Good question. I am so intrigued by these two old-fashioned products with their citrusy, ever-so-slightly bitter scent and taste. . . . I have spent the better part of a decade trying to learn more about them and trying to argue their merits with all my friends and family. I guess it’s a little bit nostalgia, a little bit obsession, a little bit a writer’s need to persuade.
A few summers ago, my mother and I made mincemeat out of my father’s green tomato surplus. Standing over the simmering pot of fruit and spices on a hot August afternoon, I felt like what we were doing was alchemy (in the sense that alchemy is “a process by which paradoxical results are achieved or incompatible elements combined with no obvious rational explanation.”) In the autumn I made Delia Smith’s traditional mincemeat recipe (all dried fruits and suet and brandy) and I was completely hooked. I knew my grandmothers and great-grandmothers always made mince pies at holiday time (their ancestors were English), and now I make them, which satisfies my sense of family food tradition. I make mince pies for Thanksgiving along with the pumpkin, and I make mini mince pies to serve and give away at Christmas, following the English tradition. I think I may have converted one mom friend to the joys of mince pies (the same one who claims to like my marmalade; she may just be being polite). Haven’t converted my daughter yet, but she’s only nine; there’s time.
From December through March I make gallons of marmalade. Last winter, I liked a slightly-altered version of Nigella Lawson’s pink marmalade recipe: http://www.food.com/recipe/pink-grapefruit-marmalade-195086. I made seven batches and gave most of it away to unsuspecting visitors, family members, friends—even the mailman. Most are still dubious. My husband, although always very supportive of my creative efforts, does wonder why I spend so much time making marmalade and so little time cleaning the house and looking for more freelance writing gigs.
I have made marmalade from a can (MaMade) and added single-malt scotch (delicious); tried Florida orange (not so good) because I couldn’t easily obtain Seville oranges; Royal Navy-style lime marmalade with rum; and kumquat (wonderful). Others before me have written of the Zen-like experience of slicing the peel, stirring in the sugar and having your whole house pervaded with that tropical, humid, citrus-y scent . . . . there’s nothing like it when you’re looking out the window at four feet of snow.
When I get obsessed about things I want to write about them. Quite possibly, I may be the only person to actually consider writing a history of mincemeat. In this blog, I want to write a little of the history of mincemeat and marmalade, funny stories about people and mincemeat and marmalade, and occasionally, I will offer some well-tested mincemeat and marmalade recipes. (Sometimes, the two will be joined, as in my favorite way to make mince pies: line the little pastry cases with a teaspoon of homemade marmalade.)
I want to make mincemeat and marmalade-making popular again—more mainstream—dare I say fashionable?
So here goes . . . .please write to me with your own mincemeat and marmalade stories and ideas. . . .
