This isn’t a recipe. I am just proud of my little tree. Barely taller than me, it grows on the afternoon side of the house, outside my kitchen window. It receives no attention or care, yet produces the juiciest most flavoursome fruit. Last year we made tonnes of marmalade. This year I left the fruit too long, thinking we might do the same. I finally got around to picking them this afternoon. They were a bit soft and squishy. The skins had a dried appearance, probably because of the drought. However, when cut they yielded plenty of sweet tasty juice. The bagful of ageing oranges I stripped from the tree yielded two litres and a glassful of delicious juice, now chilling in the refrigerator.
My word! Why can’t bought juice taste like that?
I am guessing that in the process of shrivelling on the tree in the last month or so of drought, the juice in these fruit became concentrated. It has the most delicious intense orange flavour and is very sweet. Quite the best orange juice ever I can recall tasting. What a crying shame I had only two litres. Barely a litre left already!