Strange attractors

I saw my first wild hummingbird in the back yard of this very house, the very first day we came, when I was la_marquise_de_'s auxiliary. I've seen others since in other gardens, but not here.

Time to change that. I am planning to grow plants which I am assured will attract the little darlings. As we know, I know nothing from flowers, but nevertheless: I take writ as gospel, and have just laid out seed for nasturtiums (I know nasturtiums! You can eat nasturtiums!) and zinnia (I don't know zinnia. Can you eat zinnia?). Next up, scarlet runner beans along the back fence behind the herb garden (at last! a real vegetable! with apparently attractive properties!).

I'll let you know if anything occurs. Birdwise or otherwise.

Coo

A whole troop of helicopters just flew over, escorting a large plane down to Moffett Field. Wonder what that was all about?

[EtA: and two more big planes, in formation. Something's going on, yup. There go two more...]

Marmalade

One spare recipe makes a post, right? Cathyn asked me how I made my marmalade, and I told him; and then I thought, two birds with one stone, post it for everyone.

So: this is my process which is mine, developed through long ages (well, two years? Maybe three?). Technically this is an Oxford marmalade (viz Seville oranges and quite long cooking), but I think it would adapt to other citric fruits.

First, wash and weigh your fruits. Remember that figure.

Now put them in a big heavy pot and cover them with water. Remember that they probably float, so don't be deceived into adding too much water (but don't worry about it either; if you have to cook off extra water, you just get darker richer marmalade). Boil the whole fruits for an hour, then leave them soaking in that same water overnight.

Next day, fish them out and leave the liquid in the pan. Lay doubled-over muslin or cheesecloth in a colander over a bowl. Cut each fruit in half, scoop out all the innards - flesh and seeds together - and dump same in the colander.

Take sugar equal to the original weight of fruit (you did remember that figure, right?), stir it into the liquid in the pan, and set it over a very low flame. Stir occasionally, while you go back to the hollow rinds of your boiled fruit.

Cut each rind into shreds, depending how chunky you like your marmalade, and add those to the pan. Keep stirring to help the sugar dissolve. (You can also warm the sugar in a low oven before you add it; that helps too. I used to buy confectioners' sugar in the UK, but I can't find it over here. Don't buy the stuff with pectin added; you do not need extra pectin. Trust me on this.)

Tie up all the scooped innards in their muslin or cheesecloth, to make a bag of it. Squeeeeze out all the liquid you can, into the bowl beneath (which will already have caught a lot of drippings). Add that liquid to the pan; then add the bag of innards. Retain the colander in the empty bowl; you will need it later.

Don't let the liquid boil until the sugar has dissolved. Once you're happy that it has, bring the thing to a vigorous boil. Stir it often. If you have a thermometer, bring it up to 220-odd degrees, the setting point for jam. Whether you do or not, test it anyway on a cold saucer (see internet for details). Once it starts wrinkling, it's ready. If you're making lime marmalade, test early and often; lime seems willing to set before it should be ready.

Once it's at the setting point, turn off the heat and let it sit undisturbed for ten minutes (this helps prevent all the peel from floating to the surface in the jar. Don't ask me why, but it does). Meanwhile, fish out the bag of innards (carefully! boiling sugar! very hot innards!), set it in the colander and squeeeeeze out as much liquid as you can, using a wooden spoon or a spatula or anything except your bare hands for the purpose.

Empty all that extra liquid back into the pan; it's not just full of flavour, it's full of pectin too.

If there's any scum sitting on the surface of your pot, stir a lump of butter into it. That dissolves the scum. Don't ask me why.

Meanwhile, ever since you warmed the sugar in the oven, you've been sterilising jars in there too, right? See internet for details. Or you could just run them through a dishwasher cycle with no soap, that works too.

Fill your hot jars. Carefully. Apply clean lids - using oven gauntlets: not-quite-boiling sugar! very hot jars! - and allow to cool.

Wipe off any sticky spillage, label up and you're done.

Sigh

I have a hell of a lot of work I really need to get done. Also, I have to stay in the house anyway, to guard the cleaners when they come from excursions of cat.

Turns out that today is one of those days where actually I just want to go out into the garden and stay there, planting and weeding and plotting and such, or just sitting on a bench to read O'Brian.

In actual news, though, there is a teeny tiny plant a couple of feet away from my little lemon tree, and I don't know what it actually is but it does look awfully like a teeny tiny lemon tree. Is that even possible, that it might be a volunteer? That I might have a teeny tiny spreading orchard here? (Even if so I'll need to move it eventually, it's too damn close in the long term - but we are not in the long term here, not by a long chalk. For now I shall leave it strictly alone, and see what it does. What it turns into.)

Also, it is borne in upon me that it's going to be years - maybe years'n'years - before the teeny tiny bay tree that I bought grows big enough to give up even a single leaf to my kitchen. I should probably buy another, more mature example.