Snow can fool us into believe winter is here. When really it’s not.

And even after it came and went, the sharp winds still  gives us goosebumps no matter how many layers of mittens, hats and scarves we’re wearing.

I’ve found a relief in the shape of a hot bowl of soup.

Slightly spicy, full of flavour, and damn good.

So good in fact, that I’ve made it four times in just a short eight days. Just when the sun goes down, my flat starts to smell of ginger and lemongrass.

Evidently, it’s always too dark to take a picture. But, who needs it anyway. You have my promise.

Make this – or as a matter of fact, any of the listed things below (which I see as a winter edition of my culinary obsessions chronicle). And feel better. Warmer. And possibly, happier.

Oh and while I’m at it, I’m wondering what are the foods that help you make it through winter? Please tell me. We can never have enough comfort in our kitchens.

And for the record, I realise it’s technically still autumn, but my frozen cheeks tell me it feels like winter. Hope you stick with me on this one.

One. Thai chicken soup. Grab a couple of chicken thighs, with all the trimmings: bone, skin and organic. Pan fry the chicken, skin-side down until golden, flip around and deglaze with a litre of water and a mini-can of coconut cream.
Add two spoonful of sweet chilli sauce, a dash of toasted sesame oil, and soy sauce. Squeeze the juice from one lemon, and bring to the boil. In the meantime, roughly chop the soft end of a lemongrass stick and grate a fat piece of ginger. Add o the soup. Simmer for 20 minutes. Remove the chicken thighs; then using two forks, shred the meat from the bones and skin. Place back into the pan and add a handful of each: frozen peas, rocket, and rice noodles. Divide in between two bowls, and top with chopped red chilli peppers, two sliced spring onions and fresh coriander. Eat with a spoon when still piping hot. Preferably with good company and a movie.

Two. Eggnog lattes. Be lazy and go to the closest starbucks. Order a venti eggnog latte. And burn your tongue while drinking it. Or make it at home. Bring 250g of milk to the boil along with 2 cinnamon sticks, a couple of cardamom pods and a little grated nutmeg. Add a dash of vanilla extract, the one with the seeds. In a bowl, mix 2 eggs yolks with 50g of caster sugar. Strain the boiling milk onto the eggs, mixing as you do so. Then place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and cook, stiring all the time until the anglaise reaches 84°C. Add a double shot of espresso or a heaped teaspoon of your favourite instant coffee. Drink. From the comfort of your own home. And perhaps, with a dash or two of rhum.

Three. Roast garlic. Preheat the oven to 200°C. Line a baking tray with foil. Take four heads of garlic and chop their top off by a centimetre or two. Place on the prepared baking tray. Drizzle with oil and season with Maldon sea salt. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 40 minutes. Make sure you have some bread close by.

Four. Gü chocolate banoffee. Walk to your kitchen. Open the fridge and reach the black Gü chocolate banoffee package. Open with your hands. Grab a spoon, preferably small. Lift the foild cover away. Eat the chocolate layer first. Then sink your spoon into the goo. And wonder if they’re is anything sweeter – literally and figuratively – in this world. Don’t even think about having the second one.

Five. Molly’s waffles. Before you go to bed, visit Molly. Read her words. Fell in love and in hunger. Then make the recipe. The first one, Marion Cunningham’s raised waffles. Except, switch the dry yeast for 5g of fresh yeast. Because your heart tells you to. Sleep. Wake up half and hour before your alarm goes off. Cook the waffles. And eat plain, thinking about sending Molly a thank you note later.

Thank you Molly. x

There are things you can never ignore.

At times, you wish you’d forgotten; crab hunting, kissing in the wind, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drinking beer by the bottle, killing flies, licking icy popsicles.

Other times, you’re simply happy to remember; stepping into Pierre Hermé’s kitchen, signing my apprenticeship contract, taking a plane to a new life, biting into a perfectly chewy spinach and cheddar muffin.

It was a Saturday or Sunday – the day does not matter – of an early autumn morning.

I had just arrived to London.

The air was crisp and the sky just turning blue after a night made of blankets and raindrops hitting the windows.

Somehow, those pretty rustic muffins felt fitting. Right that second, I could smell vanilla frosting and feel the warmth from a just-opened oven door. And by all means, I could hear words from happy people.

