All it takes...

From the tree to winter-sunlit bench…

All it takes…to make a batch of marmalade…to warm a winter heart, to dazzle the eyes, tempt the olfactory system and lift the spirits…is five plump Seville oranges plucked from the tree…to make a day so special it will resonate for many more…even years to come (as jars of the golden indulgence can indeed last - that is, if they’re not all gobbled up by a greedy someone!). “Don’t start on the jars from 2026” I mentioned to he who consumes most of the stuff, as I popped my now empty basket back on the hook inside the kitchen door, having delivered its contents one-by-one onto a shelf in the cool, dark space under the kitchen floorboards.“I just noticed a jar in the cellar from 2022”. For all I know, there may be jars from earlier years - I really need to go through the stores down there with a fine tooth comb, as it were; making sure any remnant jars from years earlier are more visible than those from years later, but I know they will be fine.

The makings…of a slow morning, a slow day infused with the aroma of bitter orange…

And I know because I’ve been making (and storing) marmalade now for a really long time! And yet it seems like yesterday - when I had never made it before. My first attempt was with cumquats - the little tree here simply laden, during that first year we held Glenmore in our hands. What to do with them all? The idea of them…the very notion of filling a basket with fruit from one’s own tree was a dream come true - not the cumquats specifically, but the idea of filling a basket with colourful fruit fit to burst; and bringing said laden basket to a kitchen, to eat or to cook into something tantalisingly delicious. Errrr….except of course in this case, there was no kitchen! At that stage, we couldn’t even stay the night at Glenmore - there was no electricity or water (running or otherwise)…and staying inside would have been no better than camping…in fact camping would likely have been preferable! Those days were for picnics only…and scratching our heads.

So back to the big smoke they went and sat on the little pine table in that kitchen instead, while I figured out what to do with that bounty of fruit - their aroma, let alone the sight of them, ensuring I must do something, and quickly. First, given those were our early married years and everything was done on a shoe string, I needed a saucepan bigger than any I had! Though before I even got to that point, I’d gone rummaging around in the recipe books - the kind that came with Larry, from his mother - and one in particular that served me well in those early days. I’m sure I must have mentioned it before: Farmhouse Cookery, Recipes from the Country Kitchen. How I loved turning its pages and losing myself in the reverie of it all, because it came not just with recipes, but with their history alongside that of many of their ingredients, as well as a great deal of information that was hitherto absent from my youthful, Sydney-centric, culinary repertoire. How I longed for a way of life that chimed with all that ‘country kitchen’ cookbook conveyed. It had already become something of a bible for me in London - I’d discovered it early on when helping Larry to move house (though to this day I wonder that wasn’t enough to put me off a budding friendship, let alone a future relationship!).

At the time of picking that first cumquat haul, I didn’t realise just how long it would take for us to have an actual kitchen at Glenmore (which is probably just as well!). We might have notionally put our names to the property, but the way of life I dreamed of, yearned for, would take a good many years yet, to bring to fruition! In the meantime, I had a basket of cumquats to get to grips with and I recall sitting in the sun in our tiny courtyard in Sydney, halving them all and prising out what seemed like hundreds and hundreds of pips…I remember saying to Larry please could we not go to Glenmore that weekend, or I’d never be able to deal with the fruit (it wasn’t a task I could carry out during the week…working full time as we both certainly were). The resulting marmalade from that first batch though, was sublime; and I recall the next time I made it, a year or two on; was in the very makeshift kitchen here, on the single electric ring that rested on a trestle table…having gone through the pip-removal process on a little pop-up table on the front verandah.

A muslin pip bag hanging low in the water amongst the fine strips of peel…

It would be years ‘til the first Seville oranges would grow on the tree I planted (once I found a sensible place to grow one) and I used the same recipe I had for the cumquats. How strong and productive that tree became, ‘til one day, it just died (around the same time the neighbouring white wisteria also died and to this day Larry believes the painter must have unthinkingly, tipped something out to cause their demise…but we’ll never know). Of course I was quite distraught at the situation - the white wisteria had become such a glorious feature of our spring days, by then over a period of years, smothering the north-facing verandah with its pendulous, fragrant blooms. As for the Seville orange? There would be years without marmalade-making while the new tree found its way. Larry would buy a jar from time to time - and given his career necessitated a great deal of travel, it was not unusual for him to pick up a jar of marmalade from Fortnum & Mason when he was in London (as well as his other great favourite Swiss Black Cherry Jam!). At one stage (before our first tree really got going) his godfather would send a box of Keeler’s Dundee Marmalade from Scotland once a year - if it missed Christmas, it would almost certainly arrive by Larry’s birthday.

