I must confess that the arrival of Seville oranges is a joyous occasion in my household and, for marmalade makers across the country, the unveiling of these rough, lumpy and acidic fruits is cause for celebration. As soon as I get my hands on the first Seville oranges of the season, everyone who knows me understands that all my spare time will be spent squeezing and slicing, boiling and setting, and that my kitchen will be transformed into a marmalade-making factory. As the scent of tangy citrus and bubbling sugar fills the house, I am in preserving heaven. Sometimes I think I enjoy making marmalade more than eating it — but then a slice of my marmalade cake quickly casts doubt on that verdict. I love the fragrance of sharp zest filling a room. I find the slow shredding of peel and pith more relaxing than meditation, and the gentle alchemy of sugar transforming into bittersweet loveliness ensures that each morning I have jars of glistening amber to spread upon my toast. Each year brings new lessons. While the standard formula — twice the weight of sugar to fruit, the correct ratio of water and a patient boil — reliably produces success, I like to experiment, adding twists and new flavours to familiar recipes. The Origins of Marmalade The history of marmalade is wrapped in charming tales. One of my favourites claims marmalade as a Scottish invention, attributed to Janet Keiller, wife of a Dundee grocer in the late eighteenth century. The story tells that her husband purchased a cheap cargo of bitter oranges at the port of Dundee, only to find them unpalatable. Janet, ever resourceful, transformed the “problem” fruit into a delicious orange preserve named marmalade, possibly derived from marmelos, the Portuguese word for quince paste. A variation suggests that Janet’s son carried oranges up from the beach, with his mother urging him on: “Mair, ma lad!” — hence the name. Whether fact or folklore, such stories add to marmalade’s charm — along with Paddington Bear, of course. Though I now consider myself something of a Marmalade Queen, I confess that as a child I disliked the thick-cut Seville marmalade my parents spread generously on toast. The only variety I loved was fine shred lime marmalade. Even today, lime remains one of my favourites — though it has also been my greatest challenge. Early attempts resulted in peel as tough as old leather and a murky copper colour instead of a bright, jewel-like green. The following recipe requires patience, but it is the best I have made to date — though, as always, improvements may come next season. Lovely Lime Marmalade Ingredients 8 limes2 lemonsWater1.5kg sugar Method Cut the limes in half and squeeze out the juice. Cover the skins with cold water and leave overnight in a cool place. Repeat with the lemons. Store the juice in the refrigerator. The next day, remove the skins and scrape out as much pulp, pith and pips as possible, placing them onto a square of muslin. Tie into a small bag with string. Finely shred the skins as evenly as possible. Measure the reserved juice and make it up to two litres with water. Place the shredded peel and liquid into a large preserving pan and bring to the boil. Reduce to a gentle simmer for about one hour, until the peel becomes soft and translucent. Avoid rapid boiling to prevent tough peel. Remove the muslin bag and set aside to cool. Add the sugar to the pan. Squeeze the cooled muslin bag into the mixture to release the pectin-rich juices. Return to the boil and simmer gently for 40–45 minutes, testing for setting point. Pour into sterilised jars and seal. It never lasts long in my house and remains a firm family favourite. Seville Orange Marmalade From ‘The Pleasure of Preserving’ This is my tried-and-tested Seville recipe, adaptable to suit mood and season. Over the years I have added liquorice extract, crushed cardamom seeds, rosemary sprigs or even fresh chillies for a savoury twist perfect with seafood or barbecues. Ingredients 12 large Seville oranges7.2 litres water5.5kg sugarJuice of 2 lemons Method Slice the oranges very thinly — the thinner, the better. Collect all pips and soak them in a little water. Place the sliced fruit in a large bowl, cover with water and leave for 24 hours. The next day, boil the fruit (including the pip liquor) for two hours until the rind is soft. Add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Boil for a further 1½ hours, stirring continuously during the final 30 minutes. Add the lemon juice. Pour into sterilised jars and seal. Quince Marmalade No marmalade article would be complete without quince — the fruit that lies at the heart of marmalade’s origins. This version produces a deep red-amber preserve with a thick texture and firm set. Perfect with cheese or sausages. Ingredients 500g quinces350g sugarCold water Method Wash the quinces and slice thinly, skins on. Place in a preserving pan and cover with just enough cold water to cover the fruit. Simmer gently for 40 minutes. Pass the pulp through a sieve, discarding skin, pips and cores. Return the pulp to a clean pan, add sugar and stir over medium heat until dissolved. Simmer gently for 15–20 minutes until setting point is reached. Watch carefully to avoid burning. As the World’s Original Marmalade Awards held at Dalemain Mansion in Cumbria begins to accept entries for their annual marmalade festival, I must admit that I have been thinking a lot about my entries. I have been experimenting in the kitchen with recipes that include quinces, medlar fruits, lemons and oranges. An array of herbs and spices are at my disposal in my quest to create something different, but I have been tempted to recreate a recipe for Tudor Marmalade that includes rose water and Ambergris (a solid waxy substance produced in digestive system of sperm whales that is vomited and highly prized by perfumers for

