Tonight I was going to share my latest triumph. A Seville orange and quince marmalade. A very special recipe that needs a bit of forethought. The local quinces are frozen in late autumn to join the fresh oranges in january/February. The result is a marmalade with an unbelievably fruity depth. Heaven. Over the past couple of months I’ve tweaked and played with it and wrote the final recipe on the back of an envelope.
And there’s the rub. Decorating the cottage and occasional entertaining means that piles of these recipe envelopes are removed from the kitchen table and placed in a spot in the sitting room that, at the time, I know that I will remember forever. But the exact latitude and longitude of the place is swept away in the onslaught of further decorating, lunch and supper parties. The sitting room becomes a desert with a few hopeful oases.
This evening we tackled these piles and found hundreds of recipes but not the one in question. Tomorrow I’m going to buy a dedicated recipe sketch book, then all recipes and development history will be in one place. All these envelopes and notes are slowly driving us nuts.
This weekend I was planning to make a final batch of our new marmalade recipe. I can remember the quince to Seville orange ratio. But when I try and visualise the other ingredients my mind is totally and utterly blank.
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