The Great Marmalade Exchange

I grew up in a house where marmalade was a staple of the table.  My mother, MD, was mad for marmalade, and she would heap it on hot buttered toast at breakfast or at afternoon tea, or on crackers during cocktail hour.  She loved marmalade so much that she would dip a spoon into a jar and eat it straight, licking the spoon clean.

Two precious jars of Reggie's
Kumquat Marmie

It turns out the apple—or, rather the orange—didn't fall all that far from the tree, as Reggie is intensely fond of marmalade, too.

And he has been on a bit of a marmalade journey of late . . .

Until recently the only marmalade I ate or cared for was James Keiller & Son Ltd.'s Dundee Orange Marmalade, the world's first commercially made marmalade, which has been in continuous production since the company's founding in 1797.  Thick, intensely flavored, full of rind, and verging on bitter, Keiller's Dundee Orange Marmalade has always been the marmalade I reach for when stocking my pantry.

"Oh dear, bought marmalade.  Dear me, I call that very feeble."

Image courtesy of Shepperton Studios

When I was a boy Keiller's Dundee Marmalade was sold in stoneware crocks that we saved when emptied of their delicious contents.  We used the crocks to hold pencils and pens, which I still do to this day.  By the time I went to college, though, Keiller & Son had dispensed with their handsome crocks and substituted the far less aesthetically pleasing milk-glass jars that are still found today on the shelves in supermarkets the world over.  Keiller's old stoneware marmalade crocks are now considered to be collectibles and can be found for sale in Group Shoppes and on eBay.

Two of Reggie's Keiller & Son Ltd.
Dundee Marmalade stoneware crocks

Although I've tried other commercially available marmalades over the years, including small-batch artisinal alternatives, none have inspired me to forsake the familiar embrace of my old standby, Keiller & Son Ltd. Dundee Orange Marmalade.

That is, until I discovered the surpassing pleasures of homemade marmalade.  Once I had tasted it for the first time I vividly understood why the Countess of Trentham character—as brilliantly played by Dame Maggie Smith in Gosford Park—sat in her bed and sniffed "Oh dear" when confronted by a pot of "bought" marmalade on her breakfast tray.

It turns out Lady Trentham knew of what she spoke.

My friend Katherine's homemade
marmalade, liberally spread on English
muffins in our kitchen at Darlington

I found out exactly how sublime homemade marmalade is shortly before Christmas, when I received a jar of it in the mail.  It was a thank-you gift from my childhood friend Katherine, who had recently stayed with us at Darlington.  Katherine had made a batch of marmalade, her first ever.  Tasting Katherine's marmalade was a revelation!  Gorgeously orange in color, deliciously flavorful, packed with rind, and just sweet enough, it was infinitely better than my dear old Keiller's of Dundee.  I polished off Katherine's marmalade tout de suite.  And yes, Dear Reader, I even ate some of it with a spoon, just as MD used to do all those years ago.

One does so adore receiving a brown-paper
package tied up with string, particularly
when it is secured with sealing wax

Fast forward to the New Year.  In early February I was perusing one of my favorite new blogs, Chronica Domus, where I was delighted to read of the writer's fondness for marmalade and her experience in making batches of it annually with her husband.  I commented that I, too, adore marmalade.  We exchanged emails, and the next thing I knew a package containing several jars of Chronica Domus' homemade marmalade was delivered to my door.

What treasures can these be,
nestled in excelsior?

As I was about to leave for a week's holiday, and the package was delivered to my city apartment, I placed it in the refrigerator to preserve it while I was away.  I wanted to open it at Darlington and make a record of it to post here for your reading pleasure, Dear Reader.

Three jars of homemade marmalade!  What Heaven!
Blood orange, Seville orange, and grapefruit bergamot!

Coincidentally, I had been considering making my own batch of marmalade.  But I wanted to make it with kumquats instead of oranges, as we have a little kumquat tree at Darlington that bears fruit every January and February, and it had just produced a bumper crop of its tasty, zesty fruit.  Last year I preserved our kumquat harvest in syrup, but this year I wanted to do something else.  Having just received a jar of marmalade from my childhood friend Katherine, and now several more from Chronica Domus, I was inspired to try my hand at making kumquat marmalade.  "Eureka!"

Chronica Domus' three jars of marmalade,
appearing like stained glass windows in sunlight

So, in the days leading up to our leaving on holiday, Reggie made a batch of kumquat marmalade.  But he decided that he wouldn't call it marmalade, Dear Reader.  No, he decided to call it marmie, the same way our brethren down under in Australia refer to a barbecue as a barbie.  You get the idea . . .

Chronicus Domus' blood orange marmie
spooned atop crème fraîche on a cracker.
It's even better than caviar!

Since I had never made marmalade before, or jams or jellies for that matter, I had no idea how much work it would be to make my kumquat marmie, nor what a tiny amount of the treasured jam would result from all my labors.

I found the recipe for my kumquat marmie on David Lebovitz's marvelous blog about living and cooking and eating in Paris.  I've been following his blog for some time now, and I enjoyed reading his book The Sweet Life in Paris.  In making my batch of kumquat marmie I fiddled with his recipe a bit.  I had more kumquats than the recipe called for (our little tree is quite the producer of fruit), and I used a bit less sugar.

Reggie's kumquat marmie, with his potted
kumquat tree in the background

Being a complete neophyte at making preserves, Reggie was surprised to learn what a considerable undertaking it is to make a batch of marmalade.  It took him several days and many, many hours spent slicing, de-seeding, and cooking the mixture of kumquats, lemons, and sugar the recipe called for in order to produce his kumquat marmie.  It was hardly what I'd call drudgery, though, as I enjoyed the project from beginning to end, and making the marmie filled our city apartment (I made it during the week over several evenings after work) with a wonderful citrusy scent.  The resulting marmalade is marvelously tangy, tart, and puckery—much like a sourball candy.  Spreading it on a hot toasted and buttered English muffin, or on a cracker with cream cheese, one truly appreciates what the expression "food of the gods" means!

Reggie's kumquat marmie

My second surprise when making my kumquat marmie was how little of it all my efforts produced—just three diminutive six-ounce jars!  I had assumed that I'd have at least four or five jars of it, but sadly that was not the case.  Given all the time and labor involved, I consider those three jars to be as precious as if I had made them from platinum instead of kumquats!

Actually, there are now only two jars of it left.  I've already consumed one of them.

This weekend I am going to mail the two remaining jars of my kumquat marmie to my friends Katherine and Chronica Domus, returning the favor of their thoughtful gifts to me of their homemade marmalade, thus completing the Great Marmalade Exchange.

Tissued, bowed, and ready to mail

By the way, next year I plan on making a larger batch of kumquat marmie as I have others I'd like to send it to as well.  The first and foremost on my list is Ms. Meg Fielding of Pigtown Design blog fame, who has given Reggie two jars of her delicious homemade jams in the last year and who was supposed to get one of his kumquat marmies . . . at least when he assumed that he'd produce more than only three little jars of it.

Oh, and what about the marmalade I received from Chronica Domus?  So far I've only opened one of the three jars she sent, of blood orange marmalade, and it is absolutely out-of-this-world delicious!  I look forward to trying the the two other marmalades she sent, too, one made with Seville oranges and the other with grapefruit and bergamot.

Now that I'm officially smitten with homemade marmalade, I'm afraid that I'll never be able to look at dear old Keiller's Dundee with quite the same ardor as I had before . . .

Tell me, Dear Reader, do you like marmalade, too?  Have you ever made it?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick and Reggie Darling