I remember how the first bite burnt my tongue. I remember the heat of pepper, the flavour of onion, spinach, cheddar and perhaps even Portobello mushrooms. And the crumb.

And then, in between creating desserts and reading books, I forgot about this moment. You know, that everyday-kind of happiness. But as autumn sneaked on us – in a rather unexpected manner – the frosty mornings and dark evenings made our house feel like home.

A home with soft lights, throws on the sofa, a whistling kettle, and muffins in the oven.

Spinach and cheddar muffins
Adapted from the Hummingbird Bakery.

I could express my love for these muffins through an extended description of their qualities. The bold flavours, the perfect chewy crumb.

But the fact that they are equally delicious for breakfast, lunch or dinner – preferably with a side of piping hot soup, makes them my favourite in the world.

I can eat the same thing everyday: breakfast, lunch and dinner; and still feel happy about what I eat. Obviously, those things will change every now and then.

This habit must come from my dad who has been known to have paella for lunch for a month before enrolling in a mussel and chips extravaganza for another thirty days.

At the moment, I’m in love with the five listed below. Now I’m curious, what are your current five favourites to eat?

One. Guacamole. Slice a ripe avocado, place it in a bowl. Squeeze out the juice from one lemon. Mix in some finely sliced red chili pepper, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and rings of spring onions. Sprinkle with a little maldon sea salt. Top with fresh coriander leaves, slighlty torn.

Two. Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice-cream. Bike to the closest convenience store. Bike home. Grab a tablespoon. Open the tub.

Three. Salt and pepper prawns. Mix rice flour with a good dose of maldon sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Roll a handfull of prawns (with their shells on) into the flour. Heat a pan of oil. Deep-fry until golden brown. Top with sliced spring onion. Eat with your fingers.

Four. Banana pancakes. Combine 150g flour, a little sugar, one teaspoon of baking powder, half a teaspoon of baking soda. Mix in 250g milk (full fat, or I might as well go back to bed) and one egg. Fold in two ripe bananas, slightly mashed. Cook on a well buttered pan, flip over until lovely. Have with a drizzle of dark maple syrup.

Five. Find a watermelon, preferably ice-cold. Make sure not to drop it on the floor. Using a serated knife, slice a big fat wedge. Allow the juices to splash on your face.

As I was diligently peeling a stampede of organic lemons to turn them into neat candied squares – a pretty lengthy task if you consider all the steps involved – the pungent scent brought down memories of a now long-gone day.

Rewind.

As Guillaume wakes up – or more accurately, as I push the snooze button of our alarm clock every two minutes, giving him a repeat-hug to gently get him to emerge from his dreamless sleep – I suddenly realise that today is my much-longed-for day-off.

After more minutes that I will dare to divulge, Guillaume slowly walks to the bathroom, and I can’t resist to fall back asleep with the soothing sound of falling waters tickling my ears.

It’s now almost eleven aye-emm, and after a quick bath – my very own luxury – I hop onto the bus towards High Street Kensington. Read: towards Whole Foods.

On my way back, white flakes begin to fill the skies. By the time I reach the door to our flat, the streets, trees, and sadly for my tendency not to resist to any slippery surface, the sidewalks are coated with thick snow.

It’s damn cold outside, and the heat I find at home feels unbearable.

Until I look through the window only to mentally record the image I see. A white cocoon surrounded my fog clouds.

It’s pretty much one of the most comforting sensation ever. As if I was contemplating my own daily world from above; except it’s now all-quiet, almost like a nature morte.

With such an astounding cosiness, a couple of things were bound to happen. A feel-happy movie, a trip to my very favourite blogs, a nap – taken from the warmth of my thick couette.

The last thing involved flour, baking powder, eggs, sugar, a good dose of lemon, butter, and cream. Also known as cake weekend, this loaf will keep – in the fridge, well-wrapped in cling film – for days.

Oh, and did I mention how easy it is to put together, how pretty it is to look at, and how down-to-the-last-crumb delicious it is to eat?

It is also a damn good reason to use my absolute pâtisserie tour-de-main [process] crush. The one trick you won’t be able to live without.
If you want a life lived in the shadows of neatly cracked cakes, please avoid eye contact with the following lines.

The secret is to pipe a line of butter on the top of your unbaked loaf. Simply cream a couple of tablespoons of butter, and using a piping bag – or as I do, a paper cornet (another playground love, which I should definitely make you discover laterish) – pipe a thin line across the length of the cake.

