On December 1, I arrived at a family farm in El Bolson, where I have been working as a volunteer, planting, weeding, milking, feeding a large, greedy, spotted pig named Chanchi, and spending evenings baking bread, making cheese, champagne, and empanadas.
Surrounded by gardens, where fruits and vegetables grow perceptably larger every day, it´s not surprising that my thoughts are still centered around food - what I´ll be eating, picking, and cooking for every meal.
Making almost all of what I eat with ingredients from the farm I´ve developed a deep appreciation for foods I´ve previously shyed away from - milk and mayonnaise, for example - and feel satisfied and deeply connected with whatever I eat. Working with fewer ingredients and supplies in the kitchen has also challenged and expanded both my palate and recipe book. I have a list two-pages long of recipes and experiences, and probably one hundred pictures to share when I´m back with my own computer, and can better process my experiences.
A really huge thanks to who ever is still checking, mostly you, Kyle Valade!
For now, Cynthia´s unbelievably easy mayonnaise recipe. It might not differ too much from others you´ll find, but I´ve found it irrestistably tasty.
Cynthia´s fresh-egg farm mayo
enough for sandwiches for four
one capful of store-bought lemon juice, or about 1/2 tbsp squeeshed fresh
about 1 tbsp salt
Break the egg into a tall bowl. Add the salt and lemon juice. Using an immersion blender, combine the ingredients, blending constantly while slowly pouring little-by-little oil into the mixture. Watch carefully, after about only one minute the consistency should be thick and mayo-like. The mixutre is sensitive, be careful not to over mix or the mixture will cut and the ingredients will separate.
Keep refrigerated for several days.
You can also flavor with pepper, sundried tomatoes, mustard, basil, and others.
I get frantic when I think I've botched directions. The other day in the car I was convinced I passed a road I was looking for, and decided to try some other road - just in case the town changed road names and Google didn't know. After that unsuccessful attempt I just turned around completely, only to go back in my original direction and find the right street minutes later. A similar saga almost occurred this evening when I didn't look properly for ground ginger and fetched candied ginger hoping to concoct a successful substitution. After one more just in case perusal I found ginger hiding under mustard. Silly spices.
I'm heading to Connecticut early tomorrow morning for a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving, hence the baking rush. I've been warned I will be treated with an assortment of pies, so although I've had my eye on several cake recipes - most involving ginger - I opted for a second cousin of cake: a famed muffin-like biscuit that my are a staple at Markowitz Thanksgivings.
I've never used such an array of measuring devices for a single recipe before, and I was so happy to be doing so in my mom's kitchen. She has a 2 tablespoon and teaspoon spoon, both of which came in very handy. She also has a pastry brush, beautiful whisks, and two real baking trays. At the moment I lack a single real one.
Mom's Thanksgiving Biscuits
adapted from Bon Appetit
2 1/4 c flour
4 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
3/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 c canned pumpkin
1/4 c whipping cream
1/3 c (packed) light brown sugar
2 tbsp honey
1 tbsp fresh lemon zest
1/2 cup chopped walnuts, toasted
glaze and garnish
16 - 20 walnut halves
2 tbsp whipping cream
2 tbsp honey
Preheat oven to 375°, with a rack in the center. Combine flour, baking powder, ginger, cinnamon, salt and cardamom in medium bowl . Add butter and rub in with fingers until mixture resembles coarse meal. Whisk pumpkin, cream, sugar, honey and lemon peel in another medium bowl. Add the pumpkin mixture and chopped nuts to dry ingredients and stir until incorporated.
Turn the dough out onto floured surface and knead gently until smooth, about 8 turns. Roll out the dough to 3/4-inch thickness. Using floured 2-inch-diameter cookie cutter, cut out rounds. Place biscuits on the baking sheet with a little space between.
