Sasha Sykes described it as her "bitter sweet epiphany" in The Telegraph, muses the Countess du Ruel. I, like Sasha, eagerly await the day in dullest January when these knobbly and ugly citruses from Seville arrive for marmalade season. Bon Appétit... but hurry up, the season's short.
Seville conjures up all sorts of images: sultry nights scented with white orange blossoms, stallions ridden by dashing caballeros and elegant señoras during the Feria, and Semana Santa's penitentes marching through the streets carrying weeping Madonnas and bleeding crucifixes. Seville was the ancient capital of Andalucia, the home of flamenco, and the departure point for theconquistadores.
In addition to the operas, ferias and festivals this Andalusian city has given us, there is Spain's gift of the humble Seville orange. "Seville" (does not rhyme with "Neville") oranges are not vibrantly juicy like Spanish navels nor are they the colour of a winter sunset like the crimson blood oranges from Sicily. Bitter, thick skinned, heavily piped and an ugly cousin of the Moroccan orange, these aromatic oranges give a tang that makes them the only fruit for the Mother of all Marmalades.
Blink and you'll miss it, the season's so short....a few weeks, if that. I'm ashamed to admit that I don't actually make my own. Mine never lives up to expectations. So I phone the pros...the ladies at the WI, who are masters of this culinary art. I phone only those who make the clear chunky type. I'm not a fan of marmalades which have brandy or something added which makes them look dark. I also don't want it mixed with other citrus fruits...just Seville oranges.
My favourite version is "Mr. Ringrose's Marmalade" from Constance Spry. It is made in a huge casserole where whole oranges simmer for at least half a day. Then they are cut into quarters, the pips and pulp removed, and the peel sliced. Mix pulp and peel together and to each pound add a pint of the water in which the oranges have been boiled. To each pound of this add 1 and 3/4 pounds of sugar. Dissolve over low heat, then boil rapidly for half and hour or until it sets. This last procedure is tedious, but finally, voilà, it begins to thicken. The wondrous smell of this concoction is overwhelming.
Before your eyes these dear wrinkly skinned fruits turn into the ultimate marmalade. It's the combo of sweet and bitter that creates the jewel-like amber taste. Like the first daffodils in February, this citrus blast will brighten your breakfast in the mid-winter gloom. Suddenly you taste the hot sun of Spain on your toast and relive happy times you have had there. That's worth the time and effort, and the wait.
I bought my first jar last Friday at the Country Market in Faringdon. Already I feel happier. Sasha has it right: A Bitter Sweet Epiphany! Viva España...Viva Seville...Viva Naranjas!