Bake and allow your eyes to sparkle.

But more than this, this promenade into the past allowed me to discover what pushes me to make a recipe in particular.
I think it says a lot about the pastry chef – not to mention the person – you are. The way you combine coincidences, accidents, facts into a delicious pâtisserie.

And I strongly hope my recipes come across just how people see me. Refreshing, sophisticated yet with an edge, and fun.
This means a lot to me since I have just realised that I am now ready to write a pastry book. It’s always been a dream, a long-term goal, and possibly the one thing – except for my passion – that got me into those not-so-hot pieds-de-poules pants.

Until today, I had never felt the need to write a cookbook. I kept telling myself I had to wait until I would master an actual knowledge on French pâtisserie, and also, until I had a good unexplored book material.

So when the idea came to me on my way to work, I was thrilled.

A book I would have loved to read a couple of years earlier, when I hadn’t yet entered a professional pastry kitchen. And actually, a book I would still love to read now.

It’s still the very beginning of the process, and even though I keep my fingers crossed to the point my joints hurt, the book will possibly never be printed. But I like to challenge myself.

So well, let’s forget about this all, and please go make a cup of your favourite tea – although I couldn’t recommend anything more than a delicate cup of green tea – to sip through the savouring of a thick slice of weekend lemon cake topped with a large spoonful of clementine confit and a dollop of crème fraiche.

Cake weekend au citron et confit de clémentines à la vanille
I feel like I’ve already talked way too much today, so I will now simply urge you to make this. Weekend or not.

Just make sure you fold the flour very delicately into the batter, not to loose any of the air (incorporated in the eggs right at the beginning by much whipping) that gives the loaf cake such a light texture.
Same goes for the fats (both cream and butter; that’s actually the difference between a cake and a weekend cake).

What I usually do is to incorporate vigorously a small amount of batter (around one cup) into the melted – yet not hot – fats, then pour this mixture back into the batter, folding very gently.

As for the confit, you simply need to briefly blanch the whole clémentines a couple of times, before cooling them in ice-cold water. This allows to 1) get rid of the skin’s bitterness, and 2) keep the bright orange colour.
Then proceed as detailed below!

You can certainly make it in advance as it will keep for 5 days in the frigde.

Do you remember when, a couple of days ago, I told you that 1) I had no recipe to share, and 2) Jamie’s chicken is the base of our food diet?

(I made sure to quote the two facts above so it’s really clear in your heads right now.)

Well, I have to confess that I lied. The evidence being the absolutely gorgeous maple, pecan and banana granola we eat daily with a good dollop of yoghurt for me, and a dash of milk for Guillaume.

I didn’t mean to hide this from you. In fact, I even took one picture with my favourite film camera (adequately called Pentax ME Super) thinking I would have time to take cleaner pictures with my digital Canon.

The jar containing our granola got a little emptier every day. But nobody in the house seemed to notice.

And then it happened.

One day, between the third and fourth of December, I woke up to an empty jar.

This means: 1) no pretty picture, and 2) that this granola is the best ever. I mean, one-plus kilogram of cereals, nuts and dried fruits; ten days, two people.

Yes, it’s evident that we had it for breakfast every single day, looking down on the usual favourite: fried bacon and toast.
And this comes from two people, who has much as they love pâtisserie, would rather eat a whole camembert than a chocolate bar.

* This is a French song children use to tease each others when they find out one of them is in love. It’s highly possible that this is now too 80s for those who are now seven-ish and already playing with iPhones (gosh, I do sound like an old lady, SCARY) though.

Pecan, maple, and banana granola
As with most granolas, this recipe is quite versatile. You can add more nuts, or some dried fruits; if your feeling decadent, fold in chopped chocolate in your cooled granola is always comforting. Or perhaps, switch the maple syrup for honey.

In fact, I must admit we also love a version made with sunflower seeds, honey, and dried apricots. The only thing is that we like to keep it simple. Three flavours: one type of nut, one type of liquid sweetening, and one type of dried fruit.
But really, make it your own by all means, and you’ll have a ready-to-eat breakfast for at least one week or two.

Regarding the process, things couldn’t get easier. You have the dried ingredients and the wet ones. Just combine everything. Bake until crisp, then mix in you dried fruits.

The most paralysing feeling. This is what I felt as I woke up this morning.

