Lemon Drizzle Cake

(and talk of marmalade oranges)

Lemon Drizzle - first-name only, just like Delia or Nigella - is so much a part of the traditional cooking of Wales, where I lived for twenty-five years, that it counts as the national teatime treat. Imported lemons from the Mediterranean were pretty much the only fresh fruit available in winter in little supermarket at Tobermoray on Mull (an island in the Hebrides off the west coast of Scotland where my husband's family came from) until as late as the 1970's.

While orange-trees have been happily settled round the shores of the Mediterranean for centuries, lemons are newcomes - johnnies-come-lately - a man-made hybrid, result of a brief encounter between a Calabrian citron and a bitter orange from Seville sometime in the ninth century. Since lemons carry fruit and flower on the same branch all year round and are easy to transport, they rapidly became popular as an imported exotic in northern lands where nothing edible pops its head out of the ground till April at the earliest.

Eating-oranges - aka juice-oranges - are all descended from the same bitter orange that established itself in the groves of Seville and are themselves descended from a smallish prickly woodland tree native to the lower slopes of the Himalayas. Unlike the eating-orange, bitter oranges have remained seasonal - a sign of ancient ancestry. You’ll find them in the shops from mid-Jan to the end of February, which is why they became popular in the dead of winter in Britain as the marmalade orange - raw material of a preserve that took its name from the Portuguese name for quince - marmelo - which is the fruit used in Spain to prepare membrillo, quince paste traditionally eaten with manchego cheese. 

Hence (by a roundabout route) marmalade became the name given to a breakfast preserve that has its origin in the port of Dundee, where the whisky-distilleries of the east coast of Scotland imported used oak-barrels from the sherry-makers of Jerez. The barrels arrived on the Dundee quayside with a ballast of bitter oranges from the groves of Seville, providing the preserve-makers of the East Coast with a surfeit of oranges with a short shelf-life along with the know-how and access to cheap beet sugar.

In land of origin, however, Seville, bitter oranges are used in season instead of lemons.  That is, with anything and everything that might require a squeeze of sharpness for frittered fish, grilled meats, with olive oil and salt as a dressing for plain-cooked vegetables. Or used in the form of finely-grated zest in soft lard-lightened cookies baked for festivals, such as polverones and mantecados.  Or you might find them chopped into chunks and included in the flavouring-brine for green salt-pickled olives.

Uses of seville/bitter oranges (apart from marmalade):

To dry your own bitter orange-zest to flavour Mediterranean soups and stews (essential in a bouillabaisse), spread fine strips of zest on a baking sheet lined with kitchen paper and leave in a warm place to dry.

Use bitter orange juice to replace vinegar or lemon-juice in salad-dressings, mayonnaise, hollandaise and as a marinade for a raw-fish seviche.  

Bitter orange-juice make a delicious daiquiri (of course it does!): sweeten the juice to taste and shake over ice with its own volume of pale rum.

Dundee marmalade

A dark, chunky marmalade with a satisfying bite.  You can reduce the bitterness by removing some of the pith when you rub the cooked fruit through the sieve (add any extra pulp to the bag with the pips). If you're not ready to cook right away, prepare the pulp (sans sugar) and freeze it in bags for future marmalade-making. The longer you cook it, the darker it becomes (this also happens if you cook it twice).

• Makes 4-5 one-pound jars

  1k/2lb Seville oranges (about 8)

  1k/2lb granulated sugar

  The juice of 2 lemons

  Scrub the oranges and put them in a roomy preserving pan. Pour in enough boiling water to cover.  Leave for 5 minutes, remove the oranges and peel them - easier after scalding.  Return the peeled fruit and skin to the pan.  Bring back to the boil, turn down the heat, lid loosely and simmer for 1-2 hours, till the peel is perfectly tender. 

  Cut the peel into slivers of a size that appeals to you, and reserve.  Sieve the fruit and pith into a measuring jug, saving the pips and tying them up in a scrap of clean cloth.  Measure the liquid in the jug and return it to the pan with the slivered peel, bag of pips and the lemon juice. For every 250ml of pulp, stir in 500g sugar. Bring to the boil and bubble gently till you reach setting-point - 20-30 minutes, maybe longer. Stir regularly, scraping the bottom - the top may look juicy but the base can easily stick and burn.

              To test for set, watch for the bubbles to become of an even size - about 4mm. Or drop a teaspoonful on a cold saucer and place in the freezer for a few minutes, then push the surface with your finger: it’s ready when it wrinkles. 

