Blokes make the best marmalade, though it has taken me six decades to admit it. Men's marmalade perfection be because, until the most recent generation, most male cooks specialised in "their" dishes, not bulk feeding family every morning and night, and so what they did was done perfectly.
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The perfect marmalade has the thinnest of perfectly suspended peel, a glowing clarity that only comes by rigorously removing all pith and a texture that sits, not spreads, on the toast but hasn't turned to toffee or jelly.
Blokes also make the best bread. I worked out the reason for that 40 years ago when I discovered my hand was too small to operate a hand-held rotary hoe. Men's larger hands are better at kneading, and the best kneading makes the best bread.
I suspect that technique is more important than the citrus you use for your marmalade. All the citrus varieties that I know of are rich in the setting agent, pectin, and all citrus rind has the bitterness that matches the sweetness so well. But thick pithed fruit are easier to peel - it's a nuisance having to scrape the stringy bits from mandarins or tangelos.
The "classic" marmalade maker goes for Seville orange, a bitter fruit that is high in favour but low in sweetness. Sevilles are slightly more frost tolerant than other citrus, as are Tahitian limes. Citrons also tolerate frost, heat, drought and almost anything except wet feet, which gives most citrus root rot. Citrons have masses of thick white pith under their fragrant rind, but stingy with flesh, and if you grow the Buddha"s Hand they are almost impossible to de-pith properly. Grow the Etrog citron instead if you are a marmalade maker. Etrog are vast and ugly; Buddha's Hand is a show-off fruit and both are fragrant in the fruit bowl. Kaffir limes have a lovely flavour, but again, little juice or flesh. Try them mixed with oranges or lemons.
The easiest marmalade fruit to grow is are calamondins, which used to be sold as cumquats, but aren't, and are now sometimes sold as "Aussie Cumquats", which is sort of like saying "we were wrong but right all the time". Calamondins are similar to genuine cumquats but more bitter and far more hardy, tolerating frost and heat and bearing heavily even in a drought and for six to nine months of the year. Birds adore calamondins. In fact a good way to keep bower birds and parrots from your oranges is to grow calamondins for them instead, as a calamondin is sourer, fruits for longer, is hardier, but best of all, can be comfortably held in a bird"s claw or even easily carried off to a another tree where a goshawk may not notice you. Best of all, calamondins have almost no pith, as long as you don"t feed them too much nitrogenous rich fertiliser, so you can just slice them thinly or even, semi-heresy, chop them in the food processor.
If you wish to really show off, make marmalade from some of the native citrus, like desert limes, or the varieties crossed with cumquats, mandarins or other introduced species. I've never made a "native" marmalade, but suspect they would be something to boast about. Beware of any marmalade that advertises it contains whisky – a sad thing do to both marmalade and good whisky.
The two most important things with citrus are to make sure the soil is perfectly drained or you will get root rot, yellow leaves and then dead trees; and that they are well fed, at least once lavishly in spring, or a little later if they fruit then, as overfeeding can give you thick-pithed dry fruit. Hungry citrus also have yellow leaves. And as they are not native – unless they ARE native – all citrus need a more lavish hand with phosphorus than you are likely to get with home-made compost.
The best thing about citrus is that most fruit in winter, even when the soil is covered by frost, like ours is now. The fruit is sweeter and softer after frost, too. Eat it lavishly. And find a bloke who has perfected marmalade making.
P.S. But it is women who make perfect sponge cakes.
This week I am:
- abusing the lyrebirds who have dug the thyme out from the pot by the front door, as well as the netting put over the pot to stop them attacking it – the lyrebirds are growing cunning;
- almost forgiving the lyrebirds as they take a magpie song, add a few riffs and a touch of currawong and chook, and turn it into symphony
- wishing the fruit bats had left us some Sturmer Pippin apples
- wondering if rhubarb shrinks in cold weather – I am sure they are shorter than they were two months ago
- counting the weeks till the first asparagus shoots poke up through the mulch
- remembering – finally – to pick some proteas, hidden in a dark corner of the garden instead of enjoying the romance and attention they deserve.