Perhaps I exaggerate, but I do like January for marmalade-making time. Sevilles have a short window, and it is now.
My mother-in-law always grumbled (pleasantly grumbling, mind you) about the injustice of having Seville season at the same time as Burns Night. So that when she was supposed to be slicing bitter peel and pressing pith in a muslin bag, she was busy boiling sheep liver and oats in preparation for the requisite haggis. (I’m sure all Scots emigres, but especially those in Canada, can empathise.) She managed, anyhow. Continue reading