I’ve boarded the runaway marmalade train and can’t seem to jump off. And so we find our selves delving into this, my third marmalade-focused post in a row. Go hard or go home, right? To be honest, I’m a relative newcomer to the hallowed halls of marm, but here’s a lovely, poetic ode to this most Anglo-Saxon of spreads by Brit food writer Nigel Slater that appeared last year in the Guardian, accompanied by his Seville orange marmalade recipe. The taste of “sun on toast” – that’s exactly what I was shooting for.

Forging ahead with this citrus fest, fueled by the typical deep yearning that Canadians experience this time of year for some semblance or scrap of sunshine and warmth, I came across some peculiar orange specimens at the fruit shop. I was seeking the tastiest orange they had in stock and this happened to be a feisty Italian friend called the Oraninja.

He hails from Sicily and is nominally a blood orange, but really? He’s not so bloody. His skin nor his guts are crimson coloured, but if you look carefully there are patches of purplish red here and there. And he tastes incredibly sweet, leading me to believe that our Italian ninja is a Tarocco blood orange, the sweetest and least red of the common blood orange species currently dominating green grocer shelves.

The point is, the Oraninja is delicious and I knew he’d morph  into a mean marmalade. But this recipe can be used with any orange, really – Valencia, blood, whatev. With the ninja, it’s a rather sweet spread, but nicely balanced by the gentle bitterness of the peel. Pretty sunny, I’d venture.

(Slightly bloody) orange marmalade

Zest of 10 oranges

4 cups of juicy orange pulp

4 cups sugar

1.5 cups water

First, scrub your oranges with a vegetable brush under cold water. Using a very sharp peeler (I like my Oxo which actually has tiny little needle-sharp teeth) remove the thinnest possible slices of zest (no white stuff). Slice peel into matchsticks, or something like angel hair pasta, and put it in the water to soak.

Meanwhile, using a sharp knife, cut off all white pith surrounding the segments, then cut in half, removing the white clump of stringy pith at the centre and any seeds. Chop your juicy orange interiors and scoop them into a bowl until you’ve got about four cups.

Now mix this in with the water and zest and sugar, pour into a pot, put it on medium-low heat and stir to dissolve the sugar. Then bring to medium-high heat (something between a simmer and a low boil) and cook, stirring frequently until it sets. I cooked mine about 45 minutes, until it darkened a little and the house smelled like orange candy. Voilà!