Stirring Up Memories: A Marmalade-Making Sisterhood and Meghan Markle - Naked truth chapter 32
Normality sold as the latest thing after the hot bread
As ever, winter in England is grim—mega grim, dear reader. And as ever, our mood oscillates through countless shades of grey, layering lows upon lows. I’m amazed that English, for all its richness, doesn’t have a multitude of words for grey, the way Inuits have for white. But I digress...
Today, the sun made a rare appearance, and I couldn’t find my rubber boots fast enough. Jacket on, flask of tea in hand, I was off—determined to soak up as much vitamin D as humanly possible in the woods. Abbot’s Wood, a place of immense charm and tranquility. Some parts remind me of Russia—birch trees will forever mean Russia to me—so walking here always feels like reconnecting with sacred memories.
Trudging along the muddy tracks, relishing the satisfying squelch under my boots, I suddenly started giggling. I spotted a clearing in the woods and, for a split second, superimposed the image of a certain Meghan Markle from a YouTube clip I’d seen earlier—one where she and her child were running through a meadow with the grace of a gazelle. Well, that’s an insult to gazelles, but I digress.
Of course, in this chilly setting, she’d need an oversized coat dramatically sweeping the ground—because let’s be honest, everything must be impactful.
Walking is brilliant for creating scenarios, for weaving fragments of information together, merging them with the past, and arriving at some rather amusing conclusions.
Just in case you didn’t know, Martha is human. And like any human with a pulse, she enjoys a bit of gossip. She has a habit of following certain fake individuals, hoping—just hoping—that one day the world will snap out of its collective trance and finally say, The king has no clothes!
MAKING JAMS
Recently, she watched the promo for Meghan Markle’s upcoming Netflix cooking show. She also subjected herself to the AS EVERso-called “lunch” on Instagram and cringed from the very first second. It’s astonishing how hard some people try to appear authentic—and yet, fail every single time. Truly amazing.
But the moment she heard Meghan Markle mention jams, Martha nearly fainted. Come on, woman! she wanted to yell at the screen. Are you taking the piss? The sheer audacity! The patronizing tone! The idea that slapping a fancy label on a jar suddenly elevates jam-making into some revolutionary concept.
If the Western world has become so gullible that it’s lost all touch with reality, Martha—grounded in her roots and lineage—has not. She knows, as any Eastern European woman does, that making jam is basic. It’s the ABCs of cooking. In fact, she’d wager that 90% of Eastern European women have made jam at some point in their lives. It’s not groundbreaking, it’s not avant-garde—it’s just jam. And the whole spectacle is, quite frankly, laughable.
SISTERHOOD AROUND THE JAM
A few good years ago—just a year or so after moving to her new country—Martha found herself in a small village that would forever hold a special place in her heart. It was, without a doubt, the best time she ever had in England. Life there felt lighter, more connected, more real. And in the spirit of that warmth, she decided to organize a few cozy gatherings with her new friends. One of those was a session—or rather, a series of sessions—dedicated to making marmalade. Well, technically, Seville orange jam, but let’s not get caught up in semantics.
Thanks to her local gym, Martha had found a group of women who became her people. It all started in the most unassuming way: a shared smile during a Zumba class, a nod at a Body Balance session, the occasional pre-class chat, then an invitation for coffee. One coffee led to another, then lunch, then long conversations, then an Alpha group, and before she knew it, her life was woven with so many happy memories, activities, and friendships. Even now, those moments are etched in her heart. She wants to make sure that when she speaks of her time on this island, she shares the good as much as the challenging—because there was so much good.
Martha has always loved making jam. There’s something magical about the process—touching the fruit, inhaling the fresh citrus aroma, the sticky sweetness clinging to her fingers, the deep satisfaction of stirring a bubbling pot. It’s a feast for all the senses, an alchemy that transforms the simplest of ingredients into something rich and golden.
One day, while chatting with her friends, she casually mentioned making marmalade. The reaction was instant—surprised “oohs” and “reallys,” followed by a chorus of “That must be difficult!” and “How on earth do you do it?” Martha found their fascination amusing. To her, making jam was as ordinary as brewing a cup of tea, but to them, it sounded like some kind of kitchen wizardry.
So, without a second thought, she invited them over for a marmalade-making session. And that’s how, on a crisp winter morning, five women gathered in her kitchen, armed with bags of Seville oranges, sugar, and lemons, ready to dive in.
The next few hours were pure magic—peeling, slicing long ribbons of bright orange skin, their hands sticky with juice, the air thick with the scent of citrus. Laughter bubbled up between the chopping and stirring, stories spilled as easily as the sugar into the pots. There is nothing like women creating together. It’s an unspoken ritual, a weaving of shared experiences, a moment of belonging.
That day, their kitchen wasn’t just filled with the scent of marmalade—it was filled with connection. The joy, the camaraderie, the sisterhood—it was all there, simmering alongside the bubbling golden jam.
Some moments feed the body. Others feed the soul. That day, they did both.
It is soon time for making marmalade dear reader and rest assured I will invite you in the kitchen and yes, we will make it together as it is not a big deal really. No need to spend lots of money in the shops. NOPE! No need at all!
Until next time, be well!
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Reading and salivating 😍
Made my marmalade a couple of weeks ago and also froze 2k of Seville oranges for later in the year . Also made lemon curd. I love making my own preserves, something magical about it and it fills the whole senses with delight.