marmellata, 22 January 2026
A friend mistakenly bought eight kilos of bitter oranges instead of sweet ones. Being a working woman with no time to make orange marmalade, she offered them to friends with time to spare for a big cooking project. Thus on a dreary January afternoon our kitchen filled with the lively scent of oranges. The weather was raw, the air thick with moisture not quite rain, not quite fog. Indoors I simmered whole oranges, scooped out the soft fruit and sliced the bitter peel. Melted sugar in my dad’s old yellow-enameled cast iron kettle, added fruit and peel and boiled it all gently.
The next morning jars of marmalade stood on the kitchen counter, early sun shining through the richly colored jam. We ate some on toast for breakfast.
