Every winter I make yuzu syrup. The question is, Every winter since...when? I'm struggling to identify a year. Our yuzu tree arrived in 2020. But had I only made yuzu kosho before that - the intense condiment made from unripe yuzu and green chiles? Did I make yuzu syrup from the ripe fruit later that year? I need to dive into the archives.
The fruit in the photo above came from Flavors by Bhumi, a grower in New Jersey that also sources fruit from California. The trees, Citrus junos, are relatively cold hardy but still require some protection here, in USDA growing zone 7b (-ish). Container-grown trees should still come indoors for winter.
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And these are not yuzu, but bergamot. Yes, the same bergamot that is in Earl Grey tea. The same bergamot that inflects many perfumes, including the cologne my father wore, Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet. I have a tiny bottle of it, that I took from his bathroom cabinet after he died, in 2018 (the same year my second book was published, which was in the same month we lost our previous lease, and the same year my one brother, Francois, accused me of stealing a fortune's worth - apparently - of Kruger Rands from my father, who had dementia and lost track of things, and who was convinced that he had lost them. The same year my other brother, Anton, stormed into my mom's room hours after my father had died, and pulled me out physically, demanding to know the whereabouts of said Kruger Rands. Threats.
After my mom's death last year, Anton realized, at last, that I had not, in fact, taken them. That was a surprise. But Francois had slipped up. He doesn't often, and when he does it's helpful. Anton got in touch with me the day my mom died. It was the first time we'd spoken since my father died. He hadn't got in touch with me weeks or days before to tell me my mother was gravely ill (a carer called me on a Thursday to tell me my mother was "unwell." I landed in Cape Town on Monday evening, and she died in my arms just after 4am on Tuesday. I did not get there in time for her to know I was there. Not something I will ever forget.)
The day she died, I got that brotherly call, not to commiserate but to demand the whereabouts of the missing gold. I hadn't slept in three days. But it brought to light the slip-up: Some years ago Francois messaged me and sent me a picture: a pile of shiny Kruger Rands, apparently missing quite a few. He had arranged them on the cover my first book, which I thought was an interesting choice. Look what I found! he said. I asked where, and when he said, In the safe (that multiple people had searched, many times), I knew. Huh. The surprise was that he had never told Anton. His buddy. He had counted on the two of us never speaking again, and fanned the flames of animosity as required. And now, fast forward to 2024, they were apparently gone, again! But at least the blame had shifted from me. And if I am looking over my shoulder, it was only out of fear of one brother now, not both.
I learned, that early morning after my mother died, that Francois and his wife had arranged about a week earlier for an undertaker to be ready to fetch her body when the time came. Then they went on vacation, leaving her. She never regained consciousness. Three days after her funeral Francois arranged a meeting to dissolve a family trust. I was on a plane to Brooklyn.
There's a tiny amount of liquid left in the Penhaligon's spray bottle. A quick spritz into the air and it summons, immediately, my father, as though exiting our Brooklyn bathroom (where he never set foo), close-shaved, sillage in the hallway, a crisp collared shirt, cufflinks, suit, shining, leather-soled shoes. Tie pin.
You can make this fermented syrup with any citrus. The sugar and fruit sit together in a jar, the granular sugar dissolving rather quickly into a translucent, aromatic syrup. Left longer, the sweetness evolves and becomes more complex. The fruit slices become gradually crystalline and soft, and very edible.
The recipe for yuzu syrup (or any-other-citrus-syrup) is up on Gardenista.
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Winter Walks and Picnics