My dad is officially impossible to shop for. He has plenty of interests that require plenty of stuff, but he outfits himself as needed. And for all his love of golf and skiing and fishing and duck and pheasant hunting and bridge, he isn’t someone who wants objects branded with those interests. No funny t-shirts. No door knockers or doo-dads with fish or golf clubs or what have you on them. He does not want a tie with playing cards on it. A widely used default gift for the man is a good bottle of Scotch or other booze – I go for small batch stuff he wouldn’t already know about.
Another default gift, at least from me, is marmalade. Homemade marmalade.
Many moons ago I made my dad a dozen quarts of marmalade for Christmas. A dozen quarts. Forty-eight cups of candied jellied citrus peel. If you think that is crazy wait for the kicker: he had eaten it all by August. See, my dad likes breakfast. He often eats what you and I would see as two breakfasts. A cinnamon roll or piece of coffee cake with his first cup of coffee, then he might do something like go fishing or take a bike ride, and then he’ll settle into his bacon and eggs or, more commonly, a session with the toaster. I’ve seen the man eat half a loaf of bread in toast in a single sitting. And that toast needs things on it. Butter and peanut butter, butter and jam, butter and honey, marmalade. Just sit back and imagine the amount of toast a person would need to consume to go through forty-eight cups of marmalade in eight months. That is more than a cup of marmalade a week.
As much as I would love to keep my dad in homemade marmalade — and I do hate to think of him at his breakfast table staring into a jar and lamenting, like the Countess of Tretham in Gosford Park, “Oh dear, bought marmalade, dear me I call that very feeble” — making a dozen quarts of the stuff is an endeavor I can no longer even wrap my mind around, much less work into my schedule. The process, while not particularly difficult, does take a certain amount of time what with the zest peeling and the section cutting and membranes-in-cheesecloth tying and the never ending boiling (see how in this simple 17-step guide). Of course, one is rewarded with a house that smells absolutely fabulous for hours and jars that look like you’ve somehow filled them with precious jewels. Still, along with the haunting aroma of cooked marmalade is a thin layer of sugary citrus juice stickiness that manages to work its way over everything in the kitchen, and those jars of precious jewels must be processed if you don’t want to have to refrigerate them.
So I am done with the work – and pleasure – of making marmalade for this season, anyway. And all I had to show for it was the single batch, three pint jars, I wrapped up and gave my dad for Christmas. I’m sure he’s eaten all of it already.
A Plum By Any Other | 17-Jan-12 at 10:44 am | Permalink
Ha! Your dad sounds like a man I can sympathize with. You should see the jam jars and marmalades I currently have in my freezer. Ridiculous. Just ridiculous. Time to open a bottle of scotch, I’ve finally found someone as crazy as I am for the stuff.
Irasema Rivera | 17-Jan-12 at 12:41 pm | Permalink
Excuse if I am missing something but I am confused and I would love to make this! In the step by step section I understand we are supposed to peel the entire batch of citrus fruits, and then in next picture you appear cutting an unpeeled orange for the fruit segments?? Are we supposed to leave some of the fruits unpeeled in the previous step? Thanks for your help.
Molly Watson | 17-Jan-12 at 4:19 pm | Permalink
You’re not missing anything – I was missing a picture of cutting the orange with it already zested. Zest the orange (remove all the orange, leaving the white behind, and then cut off the white pith before sectioning. I’ll take a new photo next time I have an orange in the house!
Marisa | 17-Jan-12 at 7:03 pm | Permalink
Good lord, I’m not sure I can wrap my brain around eight quarts of marmalade. I’ve actually been working testing a bunch of marmalade recipes for a cookbook, so I’ve probably made four quarts in the last month, but double that makes my head hurt.
Irasema Rivera | 17-Jan-12 at 7:45 pm | Permalink
Got it! Thanks Molly.
Jill Mant~a SaucyCoo | 17-Jan-12 at 9:57 pm | Permalink
When my first husband and I divorced I was so angry that I made every recipe in Beard on Bread. Beating-un, uh, I mean kneading-the bread was so cathartic. I am crazy in love with my husband these days so making eight quarts of marmalade sounds like it could be appropriate! I think I’ll try this. Thanks!
NanaBanana | 18-Jan-12 at 10:34 am | Permalink
Can you make this in a larger batch? With my big family, I can’t see this size batch lasting very long!
Molly Watson | 18-Jan-12 at 10:37 am | Permalink
If you have the time and a pot big enough, yes! Doubling is no problem. Tripling and more becomes tricky because it is unlikely you can process all the jars at once after you’ve filled them (I have one canning kettle and can only do 6 jars at a time). But you could certainly make a giant vat, then divide it into smaller batches for the final boil-to-220 and canning step. Good luck!
rach | 14-Feb-12 at 12:24 pm | Permalink
Our Dads have a double breakfast habit in common. I think my dad actually does a triple every now and then when he is alone. Toast, butter, Marmalade and tea when he gets up. Toast and bacon sometime mid morning and porridge (with cream if possible) at about 3.
We are a family of Seville orange marmalade devotees. My Mum makes at least 56 jars every jan (Dad is a jar a week man too) I have made Marmalade in the past and promise myself every year. I still have time!.
Does this comment make sense? I have a nappy brain. Not coping well with sleep deprivation and teething (Luca that is not me).
Molly Watson | 16-Feb-12 at 4:14 pm | Permalink
Perfect sense. “Nappy brain” is so much better than “baby brain,” although I think the accurate name might be “nursing hormones and lack of sleep brain.” Seville oranges are not all that easy to track down in Cali, which is weird because it seems like one can find a buddha’s hand, of all things, at every corner market.