Whisk the cream and honey left for the glaze in a small bowl and brush atop each biscuit. Garnish each with 1 walnut half. Bake for about 25 minutes, until the biscuits are light golden and a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean. Let biscuits cool on a rack for 15 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature. You can reheat by wrapping the biscuits in foul and warming in an oven at 350°F for 5 minutes or so.
Delicious as a breakfast or appetizer.
I love that this recipe is a little eccentric, but after reading reviews of a similar recipe on Epicurious I was a bit hesitant to make this for a crowd. A few who had tried it were disgusted. Others adored it, recounting how it has become a regular staple and a hit at dinner parties.
With fingers crossed I stocked up on beans, lugged out our biggest stock pot, and went to work.
There are a few really delightful things about this recipe. It's incredibly simple, requiring basic ingredients and light chopping only. It's easy to double and store, and, as it turns out, terrific for a hungry and mostly vegetarian crowd. What I loved most, though, is how the flavors blend as the chili cooks.
I have a really terrible habit of sampling my recipes at every possible stage as I cook. This usually leaves me too full to properly enjoy the finished product, but I can never resist. After stirring the beans, coffee, tomatoes, sugar, and spices into the garlic-onion combo, I collected some broth on my spoon for the first taste. Disappointment. Watery, bland, but worst of all, bitter. Nervous that I'd be doing little more than serving a cup of bad joe to my friends, I dumped in a generous addition of sugar, and left the kitchen wanting to separate myself from what I was certain would be a disaster.
I returned to a warm and deliciously smelling kitchen. The chili had morphed into a gorgeous black stew, sweet and surprising. With time the flavors melded into a delicious blend. I didn't notice any repercussions from the sugar overdose, although more than one person asked, "What makes this so sweet?" Still, no complaints. Add "forgiving and flexible recipe" to the list of reasons why this is so great.
Experiment with this recipe. I stayed fairly faithful to the version printed here, adding only a few more tomatoes and onions, and that extra sugar. For the next time I'd like to add bell peppers or squash, or substitute the coffee for a mole-like chocolate version. Try serving it with polenta or a dense cornbread.
I'm sorry I don't have a picture to share, but I plan on making another batch very soon and I promise to document it.
Black Bean Coffee Chili
adapted from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian
3 tbsp neutral oil,
2 onions, chopped
2 tbsp minced garlic
3 c canned tomatoes, chopped (don't bother to drain their liquid)
2 c freshly brewed coffee, or 1 1/2 c freshly brewed espresso, or 2 tbsp espresso powder
2 tbsp chili powder
1/4 c dark brown sugar or 3 tbsp molasses
1 3-in cinnamon stick
2 cans of black beans (or 1 pound dried black beans)
salt and pepper to taste
Heat the oil over a medium high heat in a large pot with a tight-fitting lid. When hot, add the onions, and cook, stirring occasionally until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another minute. Stir in the tomato, coffee, brown sugar, cinnamon, and beans. Add water to cover. Bring to a boil and then lower the heat so the liquid bubbles steadily. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the flavors have blended, anywhere from 30 to 90 minutes (although the chili can sit longer on a very low heat to stay warm). Add salt and pepper to taste and adjust the seasoning.
The recipe was not originally my mother's, but over the years it has become hers famously. She's experimented with other recipes, but I never have. I'm convinced that hers reigns supreme. In college I'd come back from grocery shopping with a surplus of bananas. I'd bake a loaf regularly, creating customized versions for friends. Sophie likes hers loaded with chocolate chips, Sam prefers it plain. I experimented with vegan versions for Susannah and threw in raisins, coconut, and chocolate when I kept one just for myself. No matter how it was, everyone raved without exception. I felt silly taking credit for something so simple, and only ever revealed one secret: dust sugar along the center before putting the loaf into the oven. It creates a delightfully sweet crunch. The middle pieces are always everyone's favorite part.
