Marmalade memories of Canada's East Coast

Being a foodie, I love to take advantage of the flavours of the seasons.

Here in the Okanagan, we are fortunate to have so many local foods we can enjoy. Summer is the obvious time to enjoy flavours that capture the beauty of this place and the richness of the bounty. But every season gives us opportunities for rituals that warm our hearts and bellies.

Spring is an exciting time, with burgeoning shoots at newly opened farmer’s markets and café patios warming up for guests. Fall is full of chances to preserve fruit and veggies, dry herbs and cook up a storm. Harvest dinners abound. In spring and fall, the environmental experiences of markets and al fresco dinners offer memories for all our senses.

In winter, it’s much harder to find fresh flavours and outdoor events are not a factor (unless you’re into après-ski s’mores, which would be great fun, I’m sure.) I have one ritual that involves all my senses though, and it’s one I cherish.

I don’t ski, but my love for jams and preserves does transcend the summer; my search for ways to capture sunshine through the grey days of winter is endless. So, once the treats of the Christmas season are nothing but crumbs in the cookie tin, I search the grocery stores for the winter treasure that transforms into sunshine in a jar – Seville oranges.

I know that marmalade is a bit like cilantro – people love it or hate it. Perhaps it is my half-Scottish heritage that puts me on the side of loving it. There are many recipes on the internet nowadays but when I first started making marmalade, it was because of an experience at a charming B&B in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia. Good recipes always have a story and this one is a classic example.

I was on a holiday, biking from Halifax to Lunenburg. It was my first long cycling endeavour, and it was proving more strenuous than I expected. The best reward was the food we ate, and my enjoyment was heightened by how hungry I was after cycling more than 50 kilometres each day.

In Mahone Bay, we stayed at the charming Fairmont House, a former shipbuilder’s home that is still a bed and breakfast by the sea (https://www.fairmonthouse.com/index.html ). When we arrived at the end of the day, it was like drifting into a fairy tale, a quaint gingerbread-style house nestled in this picturesque harbour town.

The salty sea air made me think of fishermen out on the waves, busy with lobster traps and fishing nets and the sound of the ocean breeze seemed to sing a tale of adventure. The smiles on people’s faces as they walked through town told me this was a happy place.

The lady who ran Fairmont House then was British. She and her Canadian husband had met in England after the Second World War and had come to Canada together. She served a full British breakfast after our wonderful sleep in her delightful house, mentioning she made the marmalade she was serving. Of course, we got to talking about food.

I not only learned the secrets to her marmalade recipe (it takes three days to make and involves lots of scraping and chopping of peels), I also learned she and her husband had a romance worthy of a Hallmark movie.

Having the B&B was their passion project for retirement and that came through in the bright flavours of the marmalade. I was enamoured and asked if she would share the recipe.

I cherish that magical trip—the days of cycling many kilometres did get easier, and we had other memorable meals along Nova Scotia’s south coast. Mahone Bay remained a highlight and when we got home, I discovered a letter in the mail from Fairmont House.

I’m sure you can imagine my joy when I discovered it was the marmalade recipe. I glued it into my notebook and it has remained there to this day, splattered with the orange syrup from years of efforts.

I can’t find the Seville oranges every year, but this year I snapped them up as soon as I spotted them and this past week my house was filled with the bright aroma of oranges boiling on the stove. The colour of the jars was just like a sunny day, offsetting the dark clouds outside my window.

My piece of sourdough toast slathered thick with that delicious spread warmed my belly but even better was my warm heart, happy for a ritual that keeps those memories alive.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.