Seville oranges

Towards the end of winter I went to look for Seville oranges at the farmers’ market. I asked every stall holder I came across, but had no luck. No one seems to plant Sevilles anymore. This reminded me of a road trip Roger and I went on five years ago.

Roger was known in the village as the marmalade man. Every winter he’d order a box of Seville oranges from a grocer he knew and then he’d spend the next week finely cutting and boiling the fruit. It was a ritual he loved. ‘I just let my mind wander,’ he’d say when I asked whether he was ever bored cutting oranges hour after hour. For him, it was a form of meditation. He made dozens of jars which he sold to loyal customers and there were always some left for family and friends.

One year, he wanted to do a trip down memory lane and take me out to the country he loved best. We headed for the Hay plains, stopping first at West Wyong and then Griffith, where he had worked many years ago. Griffith is orange country and some of the best fruit comes from its surrounding orchards. We stopped at at least six different farms asking for Seville oranges only to be told that they had pulled out the trees years ago. No one was buying them anymore.

These bitter oranges originated in Africa and were introduced to Europe by Genovese sailors in about the 10th century. Many believed these oranges were harbingers of happiness and, as such, the Moors planted them all over Spain. To this day, the city of Seville has over 14 000 of these bitter orange trees which make the best marmalade in the world. Sadly, there were none left in Griffith.

We returned from that trip with glorious memories, but no oranges. That year he made whisky marmalade using Navels. As Roger’s health deteriorated, I begged him to teach me the secret of making marmalade and the following year, when he sourced some of the elusive Sevilles, he relented.

‘Cut it on an angle like this,’ he’d admonish, or ‘that’s too thick’, but eventually he commended the efforts of his apprentice. Since his untimely death, I have continued the yearly marmalade tradition.

I went back to the farmers’ market a month ago and found a stall I hadn’t seen before. They only sold oranges and had a myriad varieties on offer. When I asked about Sevilles, the young woman said she’d ask the boss. A good sign, I thought.

‘The boss says they’re not quite ready to pick. Try again next week,’ she said. I was delighted. But the following week they still weren’t ready. After three more visits, the oranges finally arrived. In a mad bout of enthusiasm, I bought 3kg, which makes about 25 jars of marmalade.

The first batch was passable, but a poor imitation of Roger’s expertise. The next batch, however, was a perfect colour and consistency. I opened a jar for a taste test. Not bad, I thought. I fact, it is almost as good as his.