The Authenticity Experiment, the marmalade edition. My mother loved orange marmalade on buttered toast. She started eating it sometime in her thirties, I’m going to guess during her pregnancy of my youngest sister, Jule. Because I wasn’t in school yet, I remember what she craved when she carried Sue—toast with raspberry jam and butter. I recall sitting at this little table in our carpeted breakfast room in the yellow, rented house just 100 yards from…