I came home yesterday to my parent's house in New Jersey, and went almost immediately to the library. I was so happy to find Molly Wizenberg's book A Homemade Life. Later that night my mother was flipping through it and pointed out to me Molly's recipe for banana bread with chocolate and crystallized ginger. You know, I have some ginger in the cabinet, she said to me. And I'd really love to come home tomorrow to find this. So that was that.
Molly's recipe - by no means complicated - is far more intricate than the one I grew up on. I love that she includes yogurt and not so much butter that the bread becomes rich. With sugar on top, hers tastes remarkably like a chocolate chip edition of my mother's: moist, dense, and banana-y - with the sporadic zest of ginger.
Molly W's Banana Bread with Chocolate and Crystallized Ginger
adapted from A Homemade Life
6 tbsp unsalted butter
2 c flour
3/4 c sugar
3/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 c semisweet chocolate chips or chunks
1/3 finely chopped crystallized ginger
2 large eggs
1 1/2 c mashed banana (about 3 large bananas)
1/4 c well-stirred whole-milk plain yogurt
1 tsp vanilla extract
Preheat the oven to 350 with a rack in the center. Grease a 9x5 loaf pan with cooking spray or butter.
In a small bowl microwave the butter until just melted. Set aside to cool slightly. In a large bowl, whisk the flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt. Add the chocolate and ginger. Combine well and set aside. In a medium bowl lightly beat the eggs with a fork. Add the mashed banana, yogurt, melted butter, and vanilla.
Pour the banana mixture into the dry ingredients. Stir gently with a rubber spatula until just combined. The batter will be thick and somewhat lumpy, but there should be no unincorprated flour. Scrape the batter into the pan and sprinkle the top with sugar.
Bake until the loaf is a deep shade of golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 - 60 minutes. Cool the loaf in the pan for five minutes, then tip it out onto the rack and let cool completely before slicing.
We're preparing now for a farewell potluck this evening, trying to plan an array of dishes that will make use of thyme and fresh ricotta in the fridge and a chicken Joe has had frozen for months. So far the menu will include an espresso black bean chili, a roast chicken, maybe ricotta gnocchi or pizza, and likely a banana bread.
Off to China town, Jean Talon, and our favorite cheapy grocery store.
Jim Lahey's No-knead Olive Bread
3 c bread flour
1 1/2 cups roughly chopped pitted kalamata olives
3/4 tsp active dry yeast
1 1/2 c cool water
additional flour and cornmeal for dusting
In a medium bowl combine the flour, olives, and yeast. Add the water. With your hand mix until you have a wet, sticky dough, about 30 seconds. Cover the bowl with a towel or plastic bag and and let sit at room temperature until the surface is dotted with bubbles and the dough is more than doubled in size, 12 to 18 hours.
When the first rise is complete, generously dust a work surface with flour. Ulsing a rubber spatula or well floured hands scrape the dough out of the bowl in one piece. Flour your hands again to lift the edges of the dough in toward the center and tuck in the edges of the dough towards the bottom to make it round.
Lay a tea towel flat and generously dust it with cornmeal or flour. Place the dough on the towel, seam side down. Fold the ends of the tea towel loosely over the dough to cover it and place it in a warm, draft-free spot to rise for 1 to 2 hours. The dough is ready when it is almost doubled. If you gently poke it with your finger, it should hold the impression. If it springs back, let it rise again for several minutes (15 - 30).
Half an hour before the end of the second rise, preheat the oven to 475° with a rack in the lower third. Place a heavy pot, preferably with a lid, in to preheat as well.
When the oven is heated and the rise is complete, remove the pot. Carefully unfold the tea towel and quickly but gently invert the dough into the pot so the seam side up. If you have an oven-safe lid, cover the pot and bake for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes remove the lid and continue baking until the bread is a deep chestnut brown, but not burnt, about 15-30 minutes. If you do not have a lid, just bake the bread from 45-60 minutes until it has reached a deep chestnut brown color. You can also place a roasting pan on the bottom rack and fill with 2 cups of water to help achieve a crusty crust.
