Strolling through the crowded main street of Camigliatello, high in the Calabrian Sila, the brilliant green of the citrons (cedri in Italian) stood out vividly against the browns, reds and creams of fresh porcini, cheeses, chillis and salamis. It was late October, the light was fading, and the 50th Porcini fair was in full and fabulous swing. But there they were, and there we were, and resistance was futile. I returned home with this unexpected prize (as well as a bag of porcini, but more of that another day).

The cedro is a beautiful object, knobbly and elegantly elongated, with a retrousé tip and a reassuring weight in the hand. What it doesn’t have is juice. What it does have is pith and plenty of it. The essential oil embedded in the outer skin is aromatic and addictive. All the long way home in the coach I struggled to resist the pull to scratch the surface again and again for a top up sniff. It took pride of place on my kitchen table for several weeks, without fading or flabbing. I reread the chapter on Cedri in Helena Attlee’s wonderful book The Land Where Lemons Grow and pondered the citron’s fate.

I suspect that my cedro, a steal at a euro, was a late reject from the Riviera dei Cedri. This coastal stretch of western Calabria runs from Tortora in the north, down to Sangineta in the south. This is where the best citrons in the world are grown. And not just any old citrons, either. Many are etrog citrons, essential to the Sukkot celebrations of the Jewish orthodox Chabad movement. The orchards are monitored carefully to ensure that growing methods are strictly kosher. The best of the fruit, without blemish or taint, are luxuriously swaddled and sent off to Jewish communities as far afield as New York and Russia. In a lean year the perfect etrog citron can fetch a staggering S500 to the end consumer. This makes the cedro potentially the most lucrative of all citrus crops. Once the sukkot celebrations are done with, the price drops precipitously.

The thick ivory pith seems excessive, but it is actually rather remarkable. Unlike the pith of most citrus fruit, it is relatively sweet, with no more than a gentle balancing breath of bitterness. Elizabeth Minchilli in her blog, Eating My Way Through Italy, talks of a recipe she was given by road-side seller for a salad made with the pith of the cedro, dressed simply with lemon juice and olive oil. The cedro’s pith is highly absorbant, so I can imagine how good this would be, salted with a handful of black olives. It reminds me of a salad I tasted eons ago in Sicily. At the time I thought it was made with the pith of a sweet lemon (yup, that’s also a thing), but with hindsight it could well have been thin slivers of pith from a scented cedro. We ate it with fresh tuna, griddled and dressed with salmoriglio.

This year, September and October have stayed mostly sunny and warm, and the effect of this is visible in the skin of my cedro. It takes a distinct drop in temperature to trigger the transformation from green to yellow. Colour change starts properly when the average minimum daily temperature falls to below 15C (according to the Australian Journal of Crop Science). Ergo, Sicilian summer-ripening lemons can remain a brilliant green, just like my cedro. But they are still lemons, not strutting, puffed-up limes. Their taste remains lemony, and the scent of my cedro is still cedro-y.

RECIPE NOTES:

The deep spongy pith of the citron makes it ideal for home candying, but if you don’t have access to citrons, a pomelo will work almost as well.

The method is pretty straightforward, but it can’t be rushed too much. I’ve played around with different methods and the one below is my optimum distillation of them all. Some recipes suggest that the peel should be salted before candying to draw out bitterness but I tried, and despite rinsing the salted peel endlessly I couldn’t ever get rid of the last whisper of salt. Not altogether unpleasant, but a right faff.

Better to stick with three or four bouts of boiling up the zest in water, which has the dual function of stripping any latent bitterness (more important with pomelos) and also of breaking down cell walls, so that the candying sugar can get right into the flesh. If you don’t get this bit right, your peel will remain as tough as old boots throughout the candying process.

Once you start boiling up the peel in sugar syrup, make sure that a) you have enough to cover the peel itself and b) that it doesn’t thicken so much that it crystallises. Using a narrower pan to reduce evaporation. If crystals do threaten, just add a splash or two of water (hot or cold), and stir over a low heat until the liquid clears, then carry on without concern.

You will find yourself left with plenty of utterly delicious syrup, as well as your utterly delicious candied peel. It makes the basis of a fine prosecco cocktail, or dilute with sparkling water for a refreshing summer-heat quencher. I like it drizzled over icecream, with a scattering of pistachios or toasted flaked almonds, or folded into lightly whipped cream to serve with a slice of almondy cake. Or stir a little into icing sugar, to make super-bitter-sweet icing. Or add a few spoonfuls to a fruit salad to dress it right up.

Close up of the candied citron / pomelo peel

Candied Citron (or Pomelo) Peel

Citrons or pomelos
Caster or granulated sugar

Cut the citron(s) in 8 lengthways and cut out the pippy pulp – the interior is dry and won’t yield up juice, so just chuck into the composting bin. Now cut each piece into 2 or 3 long strips.

If you are using a pomelo, take a slice off the base and top, then slice through the pith, cutting down to the inner segments, but not into them. Peel the thick wodge of skin away from the fruit. Set the inside apart to eat now or later. Cut the skin into long strips roughly a centimeter wide.

Bring a pan of water to the boil, drop the peel in and simmer for 10 minutes. Drain, discard water, and repeat with fresh water 3 more times. By the end of this process the peel will be much softened and translucent. If not, repeat the process one more time.

Weigh the drained peel, then weigh out 1.5 times as much sugar. Tip into the rinsed saucepan, and add the same weight in water. Stir over a moderate heat until the sugar has completely dissolved to make a clear syrup. Add the zest, bring up to the boil and simmer for 4 minutes. Turn off the heat and leave the peel to cool in the syrup. Cover the pan and set aside for at least 3 hours, or overnight.

Now return the pan to the heat and repeat the process. And again, and then again and finally one more time. So that’s 4 syruppy sessions in all. If you schedule them right you can get all done in 2 days, 4 minutes in the morning, 4 minutes in the evening. If the syrup gets too thick and threatens to crystallise, or caramelize on the bottom of the pan add a little splash more water (see recipe notes).

By now the peel will be translucently sugar-sated and preserved. Drain off and store the syrup in the fridge, but spread the candied peel out on a rack over a tray to drip dry. This will probably take some 3-4 more days. Store in an airtight tin until ready to use.

Enjoyed this recipe? browse more classic Puglian recipes in the recipes category.

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My Beautiful Citron & Candied Citron Peel

Candied Citron (or Pomelo) Peel