Just the thought of an empty day ahead of me was enough to make me feel numb. Wide awake and yet, unable to move. The time had stopped. For a day.
Too tired to eat and too hungry to sleep*, I headed to the kitchen – my favourite room of the house – and by the time I had reached the cagibi [larder], I knew croissants would be made and eaten this same morning.
* favourite song alert here.

You see, the prospect of twelve unbound hours felt so unusual that I had to get back to my daily pâtisserie-making routine.

Over the past month, I haven’t been much too work. Ten days to be accurate. The rest got spent at school, in London, and in Lyon – where I was lucky enough to pay the SIRHA a visit, but also have my very own special tour guide of the town and its many pâtisseries (thanks B.).

An exciting month for sure, but terribly exhausting as well.

Now I’m back here. For good; at least until I leave again. One thing is certain though. Days off – and particularly Sundays – make perfect experiment fields for pâtisserie.

That said, I must confess I’ve never felt as great as I do right now. The crumbs of croissant that quietly sit around my mouth are so not going to disagree!

Croissants

Making croissant can seem pretty daunting at first, but once you’ll really pay attention to the different steps, you’ll realise it’s as easy as making pâte feuilletée.

First, you make the détrempe – with yeast this time (remember, croissant dough is a pâte feuilletée levée). Gently combine flour, sugar, salt, butter, yeast and water. Knead into a very soft and smooth ball; and proof until doubled in size.

Then, you roll the détrempe into a neat 60 x 20 cm square and spread the beurre de tourrage [remaining butter used for making the tours] across the far left two thirds of the rolled détrempe.
Fold the right – and butterless – part over the middle one. Then fold the far left end over the whole thing. You should have a ‘book’ with the spine on the left.

Chill for a couple of hours, then roll again into a 60 x 20 cm square making sure you place the ’spine’ on your left beforehands. Make a tour double. Chill, make a tour double. Chill, make a tour simple. Roll the dough into two 80 x 25 cm (half a centimetre thick that is). Then cut triangles – top to tail – with a base measuring approximately 15cm. Each dough triangle should weigh around 180g 90g (and one batch should yield to 20 croissants). Then shape into a croissant. Place on a lined baking sheet and proof for an hour or until doubled in size.

Bake at 180°C for 30 minutes or until golden brown.

The great thing about these is that you can make them a day or more in advance. Just get the dough ready. Shape the croissant and keep them either refrigerated (not more than 12 hours) or frozen (up to a month). Allow them to come to room temperature before baking. And there you are. Fresh croissants on a Sunday morning!

Now I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you. A cotton fabric needs to be embroided. See you soon my favourite people in the entire world!

It all started with the crazy cool idea of making my own coconut extract. Something I had been dreaming about for years without thinking I would actually one day get rid of the horrid fake-tasting stuff my cupboard is full of (I tend to stock it every time I visit Jane Asher’s shop because it tends to disappear quite quickly).

Now it’s done. Delicious coconut extract, which also happens to make delicious vodka shots.

Trust me (however, I’m strongly against drinking while baking, dangerous things can happen in one tiny kitchen).

The next step was quite obviously the coconut cupcake. A delicate-crumbed cake, subtly flavoured with our extract, the water from the coconut itself, and some homemade coconut milk. Smooth ricotta as a frosting. And a pile of fluffy grated fresh coconut.

Of course, since I intended to serve this for breakfast, I had a light hand on the frosting; but if you’re feeling sweeter than me, please make an Italian meringue and pile it on your little cupcakes.
I hope a bite at those will encourage you to participate to September’s Sugar High Friday. Please. Pretty please.

Fresh coconut cupcakes with ricotta frosting
Adapted from Alton Brown.

I love this cake. The crumb is so fine it’s divine. It will melt in your mouth as it hits your tongue.
Of course, it will taste better if you make your own extract, however, if you don’t have the time or will, I recommend you just skip it. No fake stuff, please.

You can also turn this into a layer cake, as Alton does, but I think cupcakes work nicely here, because you get an even part of caramelised crust and soft inner, all at the same time.