When done, use pot holders to gently lift the bread out of the pot and place it on a rack to cool completely.
Growing up we never kept pickles in the house and so they remained a special treat. Sometimes my dad would surprise us with a quart when he picked up the Sunday morning bagels. I'd squeal and have three before even considering a bagel.
Every so often I'm overcome with mad pickle cravings. I buy a jar and devour the whole thing within a day. The master recipe for these quick pickles warns that they're so good you won't be able to keep them in the house for more than a week.
2 lbs Kirby cucumbers (about 8)
1 c boiling water
1/3 c kosher salt
1 bunch fresh dill
5-7 garlic cloves, crushed
Halve or quarter the cucumbers. Boil 1 cup of water. Transfer the water to a large bowl. Add the salt, stirring until dissolved. If the mixture needs to be cooled, add a few ice cubes. Add the cucumbers, garlic, and dill to water mixture. Add water until cucumbers are fully submerged. Leave to rest at room temperature. Taste the cucumbers after 4 hours if quartered or 8 if halved. Add enough water to allow the cucumbers to be fully submerged. If necessary, rest a plate with a weight on top to keep them down. Let rest anywhere from 4-48 hours until the cucumbers have reached desired amount of pickliness.
Refrigerate and store in their brine.
*Because there is no vinegar in this recipe, the pickles will not last more than two weeks.
For what should be the last time, I stopped by the club to pick a few things up and say goodbyes. Diana is really so sweet. Once Sylvia left she would bring me in daily food treats, two of whatever she was eating - hardboiled eggs, yogurts, croissants. Only once did she suggest I go upstairs and sit with her while I eat. Otherwise, it seemed that the gesture of giving was simply enough for her. Caitlin asked me today if it's weird to be done. It's not. I don't feel anything, not even relief. A few weeks ago when I was practically counting down the hours I realized that I have been there for six months. Six months. Half a year. I thought immediately, of course, of all of the other more worthwhile jobs that I could have held in that time, of all the work that would have maybe made me happier. What a mistake. If only I could have made up my mind in April to stay in Montreal through the summer. If only. Wouldacouldashoulda. I'm trying now instead to see the glass half-full kind of way.
Joe met me at the club to collect the 380 empty beer bottles that were left. We loaded them in, and then out of the car only to discover that our friendly grocery store wouldn't accept bottles for businesses. So off to the dump we went! Not without a treat, though. The eco-dump is so conveniently located next to Cirque de Soleil's headquarters, their clown academy, and, in the lovely Bronx-like Italian town of St. Leonard, where Joe knew of a local eatery, Cafe Milano. We ate chicken and veal sandwiches alongside a row of men standing with their lattes. Behind the counter worked a gang of hollering young Italian guys, their voices decorated with an Italian twang.
We ate around five, and, I regret to say, without an early bird's special. But it was lovely to come home to a full evening, especially one filled with Audrey Hepburn's Charade and peanut butter cookies. Joe had his heart on a recipe that called for ground peanuts. Yet again, everything felt better once I was measuring and mixing. I'm so full of salt and peanut. Joe stuck his face in the batter bowl for a taste, and then suggested sticking a dab of peanut butter between some batter for an extra kick. Everyone eventually came to the kitchen for a batter taste, and then hung around for a taste of the final product. According to Caitlin, they were perfect.
Classic peanut butter cookies
courtesy of The New Best Recipe
2 1/2 c flour
2 sticks unsalted butter, cold, but softened
1 c packed light brown sugar
1 c white granulated sugar
1 c chunky peanut butter
1 c roasted peanuts, ground
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
2 tsp vanilla
3/4 c chocolate chips, optional
Line cookie sheets with parchment paper. Set oven at bake to 350. Grind peanuts in a blender until broken, but still chunky, about 10 pulses.
