French la Vie

While I was in Italy working on the renovation of my friend Laurie’s home, the neighbor next door was cutting branches from what appeared to be a bush. When he saw me, he said that I understood as, “Worthless, thorny, bitter, inedible oranges!” He pointed to the tree and used sign language, as is often done when there’s a language barrier between people. I tried mixing in some French, hoping we’d connect over the word “marmalade.” “Si, si, si!” he replied enthusiastically, “Marmellata.!” He handed me a bunch of the oranges.

As if I didn’t already have enough to do, I took on the project of making marmalade. I looked up a Sicilian marmalade recipe, which said it would take three days, Mama Mia!. I decided to blend some of their method with my usual approach to making jam because, as those of you who read my blog know, I don’t follow recipes because rules and recipes trigger a creative challenge in me. I just get a sense of things and go with the flow. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but other times it turns into a wave of wonderfulness.

Here’s what I did: First, I washed all the oranges and placed them in a large pan, filling it with water. I boiled the whole oranges until they were soft and tender—when a knife could easily slide through them. I then chopped the oranges up, to the desired thickness. Then using a kilo and a fourth of sugar to a kilo of oranges, plus a pinch of ground cinnamon mixed in well, and I let it sit for 24 hours. Afterward, I added a teaspoon of cinnamon and cooked it slowly. When it started to boil, I kept stirring, covered it, and turned it off, letting it sit for another 24 hours. The next day, I brought it back to a boil until it reached the desired thickness.

I then scooped the marmalade into sterilized jars and lids, turned the jars upside down, and let them sit for 12 hours. I gave a jar to everyone who had worked on Laurie’s project, to the neighbor, and of course, I kept a jar for my watering mouth.