The very first sprig of jasmine coinciding with the ripening of the Sevilles…suggests an early spring on the way…

But my goodness how the years roll by…while the replacement Seville orange tree seemed to take forever to grow…by now it too, has seemingly filled the view directly outside the kitchen window and been in production for years and years. In marmalade terms, I must be very old!

Another thought just struck me, as I tip-tap here and see the first sprig of jasmine in that jar which immediately sets my nose on a scent-seeking mission. And that thought is…the realisation at how the Seville orange has, in recent years, brought oh so much more than marmalade into my realm. Back in those days I’ve just described above, much as I’ve always been drawn to garden scents and swooned all over them; I’d given no thought as to how one might capture them. As I pruned the citrus trees each year, and revelled in the aroma of the foliage as I wielded my secateurs and carted armloads of branches to a waiting wheelbarrow, it didn’t occur to me that the aroma filling my nostrils and causing my brain to do backflips was that of petitgrain. So simple! But it wasn’t until I began to focus more on the origins of scent, as I began to learn the process of distillation, that I really came to realise just how accessible, for want of a better descriptor, these pure essences are, to all of us. Go…pick a leaf off your lemon or orange tree (it doesn’t need to specifically be a Seville for this olfactory delight - and if it’s your neighbour’s tree I’m sure they won’t mind one leaf going astray!) - fold it in two, four, press your finger nails into it…bruise it gently in some way to release the oils, then hold it to your nose and inhale…deeply…allow that fragrance to travel into your brain…and swoon!

In recent years I’ve specifically distilled petitgrain (its constituents usually listed as the leaves, small twigs and tiny immature green fruit - the small grains from whence the name is derived, of the bitter orange Citrus x aurantium); which is something that back at the time of planting the Seville orange, I had no idea would be a process to which I would so look forward each year. The first time was an experiment (a bit like the marmalade!), and though I haven’t pursued releasing the resulting Botanical Water into the world as a product, it’s an absolute personal favourite: on a summer’s day…when the heat is so intense and one is a melting pot of sweat, there is nothing quite like closing your eyes and treating yourself to a little mist of petitgrain botanical water to revive the spirit…it brings a moment of pure, utter joy; something I did not know or understand a single jot about, when I planted that first Seville orange tree.

When a sluice gate is opened at the base of a central pond, water spills forth, filling each long straight rill, then the circle at the base of each tree before moving on to the next channel, next tree, ‘til all the rills and circles are filled with water…then the sluice gate is dropped shut…watering complete for the day… and it has nowhere to go but directly to the roots of the trees…

I can see quite clearly now, how those oranges have led me on a merry dance over time. That single tree is but one example of extension via the garden, to a better understanding of the history of civilisation itself; (goodness this is not where I imagined I might go when I sat at my desk this morning!). Researching that tree all those years ago, caused me to place visiting Córdoba in Andalusia very high on my wish-list, and thanks to eventually having the opportunity to do so, I realised my first first-hand experience of seeing the ancient rill-irrigation systems instigated by the Moors during their reign in Spain (something I had already long obsessed over). Reading though, about the orchard of Seville oranges planted adjacent to the Mosque-Cathedral in Córdoba was one thing, whilst seeing it with my own eyes was such a revelation; one that cemented that long-term fascination with this method of irrigation…that has only grown over time.

I can see now (how I hoped those images were indeed here, on my laptop!) that trip was the first time I made use of a digital camera…and how sparingly I was taking images back then! And they were really not very good - I have a feeling there are more images from that revelatory trip in an album, taken with an old point and shoot camera…perhaps they were even the last images ever committed to an album. Wasn’t technology meant to free up our time? I have never even had prints made since then, which if I dwell, makes me very nervous indeed, that I might lose all the precious images captured - particularly of our girls as they were growing up.

But I can see well enough, this was the first time I began to photograph in detail…sluice gates and rills…as we moved on from Cordóba and Seville, via Ronda to Granada, where the prize of that trip was to visit the Alhambra. I recall we had two nights staying at the Paradaor de San Francisco…within the walls of the Alhambra complex of palace and gardens, and I must have driven Larry and the girls bonkers as contemporary sluice gates were manipulated by the gardener before my eyes as we enjoyed breakfast…and later, as we walked down the hill into Granada itself, deep half-cylindrical gutters simply gushed with water from high on the hill above, down to the town below…a daily ritual of reservoir filling. Quite honestly, my eyes were out on stalks during those few days (and why all cities that suffer from intrepid summer heat don’t employ the example set by Granada, with its canvas-covered streets to ward off the sun, I have no idea).

Exhausted…and with only a tablecloth to wear!

