Report:Rare Citrus: bergamots, kaffir limes, Seville Oranges
Mud Creek citrusWe are in the juicy heart of citrus season, and you just can't believe what's in the markets. It's a citrus storm out there. Yesterday at the Santa Monica Farmer's Market, I got a 10 pound bag of organic Marsh grapefruit for $4. Another five bucks for an 8-pound bag of navel oranges. Lemons at 50 cents a pound.
And that's just the normal stuff.
To explore the department of citrus curiosities, go first to Mud Creek for fresh bergamots, sweet Japanese Sudachi lemons, key limes and heritage grapefruits and pummelos.
Elsewhere in the market, I also found fresh kaffir limes (they have the thick, wrinkly look of walrus hide), Persian sweet limes (as smooth and taut as a botox-ed forehead), sweet lemons (smells like Lemon Pledge; is it in fact different than a sweet lime?) and limequats (eat them skin and all). Who knows what else might turn up: as I mentioned in an earlier post, the citrus clan descends from just three ancestral species that have repeatedly cross-bred over the past few thousand years. The citrus orchard is the playground of promiscuous bastard offspring who to this day continue their hybridizing ways, so there is really no limit to the potential number of new varieties to sample.
This morning my kitchen counter was a collection of rare citrus waiting for me to figure out what to do with it: multi-lime marmalade, tangerine with kaffir lime, sweet orange with bergamot, grapefruit and sweet lemon marmalade, candied bergamot peel, dried whole kaffir limes, et cetera.
Ripe limes are yellow! Clockwise from top: wrinkly kaffir limes, shiny sweet limes, pebbled key limes
What was not on my counter—because they were not in the market yesterday—were Seville oranges. None to be found anywhere.
Two weeks back I asked the ancient gentleman at the Betty B farmstand if he had any Seville oranges. He said that he grew them but never brought them to market because the only thing they're good for is marmalade and nobody makes marmalade any more. I told him I was looking to make marmalade and would take about ten pounds of his Seville oranges at whatever price. He said that he'd bring me some. Apparently he forgot.
"No, I don't have any," he croaked when I inquired. "You're the second person today to ask for Seville oranges."
I don't think he recalled ever haven spoken to me before.
"Can you bring somenext week?," I asked.
"Most people don't know what to do with'em," he said. "They're not good for much unless you want to make marmalade."
"There's a big marmalade trend right now," I told him. "I guarantee they'd sell if you brought some."
"I'll try to remember," he said. "I better write it down."
A few minutes later I caught wind of a rumor that Polito Family Farms might have some Sevilles, so I ran over there. They had had have a few, said the stand manager, but they were already sold out—for the season.
"Sold everything," he said. "Only had about 50 pounds. Everybody wants them after that article in the LA Times."
"David Karp?," I asked.
"Yep," he said.
"That son of a gun," I said. The Fruit Detective could set off a stampede even for a fruit as arcane and bothersome as Seville oranges. I started to worry that I might lose out on this year's crop entirely, which from a marmalade perspective would be a disaster.
When I got home, I looked up Karp's piece in the LAT and I have to give him credit: he may have ruined my chances at finding Sevilles, but it's fascinating. Karp says that after decades of being ignored by commerical growers, the Seville orange is staging a small—tiny—comeback, thanks to the productivity of one thriving orchard in an undisclosed location. Sunkist brand is even distributing a few Seville oranges at retail, mainly through ethnic markets and grocery stores in immigrant communities.
That's when it finally occurred to me: Farmers Ranch Market. I've mentioned the place before. It's a grocery store out in the Valley that's stocked for the adjacent Middle Eastern and Eastern European communities, and I've found other elusive fruit like quinces there. If any grocery store would have Seville oranges, Farmers Ranch would. I wanted to go right that moment. It was 6:33 last night when I called.
Me: What time do you close?
Older man with heavy accent: Almost...almost.
I had to wait until this morning to make the trip. My reward was the sight of perhaps 100 pounds of fruit in a bin labeled Sour Orange. I scratched the skin of one and sniffed: the real thing.
There's no mistaking Citrus aurantium, the bitter or sour or Seville orange, for its sweet cousin, Citrus sinensis. Imagine the familiar scent of an orange peel—a sweet orange peel—but without the sunny perfume of orange flowers. Imagine something oily, brooding and seductive instead. Imagine that if a sweet orange is morningtime, then a Seville orange is midnight. If a sweet orange is pure, the Seville is worldly. A sweet orange, feminine; a Seville, masculine. The sweet orange is pretty and happy and welcoming, but for all that rather commonplace. The Seville is demanding and perhaps even off-putting at first, but its complexity encompasses opposites, which is one way to understand what we mean when we talk about beauty. The Seville is the philosopher's orange.
And all that for only $1.19 a pound at Farmers Ranch.
But hurry! The season is short and I'll soon be headed back for more.
Reader Comments (9)
Oh, I can smell them from here! I've been dying to go through all my favorite lemon recipes, only using the juice and zest of Sevilles: Seville orange meringue pie, Seville orange salsa verde, Seville orange bars, Seville orange beurre blanc, Seville orange-soaked poppyseed cake, and, what I think would be best of all, Paul Bertolli's Meyer Lemon Cake from Chez Panisse Cooking--a simple glazed buttermilk cake with ample lemon zest and juice in both batter and glaze--made with Sevilles instead of lemons.
Diana Kennedy's definitive Bitter Orange Marmalade recipe is coming your way...I think you'll like it.
Decided yet what to do with that country ham...?
--tom h.
I joined a friend on a Seville orange hunt last Sunday, to no avail. Glad you were luckier with your citrus finds!
For over a year, I thought the oranges in the tree in the corner of our community garden weren't ripe... We squeezed them into margaritas and waited for them to sweeten up.
Finally, the founding grandpa of the garden clued us in -- they're Sevilles! Maybe we'll let you have some, but only after you pitch in. How about weeding the cactus bed? Ha-ha!
I am entirely jealous of your citrus glut. It sounds like you will be very busy...I am particularly excited to hear about bergamots. But, I'll be patient.
My citrus world was turned upside down when I was 10 years old and lived in Costa Rica with my family. We had a house with a citrus grove full of mystery fruit--small, bright orange mandarin-looking one, large pale green-skinned ones and more. I went for the orange fruit, thinking I would find a flavor similar to grocery store oranges in the states--and it was the most sour, bitter thing I've ever tasted. The pale green fruits were wonderfully sweet, like better versions of the oranges I knew.
Years later, I bought a Sevilla orange out of curiosity at a co-op and tried eating it out of hand, which was not a pleasant experience.
Clearly, I need to hit up the Santa Monica farmers' market for some of these less common citrus varieties!
go to Jordan's market on westwood blvd in westwood for the seville oranges and sweet persian lemons..excellent and a great store as well.
Hi Kevin - Bergamont is interesting. Isn't that a flavor used in earl grey tea? It's also got a perfume scent to it. Have you ever tried a tea infused bergamont marmalade? Sounds like it could be interesting. I may try it if I come across some bergamont. You are a great inspiration.
Hi, we have an abundance of Kaffir limes and wondering if anyone out there has a recipe for preserves made with them - they are quite pungent and I use them to fragrance the house!
We live in Melbourne Australia and they just love the hot sun and life in their pots - I really don't want to waste them.
Thanks for your help
The (re)discussion with your market farmer is absolutely perfect. It's so nice and refreshing and splendid to read something so touching, on the dastardly interwebs, that is. Thank you for the taste of California's citrus wave.
Aaaand, I'm in complete lust over the bergamot.