast spread we know today and which made Dundee and her surname famous.
As it turns though, the history of marmalade is more complex. For one thing, the name ‘marmalade’ comes from the Portuguese ‘marmelo’ (quince) that stems from the Greek ‘melimelon’. A quince is hard and sour and can only be eaten when cooked but like an apple, it does contain a lot of pectin. So the first marmalade was probably created accidentally, when it was noticed that cooked quinces became a firm paste. Lemons were added as the quinces were being cooked and it was this paste that became quite popular in the Middle-Ages.
Just when pure citrus fruits became the staple of marmalade is not clear but a cookery book of 1677 mentions a ‘marmelet of oranges’ and had the usual stiff-paste consistency.. A recipe of 1714 describes a marmalade most of us would recognise. It consisted of oranges and lemons, the pulp cooked with the juice and the whole lot removed from the heat before it became too firm. At this time the marmalade was eaten as a pudding.
I think it is safe to say that the Keiller family created the marmalade we now spread on our toast, cutting up the oranges into chucks and adding rind to the mixture. Well, I spent my early childhood in Dundee so it fair to say I’m biased but not outrageously so.
But why make marmalade in January? This is the time when the bitter oranges from Southern Spain are picked and exported. But it’s the devil’s own job to get them here. In England if you ask for ‘Seville oranges’ the greengrocer knows exactly what is meant and why you want them. Many years ago, when I first came to live in the Netherlands I asked for them at our village greengrocer’s I was met with a blank stare. Then I changed my request and asked if she had bitter oranges. She bridled at this and with tight lips replied that her oranges were always sweet. I got this last batch from a Turkish shop and they fit the bill fine.
I’d like to provide a favourite recipe of mine that I’ve adapted and messed about with over the years. The marmalade I made on Saturday consists of three fruits: orange, grapefruit and lemon. But I intend to make a simple orange marmalade later on this week (but adding a couple of lemons of course).
Three-fruit marmalade
2 1/2 kilo of citrus fruits – grapefruit, orange and lemon. Let’s say four grapefruit, four lemons and the rest oranges.
1 kilo jam sugar, also called gelling sugar. (Not preserving sugar! Jam or gelling sugar cuts the cooking time down to one minute! This short cooking time retains the flavour and gives the marmalade a superb taste! I)
Method
1) Take half of the fruit and set aside.
With the other half peel the rind off the fruits with a very sharp knife and chop it into long, thin strips. Put the rind in a pan, cover the rind with water and simmer until the rind is soft.
2) Cut each fruit into eight segments and remove the pith and seeds. This is fiddly but you’ve set aside a good few hours for making marmalade, haven’t you?
Then cut the segments into chunks. Scoop up any liquid that is spreading over your chopping board.
3) Put everything into a pan, adding the softened rind.
4) Take the fruit that has been set aside and simply press out the juice on an orange press. Take the resulting pulp and juice and put into the pan with the orange chunks and peel. (If you are wondering why I squeeze half the fruit then I can only say that I prefer the combination of rough (chunks and peel) and smooth (juice and pulp). And it cuts down the preparation time.
5) Add the jam (gelling) sugar and bring to the boil. Cook for one minute.
6) Pour into the sterilised jars, put the tops on and then turn upside down for half an hour. This seals the jars. After that turn right way up
7) You can add spices if you like – ginger and/cloves according to taste. If you want a luxury preserve try adding, at the last moment some Cointreau or Grand Marnier or whatever spirit takes your fancy.
I’m having to wait to make another batch as I’ve now run out of jars. Odd thing is – I don’t seem to be able to buy jars hereabouts. I could buy them in France. So I’ve had to send off for them. In the meantime – where the toast?
Marmalade is a preserve made of citrus fruits and the making of it is a post-Christmas activity that is labour-intensive, fiddly but puts a bit of brightness into a grim, grey but non-snowy winter day. But where does it come from?
I grew up with two stories. First the Romantic story. They say that Mary, Queen of Scots was languishing in bed with some unspecified illness when her cook, hearing of this, made for her a special concoction made of oranges. This was presented to her for her delectation by a tearfully concerned cook because ‘Marie est malade.’ Hence the name. All nonsense of course but worth remaining in the culinary mythology.