Combine flour, baking powder, and baking soda in a small bowl. Set aside. Cut the butter into small chunks. In a large bowl mix (I used a hand mixer) until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the sugars, and mix until fluffy. Add the peanut butter and mix until just combined. One by one, break in the eggs, mixing as you go. Add the vanilla and mix until just combined. Stir in the flour mixture, adding peanuts once combined.
Spoon small balls onto baking sheet leaving plenty of room in between. Cross the cookies using a fork. Dip the fork in a small bowl of cold water. Press lightly into the dough, slip back into water, and press in again, rotating 90 degrees. Bake cookies for 10 -12 minutes.
I moped, and then I got hungry.
As usual, very little is in my fridge, and only a bit more in the pantry. I had been saving a can of black beans for The Minimalist's potato salad, but was chili- and lime-less this evening. Instead, a can of tomatoes and Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian saved the night! The winner? White rice and black beans.
Disheartened because I was also without cilantro and, more importantly, a stove-friendly and oven-save pan, I gathered my ingredients and stared into the cabinet thinking of ways to doctor the already so simple recipe. As I had resigned myself to a stir fry concoction, dear Joe screwed the plastic handles off a pot, and bam - we were in business.
My misery eased as soon as I began chopping, and was gone completely by the time the onion, pepper, and garlic made it onto the burner. Following a recipe and watching the food transform with each stage is satisfying, dependable, and exciting. It's what I love about cooking and baking. And hiccups happen, of course - tonight I discovered a plate and cookie sheet left in the oven from this morning's pancakes and then burned myself while taking them out. Still, the process totally centered me.
This was perfect comfort food - warm, easy, and delicious. Thanks, Mark Bittman.
Rice and Black Beans
adapted from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian
makes 4 - 6 servings
extra virgin olive oil
1 med onion, chopped
1 red or yellow bell pepper, cored, seeded, and chopped
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 - 2 cans of black beans
1 1/2 c long-grain rice
1 c canned tomato, chopped with their liquid
salt and pepper
1/2 c fresh cilantro leaves
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Heat a large ovenproof pot over medium heat. Drizzle olive oil in the pot for about a minute. Add onion, bell pepper, and garlic. Cook until the onion is soft, about 5 minutes. Add the beans. Mash or use an immersion blender until about half of the beans are pureed. Stir in tomatoes and rice. Salt and pepper generously, adding a few pinches of chili powder is desired. Bake uncovered for 40 minutes.
Sprinkle with cilantro and serve with a dollop of sour cream.
It’s pouring outside. The wind has frightened almost every leaf to the ground. It’s a chilling reminder of the coming winter.
Lazy Saturdays always make me want to cook. I woke up craving minestrone – a perfect excuse to stop by the farmers market, until the wind spoiled any plans of attempting to make the best of the weather. But that didn’t mean that I couldn’t make the best of the leftover beans and fennel. Inspired by a “Crisper-drawer Soup” I read about this week, and with minestrone as my muse, I plucked handfuls of cauliflower and cabbage from the fridge.
Thirty minutes of dish washing and some minor chopping later, I had a tiny pot simmering on the stove. Ease and simplicity is what I love about soup. Everything brightens in the pot, mingling as if that’s what they had been left to do.
I ate beside the window, eating as I watched a tree’s branches wriggle. A really good way to be enjoying the day.
oh! Happy Halloween!
My favorite purchase of late: Apples to Oysters: A Food Lover’s Tour of Canadian Farms. Tasting a “humble,” dirt-covered carrot – delicious! and straight from the farm - prompted author Margaret Webb to trek to each of Canada’s provinces to meet farmers growing or raising local food in sustainable ways.
Webb had me at hello. She fell in love with the oyster farmer from PEI and I fell in love with her book. She weaves her personal encounters – meeting farmer Johnny Flynn – with summaries of the affects of farming oysters, tales of her day on the fishing, and her first taste of a raw oyster:
“Contemplating the half decade of life that would be sacrificed for my one second of pleasure, my mind swirling with images of sex and death, I placed my finger on the sensuous swell of meat. Springy! I raised the shell to my nose and sniffed the ocean liqour. Fresh! Tipped the tender morsel into my mouth and chewed. And, oh, perverse, addictive pleasure.”
