Wednesday, 7 February 2018


an everyday story of the tale of making marmalade in the modern age.

Are you sitting comfortably?
Every year I make marmalade, being as I am a fully trained 
cordon bleu cheffette.
This year not long after arrival in my new home the call of the Seville oranges got too much to ignore.  Being preoccupied with unpacking and trying to find homes for things that looked better in the old homestead I must confess I was not really giving it much thought.  Especially as I have been making marmalade for three hundred years give or take!
What a complete cock-up that turned out to be?
I have an ancient Thermomix, the gadget you need a mortgage to buy.
The reason why I have one is because back in the day I used to sell them.  One of my claims to fame is I sold one to Cilla Black.
Impressed, I thought you would be!?!
For some reason which escapes me now, I always make pickle and preserves this way?
The last batch turned out surprisingly well considering half way through I forgot how much fruit, stock and sugar I had put in.  I fiddled about all the while thinking someone is taking the pith!  I got away with it.
No one was more surprised than me!
This time I was determined to measure and weigh to the very last grain of sugar, stock measured to within an inch of its life.  Fruit 
cut up and carefully weighed.

The wheels came off when I discovered the bag of sugar had a hole in it

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