As a little aside…my I just had to laugh again at the memory of the beginnings of that trip, 21 years ago! It was to be a big one…with two weddings ahead (one that of my brother, the other of my eldest flower-girl at our own wedding). For some reason we flew via Frankfurt and never, ever would I go near that airport again…it was sheer chaos as we changed terminals for our not-so-interconnecting flight and then, when we reached Seville, did my luggage join us? No! I spent the first few days wearing a tablecloth, kindly lent to me by the owner of Trasierra (before it was kind of famous which it is now!)…nothing was going to stop me visiting that orchard at Cordóba!

It does occur to me, that perhaps I ought to give you the marmalade recipe! I have a feeling I’ve done so before, but it won’t hurt to share it again (and save us all from looking up the index to find it!).

Seville Orange Marmalade

• 3lb (1.4kg) Seville oranges, scrubbed

• 5 pints (2.8 litres) water

• Juice of 2 lemons

• 6lb (2.7kg) sugar

Method

I just realised I don’t use the method from that cookbook at all!!!! I wonder where, over the years…I went off piste? I’m not even going to suggest the method in the book, but these are the quantities, above. Although I use only 2kg sugar these days (not that I imagine it makes one skerrick of difference in the overall sugar content of the final result and is perhaps the cause of it taking a bit longer than I think it ought, to reach ‘setting point’. Anyway, clearly I did go off piste a very, very long time ago! It looks like I gave my first ‘marmalade workshop’ back in 2011 and this had already long been the method by then:

• First scrub the oranges – even organically grown ones attract dust if it hasn’t rained for awhile!

• Find your biggest, heavy-based saucepan (one that has a lid) and a good square of muslin (ready to take the pips)

• Halve the oranges, squeeze all the juice and strain directly into the pan you will use for making the marmalade

• Reserve all the pips…place them in the muslin square, ready to tie to the pan handle

• Take each squeezed orange half and remove all the pulp, so you’re left with clean skins, Roughly chop the pulp and put it too, into the pan with the juice

• Cut the peel into thin strips or chunks - whichever is your personal preference (as a tip, I find cutting the orange halves again, into quarters, makes the job easier, as does pith-side down)

• Tip all the cut peel into the pan to join the juice and pulp and add the water

• Tie the muslin pip bag to the pan handle, making sure it’s hanging well into the water

• Pop on the saucepan lid, bring to the boil, then cook gently for 2 hours

• As soon as the pan is on, it’s a good time to tidy up the kitchen…and take the time to complete any urgent jobs before the next stage!

• Measure out the sugar and squeeze the lemon juice before the 2 hours are up…make sure your jars are clean and ready to sterilise (the aroma filling the kitchen by now…if not the entire house if you open the kitchen door, will be intoxicating!)

• Take the pan off the heat, detach the bag of pips - squeeze the bag against the side of the pan and discard

• Add lemon juice and sugar and return to the heat…stir until all the sugar has dissolved

• Bring to the boil and cook rapidly until setting point is reached: during this period the marmalade will darken considerably in colour. I find this entire second stage can take up to two hours and I do give it a good stir from time to time

• During this period, make sure you have everything ready for pouring into the jars: funnel, ladle, jars and lids, all sterilised

• To test for ‘setting point’, place a saucer in the fridge so it’s cold. Take a teaspoon of marmalade from the pan and tip onto the cold saucer. Leave for one minute and if setting point has been achieved, the marmalade will wrinkle when you push it gently with your finger. (These days I know by sight and smell and find the setting point method to be less trustworthy than my own senses!)

• Once setting point is reached, turn off the heat and allow to stand for 5 or so minutes before skimming any scum from the surface

• Give a good stir between filling each jar to continually disperse the peel

• Don’t screw the lids on too tight while the marmalade is hot - I generally leave them overnight and give an extra tightening twist next morning

You ought to get (depending on jar size), 11 or 12 jars from this quantity. I got 11 & 1/2 last week (so someone got an early taste of the first batch for 2026!). I left it cooking slightly too long - ought to have trusted my own judgement rather than the ‘setting point’ method as it ‘set’ a little too much for my own liking - there’s a point at which the texture is ‘heavy’ and not too ‘runny’, yet not ‘set’. And it’s at that very particular point that I / we both like it most! Needless to say I don’t get it right every time!

I hope now that you too, will associate that next dollop of marmalade with oh so much more than the taste of bittersweet deliciousness on your tongue! Filled as it is with sunshine…it speaks too of civilisation across centuries, of faith and belief alongside upheaval and distress. It carries knowledge of nurture, and romance in its history along with the perfume of its blossom and aroma of its leaves - all on a piece of breakfast toast! And you know I use oodles of it too, in Seville Orange Ice Cream…but it’s too cold to think of that just now!

