Marmalading

I love marmalade. I'm not really a jam fan (too sickly sweet, unless it's blackcurrant) but marmalade is a whole other world of eyes-closed-in-rapture deliciousness. It has to be thick cut. It has to be bitter. It can't be too sweet. And it's best served on hot, white, thickly buttered toast. With coffee. Plenty of coffee.

Top tip #1: make marmalade on a cold, miserable January day - the sights and smell of citrus do wonders to lift even the glummest of moods.

Top tip #2: set a timer so you don't get so engrossed in the whole process of slicing and squeezing that you're 20 minutes late for a work call.

Top tip #3: set a timer so that you don't get so engrossed in the work call that when you finally make it back downstairs an hour and a half later you can hardly see the kitchen for the citrus-scented cloud.

I don't own a cooking thermometer, so I went old-school and used the fool proof "cold saucer test". Unfortunately I'd underestimated the number of saucers I would need, so soon ran out and had to switch to the "dripping off the spoon" test. It took a lot longer than the recipe stated for it to reach setting point, which was particularly surprising considering it had had an hour and a half rapid boil rather than a gentle simmer due to my work call, but eventually, we got there. Watching the rolling boil change as it reached setting point was rather mesmeric. And oh, the smell!

I finally, 6 hours later, wrangled the hotter-than-the-sun amber liquid into some equally hot jars (my fingers can testify to the excruciating temperatures of both), and tightened the lids, trapping in the Spanish sunshine.

And there it is. Jars of amber coloured bitter-sweet joy to tuck away in the cupboard for many delicious breakfasts over the months ahead.

Now just to clear up the sticky chaos of the kitchen. Any tips for removing solidified marmalade glue from an induction hob?