The kitchen is aglow with citrus fruit. The lemons came with their wide, glossy leaves intact. Oranges, their skin flashed with viridian at the stem and sporting thin, pointed leaves, smelled of their own blossom. A box of wrinkled green makrut limes, warty and beautiful, now sit waiting to be grated into a green curry sauce. There is even a handful of bergamots, the yellow-green lemons whose tantalisingly perfumed zest I will use in a pot of citrine yellow curd.
The tight-skinned citrus varieties, such as the neat clementines and larger, almost perfectly round Valencias, are inevitably the juiciest and a world away from the watery flavour of the easypeel varieties with baggy skins. Bergamot lemons and yuzu are a rare find, but worth tracking down during their brief season in midwinter. The juice of the bergamot is peppery with a kick of sherbet about it and is best used in tandem with that of a classic lemon. On its own, its sourness and spice is almost too much. Even a small amount will pucker your lips and prickle your tongue.
I used a little of the Spanish orange’s juice in a dressing for roasted potatoes with chilli and plump golden raisins. A little zest, finely grated, wouldn’t have gone amiss either. Later, I whisked up a couple of pots of deeply perfumed lemon curd. The scent was that of lemon and also of the bergamots.
The most everyday of the winter citrus is probably the blood orange. Once rare, my fridge is rarely without them during the winter months. The ruby-fleshed fruits are something for juicing, but also for slicing and tossing with crisp-skinned pork or duck, probably as a Monday lunch with the remains of Sunday’s roast. A watercress salad with blood oranges and toasted almonds is something I can never get enough of.
The fruit I look forward to most of all are the knobbly citrus I keep in the fridge simply to smell. Those whose skin, pierced with a thumb nail, send a spritz of clean, bright juice into the air, like perfume from an atomiser. Refreshing, uplifting and energising. A wake up call to brighten a winter’s day.
Potatoes with sherry, raisins and orange
Sweet, almost perfumed, these are put on the table with a plate of jamon Iberico, although thin slices of coppa di Parma would have been almost as welcome. I have always liked hot potatoes with cold meats, especially salty, rustling sautéed potatoes with slices of the day before’s Sunday roast. A scattering of fried potato cubes tossed in the pan with oil and chopped rosemary is just what I need with wedges of firm, slightly salty, sheep’s milk cheeses or a slice of cheese tart. Serves 4. Ready in just over an hour
potatoes 800g, large and floury
onions 2, large
olive oil 60ml
raisins 50g
sherry 175ml
chilli flakes ½ tsp
thyme 1 tsp
orange juice 3 tbsp
sherry vinegar 2 tbsp
Set the oven at 200C/gas mark 5.
Put a large pan of water on to boil and salt it generously. Scrub the potatoes – there is no need to peel them unless the skins are very thick – then cut them into large pieces, as you might for roast potatoes. Cook them in the boiling water for 10 minutes, then drain.
Peel and slice the onions in half, then cut each half into 4 or 5 segments. Pour the olive oil into a roasting tin, then add the onions and potatoes and toss them around to coat everything with the olive oil. Transfer to the oven and roast for 40 minutes with the occasional turn.
While the potatoes and onions are cooking, make the dressing. In a small pan, mix the raisins, sherry, chilli, thyme, orange juice and sherry vinegar. Bring to the boil, then remove the potatoes from the oven, turn them over and pour on the orange and sherry vinegar mixture, then return to the oven and continue cooking for 20 minutes.
Lemon and bergamot curd
Organic lemons, or those that have not been coated in wax, are pretty much essential here. I am often told you can wash the wax off with hot water, but I remain unconvinced (not to mention left with sticky hands). Choose unblemished lemons that haven’t been treated with anything you don’t want in your curd.
I find stirring gently with a whisk introduces just a little more lightness into this buttery preserve than using a wooden spoon, making it slightly less solid and more wobbly. If you are lucky enough to have found bergamot lemons, use half usual organic lemons and half bergamot. Your curd will be all the more fragrant.
Clean jars are essential. Fill washed glass jars with boiling water, then carefully pour it out and let them dry. The lids, too. Once made, the curd should be kept in the fridge, tightly stoppered. It should keep for a couple of weeks. Makes 2 small jam jars. Ready in 2 hours
unwaxed lemons 8, zest and juice
caster sugar 400g
butter 200g
eggs 3 and 2 egg yolks
Sterilise your jam jars: pour boiling water from the kettle into the jars and over the lids. Let them cool a little, then turn upside down and leave to dry.
Put the lemon zest and juice, the sugar and the butter, cut into cubes, into a heatproof bowl set over a pan of simmering water, making sure that the bottom of the basin doesn’t touch the water. Stir with a whisk from time to time until the butter has melted.
Mix the eggs and egg yolks lightly with a fork, then stir into the lemon mixture. Let the curd cook, stirring regularly, for about 10 minutes, until it is thick and custard-like. It should feel heavy on the whisk. Remove from the heat and stir occasionally as it cools. Pour into spotlessly clean jars and seal.
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