While Mr. T’s parents were visiting us in mid-December, I decided that I should learn how to make my favourite toast accompaniment: marmalade. And since Mr. T’s Mom is the family expert on marmelading, I enlisted her help with no resistance on her part (which I think is mostly due to the fact that she’s sick of making and then shipping it across the country).
Our adventures started with this bowl of fruit:
We had to score the fruit, then remove the peels, and *then* remove all of the white stuff from the inside of the peel. Mr. T’s Mom made it look so simple (like in an infomercial) when she explained: “It’s like filleting a fish,” and the proceeded to show me how effortless it was. “Hey, no problem,” I thought. Then, she quickly disappeared and left me to my task. I finished an hour and a half later. Not. So. Easy.
After filleting my citrus babies, the tendons in my right forearm felt as though I had been typing for 24 hours, nonstop. Who says that carpel tunnel syndrome didn’t affect marmalade factory workers in the 20th century. Well, it may have, but factory workers were non-people back then, and therefore it mustn’t have been a problem…
With the hardest part behind me, I quickly chopped up the whiteless rinds and fruit, threw them into a pot with (5 cups!!!) of sugar, some water and a pouch of Certo, and voilà, marmalade:
Doesn’t it look like an advertisement for East block marmalade circa 1978? I suppose the Cyrillic characters help (just a bit).
If you’ve got some extra time on your hands (and some strong tendons), you too can make your very own marmalade by following the official Certo recipe
here. I'm told that "No other recipe works as well as the Certo recipe." I think that Mr. T's Mom is working for Kraft.
PS I don’t remember putting butter/margarine in my recipe.
A menu (okay let's be honest: food) often has an impact on my recollection of a visit. In this case, the sandwich board did little to draw me in. Instead, it made me think, who would want to eat old sheep soup? Alas, I didn't go in to find out: instead, I snapped this and went on to eat my crustless cucumber sandwich in one of London's many well maintained parks.
We had to score the fruit, then remove the peels, and *then* remove all of the white stuff from the inside of the peel. Mr. T’s Mom made it look so simple (like in an infomercial) when she explained: “It’s like filleting a fish,” and the proceeded to show me how effortless it was. “Hey, no problem,” I thought. Then, she quickly disappeared and left me to my task. I finished an hour and a half later. Not. So. Easy.
After filleting my citrus babies, the tendons in my right forearm felt as though I had been typing for 24 hours, nonstop. Who says that carpel tunnel syndrome didn’t affect marmalade factory workers in the 20th century. Well, it may have, but factory workers were non-people back then, and therefore it mustn’t have been a problem…