Webb ends each chapter with a selection of recipes, some from her partner, local restaurants, or classics from the farmers themselves.
Webb has a refreshingly pure excitement and love for food. Her adventures make her giddy. This passion in turn makes the book successful – relatable and engaging. Webb does not preach the green way, but truly believes in and enjoys it, yes, for the sake of the environment, but primarily because sustainable, local food just tastes good.
If you’re in Montreal, look for Apples to Oysters at Appetite for Books, where I bought my autographed copy.
Although figjamfigjamfigjam was the first thing to run through my mind when I first spotted the figs, I did think twice about this project. Opening the fridge to find the tray of plump fleshy figs was such a beautiful thing that it seemed almost sinful to melt away the fruit. But these were to be my figs experimentation! Pizza figs, fresh figs, jammy figs, figs with cheese, figs with yogurt, and finally, moldy figs.
My recipe was based on a few others, and not really a recipe at all – more of a chopping my figs and throwing them together with things that taste good. I added some cinnamon and regretted it immediately. Cutting the figs in quarters leaves a sizable chunk in the final product. I like that but if you don’t, cut them smaller.
- quarter figs, cutting off the stem
- mix with juice of 1/2 – 1 lemon and a few small slices of rind
- add sugar to taste and depending on amount of figs, anywhere from 1/4 – 1 cup
- in a small saucepan, bring to boil over a high heat, reduce heat and let simmer, stirring often, until you have reached a jammy consistency
Some very fortuitous incidents occurred over the past two days that left me no choice but to make this pizza - blue cheese, bacon, figs, and caramelized onions.
fortuitous event #1:
I just met Jill Santopietro. Not actually. A friend introduced me to Jill and her Tiny Kitchen/Apartment 4B videos on Sunday. I spent the greater part of the day watching every single episode – some twice – and perusing her blog. I think I’m in love.
fortuitous event #2:
Just when I had abandoned all plans of a Sunday at the market Joe picked me up. A drive by. With ten minutes until closing time we sped there dodging buses and joggers just in time to catch the old lady dumpster divers and a handful of open stands. We were only intending to look and didn’t even come with cash, but a sizable basket of figs for only five dollars sent me skipping giddily to the bank machine.
fortuitous event #3:
A wedge of deliciously stinky blue cheese was up for grabs at work today. It sat in my locker for hours stinking up my sweater.
fortuitous events #4 and #5:
Bacon? Check! Onions? Check!
Ingredient-gathering has never been so effortless for me. I had to make it.
I spent the day at work thinking about Jill, replaying images of her rolling pizza dough with a wine bottle (which is what I do because my rolling pin is mia) and tossing it in the air. She raved about using bread flour to make it stretchy. I wanted stretchy pizza dough, but I had neither the time nor the flour. This predicament led me to a very fortunate discovery.
fortunate discovery #1:
Pizza places sell balls of pizza dough. $2 only. For a medium!
We brought the dough home in a stapled thick brown paper bag, and slid it into the fridge alongside the blue cheese and tray of figs. I neglected to photograph any of these beautiful events – not even the pizza bubbling happily in the oven – but I still had to share. Trust that it was a beautiful experience.
My apple adventures of last weekend have only led to one apple tart and several tasty snacks. With over a pound still hanging out in the fridge, I decided today to inaugurate my slow cooker with a batch of homemade applesauce. Many recipes recommended using a mixture of apples, but having picked only Macintosh, I’m keeping it simple.
I wrote about my day in the orchard in my first post for Midnight Poutine. Give it a read!
slow cooker applesauce
- 6 apples
- 2 pieces cinnamon bark or ground cinnamon, to taste
- brown sugar, to taste
- juice of 1/2 lemon
- slice of lemon rind
- 1/4 – 1/2 c water
peel, core, and chop apples. toss with lemon juice, rind, cinnamon, and sugar in crock pot bowl. add water. cook on low for 6 -7 hours.
