Preserved Citrus Marmalade: A Bright Taste of Winter

Winter at Yisrael Farms is a time of reflection, a season where the world slows down just enough for us to listen more closely. As the vibrant greens of summer fade into memory, our citrus groves awaken, offering their sun-kissed fruits as a gift to carry us through the darker months. This time of year, the farm is alive with the scent of navel oranges, Meyer lemons, blood oranges, and clementines—a fragrant promise of brighter days ahead.

The process of making marmalade is a ritual steeped in history and storytelling. As I stand in our kitchen, peeling the zest from a lemon, I can’t help but think about how citrus has always been a symbol of resilience. Like us, these fruits thrive in challenging conditions, soaking up the cool winter sun to create something extraordinary within themselves. They remind me of the power of transformation—of taking what we are given and turning it into something luminous.

Citrus Trees: A Family Legacy

Our citrus trees are more than a source of nourishment; they are a legacy. Chanowk planted many of these trees years ago, envisioning a future where their fruits would feed our family and our community. Each tree tells a story. The Meyer lemon tree, for example, was a gift from a neighbor who wanted to share her love of gardening. Now it stands tall, its branches heavy with golden orbs, ready to infuse marmalade with their delicate sweetness.

When I harvest, I feel a connection to the land and to those who came before me. The act of gathering fruit is meditative, each orange and lime a small miracle. I think about the hands that have worked this soil and the ancestors who found sustenance and joy in the harvest. This marmalade, I realize, is more than a preserve—it is a way of preserving memory.

The Alchemy of Marmalade

Turning citrus into marmalade is an act of alchemy. It begins with selecting the best fruit, their skins taut and vibrant. The preparation is deliberate, almost ceremonial: zesting, slicing, juicing. The kitchen fills with the mingling aromas of oranges and lemons, a symphony of brightness against the quiet of winter.

As I stir the pot, watching the sugar dissolve into the juice, I think about balance. Marmalade is a dance between sweetness and bitterness, each element playing off the other to create something harmonious. It’s a lesson in patience, too. The mixture must simmer slowly, allowing the flavors to meld and the pectin to work its magic. There is no rushing this process, just as there is no rushing the growth of a tree or the turning of the seasons. It's also a balance of patience and reward. The work of removing thick pitch on some of the fruits is necessary as I have learned that rushing through this step can lead to a very bitter product.

A Taste of Home

For me, marmalade is deeply personal. It’s the taste of Sunday mornings with my family, of fresh warm biscuits spread with sunshine in a jar. It’s a reminder that even in the depths of winter, there is light and warmth to be found. Each spoonful carries the vibe of Yisrael Farms, the care we put into growing our fruits and the love we pour into preserving them.

This marmalade isn’t just a condiment; it’s a connection. When I share it with friends and neighbors, I’m sharing a piece of our farm and our philosophy. It’s a way of saying, “This is who we are. This is what we cherish.”

A Recipe Rooted in Tradition

The recipe I use has evolved over the years, influenced by my love of experimentation and respect for tradition. It begins with a medley of our finest citrus: navel oranges, blood oranges, and Meyer lemons for sweetness; sometimes a handful of clementines for their floral undertones. The fruit is sliced thin, peels and all, to ensure that every part of the citrus is honored.

I combine the fruit with water and sugar, bringing the mixture to a gentle boil. As it cooks, I stir in spices like cinnamon and cardamom, grounding the brightness with warm, earthy notes. The result is a marmalade that is both complex and comforting, a reflection of the land and the season.

Preserving Community

At Yisrael Farms, we see marmalade as more than a way to preserve fruit. It’s a way to preserve community. In previous years, when the farm is quieter, we'v invited friends and neighbors to join us in the kitchen. We peel and slice together, sharing stories and laughter as the pots bubble on the stove. These moments remind me that preservation is not just about food; it’s about preserving relationships and shared experiences.

One year, a young volunteer from the city came to help. She had never made marmalade before and was fascinated by the process. As we worked, she told me about her grandmother, who used to make jams and jellies in her small apartment kitchen. By the end of the day, she left with a jar of marmalade and a promise to continue her grandmother’s tradition. This is the power of marmalade: it connects us to our roots and to each other.

A Brighter Tomorrow

As the jars of marmalade line the shelves, their golden hues catching the light, I feel a sense of accomplishment and gratitude. These preserves are a testament to the abundance of Yisrael Farms and the beauty of winter. They are a reminder that even in the quietest season, there is work to be done and joy to be found.

I invite you to try your hand at making marmalade this winter, whether with fruit from Yisrael Farms or your own garden. Let it be a meditation, a celebration, and a gift to yourself and those you love. And if you’ve never made it before, don’t worry. Start with one fruit, one jar, one step. As with all things, the journey is as rewarding as the destination.

Here’s to a bright and flavorful winter, and to the connections we preserve along the way.