              Remove from the heat and leave to cool for 10 minutes, after you've fished out the pip-bag and given the rest a stir to make sure the chunky peel stays suspended.  Ladle into hot jars, cover with a circle of grease-proof paper, and seal as for any preserve, in order to exclude air

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                                      Three-fruit marmalade

  If you miss the window for Sevilles, you can make marmalade with juice-oranges combined with lemons and grapefruit - lemons alone are okay; grapefruit alone won't have the acidity and setting power. Limes would probably work, but I haven't tried (let me if you do!).

  Makes about half a dozen one-pound jars

  2 lbs/1k juice-oranges

  1 1/2 lbs/750g grapefruit and lemons (mixed)

  6 pints/3.5l water

  6 lbs/3k sugar

  Optional: A dash of Scots whisky

  Wash the fruits and squeeze the juice. Scoop out the fibrous debris and pips, tie it all up in a scrap of muslin or cloth. Chunk the skins and pith together.

              Put the chopped up skins and pith, juice and bagged-up debris in a roomy pan with the water and leave for a few hours to soak together - overnight is perfect.

              Bring the pot to the boil and simmer for an hour, loosely lidded, until the chopped-up peel and pith is tender.  Remove and discard the bag of pip-debris.

              Stir in the sugar, bring all gently back to the boil, stirring to dissolve the crystals. Boil rapidly, uncovered, until a dab on a cold saucer wrinkles when you push it with your finger tells you it's reached setting-point. Test it after 15 minutes - although it can take longer. You can stir in a dash of whisky at this point - any earlier and it all evaporates.

  Allow to settle in the pan for 10 minutes or so before potting it up in warm sterilised jars. Cover the surface with a circle of wax-paper and seal under a lid or tie down under a cellophane hat.  The idea is to exclude air so you don't have to store unopened jars in the fridge.

  

                                      Clear marmalade

   I happen to like a clear rather than a rough-cut marmalade. By which I mean, fine strips of peel suspended in a clear bright jelly.  The hit of fresh ginger works as a wake-up call in the morning.

  Makes about 6 lbs/3k

  18 Seville oranges

  walnut-sized piece fresh ginger-root, matchsticked

  Allow 1 pint/600ml water per pound (half-kilo) of fruit weighed after peeling

  Allow 1 lb/450g sugar to each pint/half-litre of juice (you'll need 2-2 1/2k sugar)

  Wash the fruit and pare off all the rind as finely as you can with a very sharp knife. Cut the rind into fine matchsticks and put aside.

              Weigh the fruit and then peel off and discard its white pith. Cut the flesh up roughly and put it in a large heavy pan with water to match the weight. Boil steadily for 1/2 an hour, stirring every now and again.

              Strain the pulp through a clean linen cloth (easy if you pin the corners an upturned stool with a bowl for the drippings beneath). Measure the drippings back into the pan, and stir in 1 lb/500g sugar for each pint of juice. Add the matchsticked rind.

              Stir over a gentle heat until the sugar melts. Turn up the heat and allow bubble uncovered for 30-35 minutes until setting-point is reached.  Test for set as above. When you're sure it's jellied, remove from the heat and leave to cool for 10 minutes.  Fish out the pip-bag and give the rest a stir to make sure the peel stays suspended.  Ladle into clean hot jars.  Cover and seal as in the previous recipe.

  

                                                  Bitter orange curd

  Just like the more usual lemon curd, but made with bitter orange-juice instead. Whoever came up with the combination of northerner's butter and southerner's citrus fruits deserves a medal. Make it in small quantities as it has a relatively short shelf-life (commercial preparations contain preservatives, so last much longer)

  Makes 2 small jars

  3 egg yolks and 1 whole egg

  Grated zest 4 unwaxed Sevilles, juice of 5

  300g/10oz sugar

  150g/5oz unsalted butter

  Sieve the yolks with the whole egg into a bowl, the whisk lightly to combine. Mix in the zest and freshly squeezed juice. Add the sugar and the butter cut in small pieces.

              Place the bowl over a pan of simmering water over which it just fits. Continue to heat gently, stirring constantly without allowing the mixture to boil, till the sugar dissolves and the mixture thickens and is well-homogenised - this'll take about 20 minutes, just don't let it curdle (if it does, tip straight from the pan into the mixer with a splash of cold water whizz to blend). 

              It'll firm up some more as it cools and the butter sets. Pot up while still warm in spanking-clean jars with screw-top lids or top with a circle of butter-paper seal under a cellophane hat.  Store in the fridge and use within a fortnight (if you've left it for longer, discard if it shows any sign of sprouting a little green hat)

  

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