Since we’re going to work with fresh coconut here, I think it’s time I share my secret about how to open a coconut when you’re a girl.
Preheat the oven to 180°C. Place the coconut onto a folded towel set down in a large bowl. Using a screwdriver, hammer holes into the eyes of the coconut. Turn the coconut upside down over a container and drain the water from the coconut. Store the water in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week. Place the coconut onto a baking sheet and bake in the oven for 15 minutes or until cracked. Place the pieces into a bowl of iced water and when cool enough to handle, separate the flesh from the husk. Wrap as is, or grate it; and store in the fridge.

And don’t forget. Sugar High Friday is running until the 26th of September. So put your aprons on. Get your wooden spoon and whisk. And make cupcakes!

Apparently, it’s been a month since I last told you about this beautiful blueberry focaccia. A month. And no, I’m not going to ramble on how time flies; I’ve done that too much in the past already. Not that I don’t like to complain – you know I do; but well, I’m just too tired and unhappy.

Or at least I was too tired and unhappy until it all happened.

You see, those past few weeks of unusual silence had a reason. I’m physically exhausted, and an emotional wreck. I barely sleep. I don’t eat how I should. I can’t find comfort anywhere or in anyone. I’m restless, always on the lookout for new experiences to share, new sensations to explore, new, new new.

Every morning I wake up after a couple of hours of sleep only to remember what a long day I’ll find on my path. Daily internship. Writing my thesis. Then going back home. Let the fun begin. I create. Or less fancily – and perhaps more appropriately – I make things.

The creative process is part of me. I don’t care about the end result. What matters to me is how you get it. Beautiful.

This is terrific. Exciting. And totally fulfilling. But also very shattering. Especially when I haven’t had the chance to have a few days off since last Christmas. When I know I’ll have to wake up at 3:30am every morning for a year. No break.

And I still don’t know what I want to do next.

Or more exactly, I know what I want, but also feel like it’s never going to happen (St Martin’s school of design, I shall tell you goodbye before we even met).

I’m scared.

What do I want to be? Product developer. Certainly. Pastry chef. Possibly. Making my dream come true: being the owner of a pastry shop meets bakery meets book store meets cooking school. Hopefully.

So many doubts. And only one thing to be certain about: this focaccia is out of this world. Go and make it before it’s too late and blueberries disappear for another long year full of expectations, worries and excitement.

Blueberry focaccia
Adapted from Dan Lepard.

When I was younger, I remember my dad talking about how his grand father would make him olive oil bread topped with freshly cut apricot halves and baked until the flavours blend beautifully.
And well, since I had some blueberries to use (OK, I needed an excuse for not eating that whole tub); I thought I should give it a try.

The base recipe is just from Dan, as you may have guessed. So good it makes for the most perfect brunch or snack.

You could also replace the oil with softened butter if you feel like the olive flavour might be overpowering (I loved it, but it’s all a matter of taste).

When I found out about what Kelly and Ben wanted us to make for June’s daring bakers challenge, I was thrilled.

Danish braid.

Read, layers of sweet buttery dough enclosing whatever filling you can dream about. And shaped into a lovely-looking braid.
Oh so marvellous!

The experiment
As said above, the Danish braid is made from:
- a pâte briochée feuilletée [egg-based yeasty laminated dough]
- a simple vanilla crème pâtissière [custard]
- a sprinkle of insanely good dark chocolate chips

Before I begin, let me assure you that unlike most yeasty doughs, Danish pastry is very quick to make.
The recipe calls for a five-hour rest once the final turn is made, but trust me, I started making the dough at two in the afternoon, and by six o’clock, the braid was out of the oven.
Sure I did bypass – or at least, reduce – a couple of steps, but the end result was beyond my expectations. Taking risks sometimes pays off.

Anyway, let’s move onto what I first intented to start with. The dough. Perfect as it is.

Made from flour, yeast, sugar and salt, to which milk, eggs and vanilla extract are added, and into which a beurre manié (simply butter mixed with a little flour) is encased; it is one of the most forgiving doughs I’ve ever worked with.

The détrempe is chilled for 30 minutes before the beurre manié is spread onto its lower two thirds. The dough is then folded into what could be called a business-letter fashion.
This is the first tour [turn].

After another chill in the fridge, the dough is rolled and folded; into three, according to the recipe, and into four for me. Making a double turn makes for a quicker process, without a loss in quality.
I love double turns.

