Growing up in an Italian household we never had a ritual for making jam and marmalade. That’s not to say Italians don’t make it, they do. But in my experience not altogether successfully; the jams my family members have given me have been little more than sour fruit sludge (it’s OK to say this as not a single family member reads this column, as I frequently discover when they ask me if I’ve heard of *insert name of really well known chocolate brand here*).
I treasure jam from my non-Italian friends, because they seem to understand that sugar is a necessary requirement, and so is ‘setting’. Anyway, I really have little idea of when marmalade season is, because I don’t make it, all I know is that it reminds me of this time of year and settling down, settling in and doing housey things wearing an apron and, maybe, lighting a fire (too early?)
