If ever there was a worthy contender to usurp strawberry jam as King Of Preserves, this would surely be it.
Since taking an interest in making preserves in recent years, Spring has been a time fraught with regret. The Seville orange season is shockingly short, blink-and-you'll-miss it short, Verne Troyer short; and come mid-March I'd invariably realise that I'd missed it completely and would have to wait until next year (almost ten months) to scratch my marmalade-making itch. And then I'd forget all about it until the following Spring.
Last year though I was on the ball and managed to make three batches during the 6-8 week season that runs through January and February. I burnt the first batch, because that's how I roll. Once you've pushed an ingredient or technique to the edge and ruined all your hard work you won't make the same mistake again. You will however be aware of the technique's limitations - you'll know how hard and fast you can boil the marmalade and how frequently you need to stir it. It makes you stronger*.
*Yes, I'm making excuses.
I used brown sugar (demerera, I think) in both the batch I ruined and the one I made shortly afterwards. It resulted in a marmalade too dark for my tastes, bitter than I would've liked and redolent of molasses. A hardcore 'Oxford' marmalade that many people like but just isn't my cup of tea. I decided to try bog-standard granulated sugar in the next batch and it worked wonders. A great balance of bitterness and sweet and absolutely stunning in colour - an amber jelly suspending gossamer-thin strips of golden candied zest.
So last month the season rolled around again and I couldn't wait to get my hands on some Sevilles and rustle up another batch. I got around to it at the weekend. Here's what I did:
1k fruit / 2k sugar / 2 lemons / 2l water
First, prep the oranges. Remove the 'button' (where the stalk connects the orange to the tree) and cut them into quarters. Separate the zest from the flesh (this is really easy - unlike some sweet oranges the zest just peels away at the lightest touch) and slice the zest to your desired thickness - the thinner the better, I say. A sharp knife is imperative. As is patience - this takes some time.
Place the sliced zest in a decent heavy-bottomed, high-sided pan (and remember that I managed to burn my marmalade in these dream conditions so use a cheap, flimsy pan at your peril). Place a sieve or colander lined with muslin cloth over the pan and squeeze through all the juices from the flesh before wrapping it - pips and all - and tying securely with string.
Drop the fruity bundle into the pan and pour in two litres of water followed by the juice of two lemons. Bring the pan to the boil then reduce to a simmer. It'll take around two hours for the zest to become tender, depending on how fine the slices are. You don't want to over-cook it, but you do need to ensure that it is tender enough for your tastes before adding the sugar (which, once added, will prevent it from getting any softer).
Remove the bundle of pith and pips and suspend it over the pan, leaving it to drip for an hour or so. You could squeeze out all the juices in seconds but that would result in a cloudy marmalade. Have patience. It's worth it.
When the dripping has all but stopped bring the pan back up to a boil, add the sugar and stir frequently until dissolved. Then keep stirring and stirring and don't take your eyes off the pan for even a second. Think of all the time spent slicing the zest - it'd be a shame if all that hard work went in the bin.
It'll take around half an hour for the marmalade to reach setting-point, during which it will bubble vigorously. After twenty minutes check the set by spooning a dollop onto a chilled plate and conducting the 'wrinkle test'. When cool it should wrinkle slightly when you touch it. If it doesn't, carry on boiling and stirring and checking every five minutes until it does.
When it finally gets there take it off the heat and after fifteen minutes of resting give it a good stir (this ensures the zest is evenly distributed) before sealing in sterilised jars. Then enjoy it on buttered toast, bake it in puddings or send it off to The Marmalade Awards like I did and hope for the best.
Update: March 6th 2012
So, the results are in and my marmalade scored an okay 16/20. It is officially 'good flavoured' - an amusing choice of words that borders on damning with faint praise. Anyway, bronze is fine I suppose, but next year I'm going for gold.
