I want to bring up two things I’ve taken issue with over the past week: dating, and the word curd. I don’t like either of them, and have no solutions to propose, but let’s discuss. Topic one: dating. I loathe dating. Sure, it has always been laced with thrill and misery, but I propose that my fellow generation’s way of approaching dating is fundamentally different from that of my parents, grandparents or grandparents. Men and women are pretty much on the same level now, thank goodness. With equality, however, comes massive ambiguity.
These days men are no longer obligated to make the first move, and I am told that they often are too intimidated to try. This is unfortunate because I don’t have the guts to try, either. Official dates are rare and most often, I find myself confused at the proposed prospect of hanging out. Just what does he mean, let’s hang out?
In my experience, these repeat undefined casual dating experiences don’t turn into relationships of substance. Rather, they tend to blow up in a poof of smoke that leaves me with a black cloud overhead and bleak hopes for finding a mate. From nothing to nothing, I find myself, once again, mourning The Thing That Never Was and wondering, why do I care? Does it really matter? Top that off with exes smattered over my Facebook feed and I can’t help but feel like I’m truly cursed. Cue Extraordinary Machine, extra-large glasses of wine and snuggles with my sweet dog, my ever-present and loyal companion.
Second topic of discussion: the word curd. It’s not a sexy word, and I assure you that this curd is very much so (not unlike the tall, broad-shouldered boy who has me all fired up and writing about the throes of dating). It’s silky smooth and tart, infused with puckery citrus flavor that is mellowed by sweet honey.
The technique I use here skips the straining step required in most curd recipes. Straining is a pain and it’s wasteful, so why bother if you don’t have to? Thanks to some magical chemical interactions between butter, eggs and natural sugars, you’ll be blessed with perfectly smooth curd from the second you take the pot off the burner. I made two batches of curd right after another, the first with Meyer lemons and the second with blood oranges. Which of the curds do I prefer? I like the tartness of the blood orange; Meyer lemons are a little too sweet here. The zing of the blood orange curd keeps me coming back for more.
I really hope you’ll give this recipe a try because if I can do it, you can do it. Twenty minutes of standing in the kitchen, juicing, zesting, mixing and stirring produce deliciously sweet-and-sour spreads that you’ll enjoy on all kinds of sweet treats. Cheery jars of curd beckon every morning when I open the refrigerator for breakfast, and I can’t resist the temptation to mix it with a big dollop of Greek yogurt and serve it on top of a slice of home-cooked molasses bread. I also love it swirled into my oatmeal, whether steel cut or old fashioned, again with Greek yogurt.
You’ll find more serving suggestions in the notes below, so hurry and get some beautiful organic citrus before citrus season ends! Locals, you can find the supplies at Native Roots Market. The owners kindly provided the citrus fruits and local honey for this recipe (thanks Sara!).