Preserving food by means of pickling is an ancient tradition and, by the Middle Ages, it was a well-established practice. Medieval households were keenly aware of the need to preserve seasonal provisions in order to guard against long, harsh winters, famine and warfare. Today, the mention of pickles conjures up modern ideas of pickled onions or gherkins preserved in jars of spiced vinegar. However, in the past, vegetables and meats were often pickled in honey, sugar syrups or, more commonly, in a simple saltwater solution. Pretty much anything and everything would be preserved in every way possible. Whilst immersing fresh vegetables and other foods in a liquid salt brine was common in medieval Europe, the term “pickle” did not come into use in England until the late Middle Ages. The English word pickle derives from the Middle English pikel, first recorded around 1400, meaning “a spicy sauce or gravy served with meat or fowl.” This is linked to the Middle Dutch word pekel, meaning a solution such as spiced brine for preserving and flavouring food. In my opinion, no cheeseboard is complete without a healthy selection of pickles, and a ploughman’s lunch is simply not worthy of its name without a good, crunchy pickled onion. Being somewhat of a pickle enthusiast puts me in notable company, as prominent pickle lovers throughout history included Emperors Julius Caesar and Tiberius, King John, Queen Elizabeth I, Samuel Pepys and Napoleon. It is interesting to note how pickles are now considered merely an accompaniment to a meal, whereas in times when winters were long and fresh produce was scarce, the winter diet consisted largely of pickled foods in one form or another. Pickled fish, vegetables and fruits, as well as salted and smoked meats, were made with pride, dedication and skill in the household kitchen. The industrious housewife would brew beer, cider, mead and wine, while laying down preserves and pickles for the future. Larders and stillrooms were filled with carefully stored provisions. Households were self-contained and largely self-sufficient. With the rise of industry came railways, making fresh fish widely available and signalling the decline of fish pickling. The development of canning dealt another heavy blow to traditional pickling, and refrigeration enabled mass production — nearly sounding its death knell. While modern food technology has enhanced our diet, mass production has also led to monotony. Looking back at historical pickling recipes opens up a world of possibilities beyond modern staples such as beetroot. From fourteenth-century recipes for a pickle called Compost, to Tudor pickled mushrooms and Victorian recipes for preserving everything from sheep’s brains to damsons, culinary history offers rich inspiration. Medieval Style Pickled Salad: Compost This is a modern interpretation of a fourteenth-century medieval pickled root vegetable salad known as Compost, originally found in The Forme of Cury. The name may sound unusual, but the flavour is surprisingly delightful. Ingredients Method Boil the carrots, turnips and lovage in water for four minutes, then add the pears and radishes. Cook until tender and drain well. Spread the vegetables on a clean tea towel and sprinkle with salt. Allow to cool completely. Place the cooled vegetables in a large non-metallic bowl and cover with vinegar, ginger and saffron. Cover and leave overnight. The following morning, combine the vegetables with the raisins and fennel seeds. Transfer to a sterilised glass preserving jar. In a saucepan, bring the honey, remaining spices and wine to the boil, skimming until clear. Remove from heat and pour over the vegetables. Seal immediately. Store refrigerated for at least a week before eating. The result is fragrant, sweet, gently spiced and nothing like the name suggests. Elizabethan Pickled Mushrooms Adapted from The Whole Body of Cookery (1661), this recipe offers a taste of Tudor pickling. Delicious served with mature cheese and crusty bread. Ingredients Method Wipe mushrooms clean with a damp cloth (do not wash). Place water in a saucepan, add half the salt and mushrooms, and bring to the boil. As soon as boiling begins, drain immediately and place in a sterilised jar. Add spices and remaining salt. Pour over the wine and vinegar, topping up with additional vinegar if needed. Shake well to distribute spices. Store in a cool, dark place for four days before opening. Family Favourite Damson Pickle A Victorian family recipe that improves with age and keeps for years. Perfect with game pies, casseroles, cheeses or cold meats. Ingredients Method Place cinnamon and cloves in a muslin bag and put into a saucepan with sugar and vinegar. Boil for 10 minutes, then remove spices. Add damsons and boil gently for 10 minutes, taking care not to crush the fruit. Transfer to a sterilised jar and seal. Pickling is an art worth mastering. Once you have tasted the sweet, sour, rich and tantalising notes of a homemade pickle, there is no turning back — shop-bought will never quite compare.