Grandmarmalade

 I remember when I was very young sitting watching my grandmother cutting orange peel into strips with a small knife to make marmalade. Even then, I thought this possibly not the best use of time.
 
My mother had a metal meat grinder, the sort that screws to the table top and has a handle to turn. Making marmalade was a family affair with my sisters, cutting the fruit into quarters, picking out the pips to put in a muslin bag for the pectin and then the joy of feeding the pieces into the top of the grinder, pushing them down with the rolling pine and, best job of all, turning the handle.The pulp was forced through a disc pierced with  holes by a sort of archimedes screw onto a dinner plate. Inevitably we forgot to put a bowl on the floor underneath and  there was consternation at the sticky trickles of escaping orange juice. 

Today I used an electric blender to blitz the lot. The resulting pulp is not uniform but there, it's quick, and it will taste just the same in the end. 
In the back of my heart though I do miss the process, the enjoyment and laughter of cooking communally. 
So, at the back of my cupboard the old meat grinder lies, waiting.