When I was a kid (neither "wee lad" nor "bairn"; I came up in the damp green mildness of Oregon), my mother frequently coaxed us into eating that never-quite-sweet-enough spread known as marmalade. After enough iterations, even of the thin commercial variety sold under the marque "King Kelly," it starts to dawn on even a hardheaded lad: this stuff is GOOD!

Lately, Pretty Wife has begun experimenting with marmalade recipes, and her mother (another expert kitchen commando) is also getting in on the game. They quickly transcended the traditional Seville oranges and started playing with grapefruit, blood oranges, lemon zest, and Iranian sour oranges.

The hell of it is, I'm required to taste each version! Strictly for quality control purposes, of course, but it's quite a burden. About four extra pounds of burden, in fact -- and I fear they're just getting started.

While chatting this evening by phone with my mother (who had just opened her personal shipment of fresh marmalade), she recalled that there may have been some vaguely piratical overtones to the sticky origins of the stuff. That led me to googling, and turned up this note in the Telegraph (see link, below).

It may be that marmalade is (horrors!) passing from the palates of younger Britons. As for me, I'm not concerned.

We have accumulated approximately two lifetimes' worth.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddr...-preserve.html