You might have gathered by now I don’t eat a great deal of the marmalade myself…so how an entire post about the stuff? I do LOVE it! But I also know that my body does not need it. I’m pretty disciplined at saying no. But there are times I say yes…and one of those is Christmas - I don’t know how that came about but it did; and I know there is nothing better than a slice of toasted Pumpernickel Soda Bread with lashings of butter and generous dollops of Seville Orange Marmalade on top. And so on Christmas Day and Boxing Day…I indulge. And New Year’s Day too, and maybe on the odd day during the year, but those three in particular aside, it’s a rare thought I give in to! I probably consume more of it in the ice cream…I admit to always licking the spoon at the end of batch-making! I don’t know how many hundreds of visitors have eagerly asked for the Seville Orange Ice Cream recipe over the years…but I do know many have bought a jar on those rare occasions I’ve had it in the Barn so they can try their hand; and that it always seems to make a very popular gift (lucky for Larry my brother doesn’t live in this country or he’d have serious competition for the jars in the cellar!). I hope you’ll give the recipe a whirl while the Sevilles are in season, if you can get your hands on some. I think our tree will yield another batch this year - it hasn’t been as prolific as some years, but at some time in the coming weeks, I’ll repeat the process all over again.

Down the coast…seagulls and oyster farms…

I’m sorry I missed last week’s (proper) post. Off we zoomed…to the coast - for a birthday change-of-scene. A dozen oysters, moments of dazzling sun on grey waters, a glimpse of sand and foamy waves, a leg-stretch and espresso before driving up the escarpment - all hair-pin bends and tree ferns, to have tea and cake with very dear friends (and a lovely glass of champagne though it was not really that kind of birthday!)…and home in time to put together a fish pie while watching the final episode of Monty Don’s British Gardens! I might have to revisit one section as I was busy stirring the roux!

New Dawn…has continued to flower all through these winter weeks…

I wonder was last Friday the last of any hint of rain we might see in awhile? It was very generous of it to shower enough so I didn’t need to water anything before we set off. The climate has taken on a different atmosphere in the days since - a fortnight ago I suggested sprinter was on its way and by now…I think it’s arrived!

Although I’ve made little mention of the garden today (Seville orange tree aside), if you’d like to catch a glimpse of where the kitchen garden is at, I uploaded a little reel on instagram yesterday, in the name of an upcoming event for which we will use a good many morsels that are just forming now (you can even see Mabel and Enid clucking around - just click on the highlighted link!). By then those treasures of blossom and leaf will be hitting their straps, but I captured all the pics in the reel on the spur of the moment yesterday morning, and even spotted a happy bee - the first in a very long time. Whoop whoop…we’re on the up - a few extra minutes of daylight…is all it takes…

With warmest wishes ‘til next time,

Mickey x

Eating from the garden: Pumpkin, broccoli, celeriac, kale, fennel bulbs, peas, kohl rabi, leek, bok choy, tomato (just one vine left now!), warrigal greens, coloured chard, chicory, lettuce, red elk, celery, Jerusalem artichoke. Rhubarb, orange, lemon. Coriander, lovage, mint, chives, parsley, rosemary, sage, thyme, oregano. Nasturtium, calendula and borage flowers, fennel fronds

Going / gone: tomatoes, lovage, mandarin, pomegranate

Seed saving: none

Sowing: not too late to sow tomato seed but be quick now if you’re going to do it…and for capsicums and aubergines too - into punnets, for planting out in the spring. The radish seed I tossed in did germinate, as did the wild throwing down the back…but I’ll hold off otherwise now for awhile…

Planting: lettuce seedlings…I’m still dropping the odd one in here and there, as we eat our way through those already established

Ornamental garden notes:

Picking for the house: a single rose here, a single rose there…if they want to flower, I’m not going to stop them! Dentata (or French) lavender and jasmine! I might pick an aloe stem or two…they’re on fire…

Perfumes and aromas: jasmine! Ooooh how I love it. Still the osmanthus fragrans and lonicera fragrantassima are spilling their scent and I have a feeling the Daphne is about to…

Pruning and other: well…over the last fortnight, most of the herbaceous plants have had their annual chop. I moved onto the roses last weekend and although I consider it early, I just feel the entire season is going to be early. It will take me all of tomorrow to finish them, but once done, we can slip into the next phase…of compost and mulching. I asked Thalia to pull out one of the lavender rows in the Field - it simply never picked up after its summer cut - but then it was very wet back then. That particular variety, my (I think for most of us) favourite, L.angustifolia is also fairly short-lived and I realised it was already five years old. So…as Thalia pulled it out, I took cuttings from the second row and though I wish I’d done so earlier in the year, better late than never. Hopefully they will strike and I’ll be able to plant them out…well…not as soon as I’d like but there we are!

Coloured chard, lettuce, radicchio, red elk, parsley, mint, calendula and jasmine…