In the UK, marmalade is a bit like Marmite, you either love it or hate it. Those that love it generously spread it on toast for the last course of a British breakfast. That is the memory I have of my grandparents when I was young. To be honest, it was a bit of a struggle for my brother and myself at breakfast time, with the sound of crunching crispy toast. And we were not fans of the taste of marmalade at the time, so were not able to crunch on toast at the same time to block out the sound. Marmalade, with its bitter taste, is not for children, despite its number one fan being Paddington Bear. In a recent survey, only 1% of marmalade purchases in the UK were made by under 28s. But as with many foods that were traditionally made at home, marmalade making at home has seen a revival during the pandemic, along with sales of shop bought jars increasing by 20%. With so many people working from home, a proper breakfast has become more common rather than the ever-increasing culture of grabbing a Costa coffee and muffin on the way to the office.

I cannot remember exactly when I personally discovered a taste for marmalade, but I do remember when I started to make it myself. In my early days of being in Tokyo, my good friend Michael (AKA Magic Michael) introduced me to the wonderful world of natsumikan, the large bitter orange that you can see in gardens across Japan from January through to May. Too bitter to eat raw, they are quite high in pectin and make a great marmalade, very similar to a classic British orange marmalade. Michael had been making marmalade for a number of years and showed me the best way to do it. There are many ways to make a marmalade and Michael’s recipe was perfect for the natsumikan, with a clear perfectly set jelly and thin cut peel. And thereafter it became an annual tradition for Michael and I to head out into residential areas in Setagayaku to hunt out natsumikan trees full of fruit. We would ask the owner whether we could take a few natsumikan and in return we would drop off some marmalade. Sometimes we got a swift “dame” but mostly people were happy to have a chat and let us help ourselves.

At that time, I was already making some chutneys and other preserves at home, just for fun and to give to friends. But it was the quality of the natsumikan marmalade that inspired me to see if there was an opportunity in Tokyo to produce and sell traditional British preserves. And Swan & Lion was therefore born as a British food brand in 2013. People ask me which of our products I like the most, which I can never answer. I love them all equally! But the natsumikan marmalade does have a special place in my heart, as the inspiration to start Swan & Lion.

This year we have a new supplier for our fruit, Mochida san, who runs a small fruit and vegetable in Kawasaki. Every year, the amount of fruit on each tree can vary greatly. Luckily for us, this year was a bumper crop for Mochida san’s natsumikan tree and we recently picked up two large boxes of fruit. We also picked some beautiful organic lemons, which we use for the marmalade making and for tarts and other products. So, we have been busy in the kitchen producing marmalade to sell in jars. We also make marmalade for our Jaffa Tarts and our mince pie filling, and we make our own candied peel for our Christmas Puddings. The humble natsumikan, often seen dropping unused from trees, gives us so much in our kitchen.

Over the years we have made thousands of jars of marmalade, but each time we make it I am still a little nervous about how the product will turn out. Getting the perfect set jelly is different each cook and you only really know how it is until the next day after it has time to cool down. Speaking with my Mum this week she told me her 2022 marmalade is little firmer than usual, so even the experts have problems from time to time!

A Brief History of British Marmalade:

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, marmalade was originally “a preserve consisting of a sweet, solid, quince jelly …. cut into squares for eating ”. These quince pastes were variously known as marmalades (from the Portuguese ‘marmelo’ – quince) and were imported from Spain. The candied flesh of oranges began to be used to make pastes as well in the 16th century, alongside the preserving of the peel. The name “marmalade” seems to have become a generic description for fruit preserves. The recipe book of Madam Eliza Cholmondeley, dated around 1677 has one of the earliest recipes (for a Marmelet of Oranges) that compares to the marmalade we know today. 

The first commercially made marmalade is thought to have been produced in Dundee, Scotland by the Keiller family. Janet Keiller lived from about 1735 to 1813 and was a shopkeeper. She married John Keiller in 1762. He was a merchant and she ran a shop selling a variety of cakes, biscuits, jams, jellies and sweets.

The traditional story about the origins of the Keiller marmalade is that John Keiller was in Dundee’s docks one day when he encountered a storm damaged Spanish ship trying to offload a cargo of Seville oranges that were too bitter to eat, and therefore difficult to sell. John brought them for a good price, and Janet thought it would be worth trying them in an existing recipe she had for quince jam. Recipes for marmalade, even orange marmalade, already existed, but what set Janet Keiller’s apart from the rest was the inclusion of slices of orange skin.

The product was sold in Janet’s shop as “chip marmalade” and instantly became hugely popular. In 1797 the Keiller’s set up a factory to produce their marmalade in Dundee in the name of their son, James Keiller, and Keiller’s Marmalade became the most famous brand. By the end of the 1800s, Keiller’s Marmalade was being shipped throughout the British Empire and Dundee became known as the home of British marmalade.

To this day, British marmalade is made using the bitter Seville Orange shipped from Seville in Andalusia, Spain to the UK in January.

Time for one of my favourite soul songs, from 1975 by LaBelle – Lady Marmalade. I was 10 when this was released and my French was just good enough to translate “voulez vous couchez avec mois, ce soir”.

The song is about a New Orleans prostitute, Lady Marmalade, but lead singer Patti Labelle is quoted as saying she did not know what she was singing about. Maybe her French wasn’t as good as mine.