The dough is chilled again and then folded in order to complete a single turn.
Then, the recipe calls for a long rest in the fridge. And well, I’ve been a bad baker here. Daring, but still bad.
I managed to wait for a dozen of minutes before rolling out the dough into a 1/2cm thick rectangle. I guess the fact that I kneaded the détrempe for almost ten minutes helped the gliadin and glutenin to come together into the darling gluten.
I love double turns and relaxed gluten.

Quite evidently, I put all those resting time to use by getting the filling – a vanilla speckled pastry cream – ready.
And this is all simple. Egg yolks, cornflour, vanilla seeds, sugar and milk. The milk was brought to the boil, along with the vanilla seeds and sugar.
I mixed the egg yolks and cornflour into a smooth paste; tempered this mixture with the warm milk, then put everything back in the pan and cooked the cream over low heat until thick.

As you can see, left the cardamom and orange juice out. Ornage juice isn’t a great thing to use in baked good. Sure it does bring flavour, but also acidity. Hence, it’s way better to use orange zest instead of juice.

Once I the dough and filling were both put together, it’s time for some shaping action.
The dough is cut to a mere 20 x 30cm rectangle. And cut into what reminds me of an Indian totem shape.

I then piped the crème pâtissière onto the centre of the dough, sprinkled with chocolate chips – yes, you do read right: amazingly delicious Barry Callebaut chocolate chips –, and folded the lateral dough stripes over so the whole thing forms a pretty braid.

Since my braid was around 30 cm long and 8cm wide, it fitted perfectly the Pyrex loaf pan I took from my parents house the last time I visited.
I left the braid in there for an hour, until it doubled in size, then baked it – still in the pan (to prevent it from ‘opening’) in a hot oven for 30 minutes.

Sooooo…
This challenge is one of my favourites so far. The braid was so very yummy. I love how the pastry turned out: flaky, yet très-brioche. And I think the crème pâtissière brought a pleasing softness.
I’ll definitely make this again.

Sometimes seducing a guy is a very easy task: you think, you wink, you double blink – dans la poche [easy peasy].
And other times it just isn’t; no matter how hard a girl tries, nothing happens.Back in 1998, I remember this boy in my class whose hair definitely recalled Son Gohan’s (as a Super Saiyan – c’est evident).
It seemed he fancied anything but me; well he must have changed his mind.
Two years later, when I brought him a jar of some marmalade I had made I saw sparkles in his eyes.
I will never forget that day, the day he fell in love with me.
See! All it needs to win a guy’s heart is a jar of marmalade.

That day was now more than six years ago; though, whenever I try to play the lovely-and-adoring-girlfriend and bring breakfast to bed, I can get two different faces: either the as – grumpy – as – usual or the I – love – you marmalade – so – much.
You’ll guess the latter is only found when a fat pot of marmalade is sitting on the tray.
Hopefully I can never run out of it. Indeed I’m a very lucky girl and have a beautiful bitter orange tree in my garden, which gives dozens of oranges every other year.

Bitter oranges
The oranges from my garden are slightly smaller than regular oranges and thus are perfect for jam making as the pith isn’t too big.
If making marmalade, you must use organic non treated oranges.
Even though my oranges are 100% organic I wash them to get rid of bugs or earth/sand traces.

How does marmalade solidify? – Pip is the word
What I really like about this marmalade is that you don’t have to use any extra pectin as the pips provide enough of this gelling substance.
Pectin is a molecule made of different groupings of polysaccharides (complex sugars) and allows the formation of a gel.
There are two types of pectins: HM and LM which indicates the degree of etherification of the molecule. The higher the etherification, the faster the gel will set.Bitter orange’s pectin and more generally, citrus fruits’ pectin, is HM (High Methoxyl) and can only form a gel in presence of acid (orange) and sugar. What a lucky (and delicious) coincidence!

Here we enclose the pips in muslin bags and soak them in the orange/water mixture so they release their pectin.

Bitter orange marmalade

This is not really a recipe as the quantities of water and sugar are utterly dependent upon how many oranges you have.
What you have to remember is that you’ll need:
1,8kg of water for each kg of orange
1,3kg of caster sugar for each kg of the orange/water mixture
Then you all you have to do is follow the steps. Easy!

Note – the marmalade will look runny at first but will solidify when resting.
It’s quite unusual to let the jars sit, open until the jam is set, but it allows the gel to form evenly.

Note bis – I just love this marmalade spread on hot crusty bread!Note ter – Take in consideration the fact that this marmalade is made over three consecutive days.