Before it changed hands, a local delicatessen-gastronomia used to display s’aranzada in the window at Christmas time. It was an eye-catching sight: a glossy mass of luminous orange peel curls and sharp almond slivers, often sharing the small window with square jam tarts (their black and red fillings equally glossy), pangiallo and almond biscuits dusted with icing sugar– the pale sort with brittle cracks that promise a fudge-like inside. In short, an appealing window that, with the blinking Christmas lights and great swathes of plastic greenery, always made me feel festive and warm.
It was years later, the glossy window displays long gone, when I finally understood what I had so often looked at through glass. Given a small green book about Sardinian cooking, I learned they were called s’aranzada, or aranzada; alsoaranciata Sarda. They are a sweet typical of Nuoro in central-eastern Sardinia, one traditionally associated with baptisms, where they are prepared and given as a token of gratitude to both the parish and godparents. Their flavour reminds me of a very thick-cut and quite dry marmalade crossed with toffee and nut brittle. This being Sardinia, their gloss, of course, comes from honey; some recipes I came across also suggest adding sugar, but most are a recipe of just three ingredients: orange peel, almonds and honey; maybe a few silver dragees, or hundreds and thousands, for more joy. “In England, you call this type of thing sweetmeats, don’t you?” a Sardinian friend asked when I talked to her on the phone about it. Such a nice way to put it. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t.