The second story seems more credible. In the eighteenth century, in Dundee, a certain Mrs Keiller, a noted jam maker, bought up the cargo of a ship that, after breaking down, had hobbled its way to the port. She experimented with the bitter oranges that formed the main cargo and came up with the breakfast spread we know today and which made Dundee and her surname famous.
As it turns though, the history of marmalade is more complex. For one thing, the name ‘marmalade’ comes from the Portuguese ‘marmelo’ (quince) that stems from the Greek ‘melimelon’. A quince is hard and sour and can only be eaten when cooked but like an apple, it does contain a lot of pectin. So the first marmalade was probably created accidentally, when it was noticed that cooked quinces became a firm paste. Lemons were added as the quinces were being cooked and it was this paste that became quite popular in the Middle-Ages.
Just when pure citrus fruits became the staple of marmalade is not clear but a cookery book of 1677 mentions a ‘marmelet of oranges’ and had the usual stiff-paste consistency.. A recipe of 1714 describes a marmalade most of us would recognise. It consisted of oranges and lemons, the pulp cooked with the juice and the whole lot removed from the heat before it became too firm. At this time the marmalade was eaten as a pudding.
I think it is safe to say that the Keiller family created the marmalade we now spread on our toast, cutting up the oranges into chucks and adding rind to the mixture. Well, I spent my early childhood in Dundee so it fair to say I’m biased but not outrageously so.
But why make marmalade in January? This is the time when the bitter oranges from Southern Spain are picked and exported. But it’s the devil’s own job to get them here. In England if you ask for ‘Seville oranges’ the greengrocer knows exactly what is meant and why you want them. Many years ago, when I first came to live in the Netherlands I asked for them at our village greengrocer’s I was met with a blank stare. Then I changed my request and asked if she had bitter oranges. She bridled at this and with tight lips replied that her oranges were always sweet. I got this last batch from a Turkish shop and they fit the bill fine.
I’d like to provide a favourite recipe of mine that I’ve adapted and messed about with over the years. The marmalade I made on Saturday consists of three fruits: orange, grapefruit and lemon. But I intend to make a simple orange marmalade later on this week (but adding a couple of lemons of course).
Three-fruit marmalade
2 1/2 kilo of citrus fruits – grapefruit, orange and lemon. Let’s say four grapefruit, four lemons and the rest oranges.
1 kilo jam sugar, also called gelling sugar. (Not preserving sugar! Jam or gelling sugar cuts the cooking time down to one minute! This short cooking time retains the flavour and gives the marmalade a superb taste! I)
Method
1) Take half of the fruit and set aside.
With the other half peel the rind off the fruits with a very sharp knife and chop it into long, thin strips. Put the rind in a pan, cover the rind with water and simmer until the rind is soft.
2) Cut each fruit into eight segments and remove the pith and seeds. This is fiddly but you’ve set aside a good few hours for making marmalade, haven’t you?
Then cut the segments into chunks. Scoop up any liquid that is spreading over your chopping board.
3) Put everything into a pan, adding the softened rind.
4) Take the fruit that has been set aside and simply press out the juice on an orange press. Take the resulting pulp and juice and put into the pan with the orange chunks and peel. (If you are wondering why I squeeze half the fruit then I can only say that I prefer the combination of rough (chunks and peel) and smooth (juice and pulp). And it cuts down the preparation time.
5) Add the jam (gelling) sugar and bring to the boil. Cook for one minute.
6) Pour into the sterilised jars, put the tops on and then turn upside down for half an hour. This seals the jars. After that turn right way up
7) You can add spices if you like – ginger and/cloves according to taste. If you want a luxury preserve try adding, at the last moment some Cointreau or Grand Marnier or whatever spirit takes your fancy.
I’m having to wait to make another batch as I’ve now run out of jars. Odd thing is – I don’t seem to be able to buy jars hereabouts. I could buy them in France. So I’ve had to send off for them. In the meantime – where the toast?
