I see home-made jams as a most precious commodity and during the 15 years or so since we retired, making jams of all types has become an important part of our lives. We do it not only because we love the whole creative process – each year we produce over 150 jars – but also because we love the taste of our produce and, by giving some away we can share that taste with others. 

Importantly, jam-making is a seasonal affair, and in the summer, when we use fruit from our garden or from the surrounding hedgerows, production is very much a shared affair. In the winter, however, the ‘jam’ is made from Seville oranges, and so by tradition it is ‘bitter marmalade’ that we are making. Moreover, because preparation demands the heavy work of cutting the peel, scooping out the pith and squeezing out the juice, preparation has become my domain. This blog is about marmalade and its production which takes place each year in late January and early February and which has become an increasingly important part of my culinary year.

In all this, there is something special about making marmalade. The United Kingdom is actually the home of marmalade and so by tradition it is here that not only do marmalade cognoscenti abound but here where – from my experience – a good-tasting jar of marmalade is particularly appreciated and treasured.

In the late 1790s, Janet Keiller, who worked in her son’s grocery shop in Dundee, made two fundamental changes to the traditional recipe for marmalade which the shop had been making and selling for years. While her new marmalade was still bitter and made from Spanish Seville oranges, now she added finely-cut bits of the orange peel which not only changed the texture of the product but also provided what would have been seen as health-giving roughage. In addition, the mixture was more runny. Previous marmalade was a thick paste; Janet made it such that it could be spread easily on toast or bread so perfect for breakfast! At a stroke, marmalade as we know it was born. 

Later, Janet’s marmalade was being made on a commercial scale and exported worldwide. Moreover, it somehow came to be seen as a luxury foodstuff special enough to be given as presents. Her invention was copied widely by other manufacturers which resulted in the creation of a marmalade-making industry in the UK and this continues. Each year, by far the largest part of the Seville orange harvest is still exported to the UK. 

Importantly, Janet Keiller’s modification forms the basis of the recipe which I use which was originally given to me by Rohan who got it from Mike, her oldest friend’s husband. Over the years I have tinkered with it and now I know my way around the process so well that failures, which were common in the past (doesn’t set, jelly over thick or sticky) are now rare and anyway can be remedied. In its making, each batch is boiled up in my giant 10-litre stainless steel pot (see illustration) which allows me to make enough to fill eighteen or nineteen jars at a time.

The unique bitter-sweet flavour of the marmalade comes from the Seville oranges and the added sugar. These, together with the chunks of peel which have a soft chewy quality when bitten, provide the features that make marmalade so coveted. And there is the most unexpected of bonuses –  that special taste lasts on the tongue for over 40 minutes after being eaten.

The jars are treasured and when making my annual batch I have to cook enough to provide me with supplies for the year, and to allow for some to be given away. Of the 38 jars made this year, only 29 now remain (see illustration). Some might yet be given away as birthday presents but of the nine that have ‘gone’, two have been eaten by me and the rest went to those on a list of non-marmalade makers who I know see my marmalade as a treat.

The list of seven recipients consist of my sister, two close neighbours, Rohan’s Russian teacher, Gorete who ‘helps out’ and finally Cherie and Stephanie who work in Waitrose: knowing how much I love making marmalade they contacted me one year to say that supplies of Seville oranges were running short and I should hurry!

Making my bitter marmalade is a tradition with a history and I love it.

The illustration shows a photo of the 29 remaining jars from this year’s winter marmalade production. They are arranged around my precious,10-litre stainless steel pot. Almost hidden beside the pot is a newly-acquired broad-necked, stainless steel funnel for helping pour the marmalade into the individual jars.

For helping me write this blog I would like to thank Mike, Jennie, Rohan and Vivien.