For months I have been meaning to stop at Le Zigoto – ever since a friend told me that the cafe customizes each cup of hot chocolate to suite the customer’s desired richness – and now that I’ve been I want to go back every day. It sounds so trite to say that everything was just lovely and beautiful, but I truly felt that about aspect of the cafe – the arrangement on the table, the late-day autumn sun, inside: the music, the colors. Such a small space can be intimidating, but Le Zigoto was homey.
The cafe is beautiful – a long space, furnished with mostly second-hand items. Everything appears meaningful and deliberate, from the floor, made from reclaimed wood, to the attention given to the blackboard menus.
I’m going back for the brownies. There’s a different every day, save for a single secret ingredient. Le Zigoto also serves breakfast, sandwiches, and a daily soup. Although the cafe has a Lebanese flair, I saw that almost only in the ma’amoul, traditional nut-filled Lebanese pastries. The one I tasted was pistachio, and bright green. I saved a bite for Joe. He said it tasted like pistachio shortbread.
I’ll try out a recipe soon, but for now, I have only this.
Saturday I ventured to Jean Talon market where I found a stand boasting crate upon crate of Quebec berries. After musing for a minute or so, I selected six bins of juicy, beautiful blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries that stained my jean shorts as I skipped home, daydreaming of homemade jam.
I love jam. I love to eat it, to spread it, to look at it, and lick it from my finger. I think jam jars are beautiful. For a long time now I have collected recipes, saving them for the day that I would have the kitchen, and tools to make jam. I don’t really have either, but Saturday I made my first batch any way.
I should confess that I have actually experimented with jam making twice before. Both times were rather makeshift. They were sort of haphazard concoctions – the first a combination of peaches, plums, and a handful of strawberries, the second, apricot and spice – roughly based on a collection of recipes, for which I did not have the proper ingredients or inclination to can.
Making the berry jam was a special experience for me. I followed the recipe with a precision I usually opt not to maintain when cooking, and I canned for the first time, which was a surprising success. I really enjoyed working with something that seemed so fragile, knowing that I couldn’t skip a step. Unlike the fruit from my first two attempts, the berries didn’t foam as they boiled. The blackberries and raspberries mostly melted away, while the blueberries endured, leaving me with a seedy and somewhat chunky homemade texture.
I’m experimenting now with beautiful ways to label the jars, and collecting new ones for next time. I’m thinking fig.
Using about 30 ounces of berries (mostly blueberries because Montreal is littered with the most wonderful tiny blueberries from Quebec’s Lac-Saint-Jean) I filled 9 125-milliliter jars.
A word of advice regarding cookware:
Make sure you have a pot large enough for the jam. A deep pot might be best to avoid splattering as the fruit boils. Just don’t make it too deep – you want to be able to stir and mash the fruit easily. A very tall pot works best to boil the jars, and you’ll only need a small saucepan to sanitize the lids.
Blue, Black, and Raspberry Jam
- 30 ounces mix of fresh blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries
- 1 1/2 – 2 cups white sugar
- 2 tablespoons lemon juice
- Mix berries with sugar and lemon in a large bowl. Let sit for half an hour to two hours at room temperature. Stir occasionally.
- Place a saucer in the freezer to use later.
- Fill a large pot with water, cover, and bring to boil. Reduce heat to low. Either place a metal rack or extra screw bands at the bottom, or a towel once the water is boiled, to protect the jars from direct heat.
- Wash jars, screw bands, and lids with hot, soapy water.
- Fill jars with very hot water.
- Place lids in a small saucepan. cover with cold water. simmer. turn off heat.
- Transfer fruit to a large saucepan. on medium-high heat bring mixture to boil, stirring occasionally. Mash with a potato masher. Boil gently at medium heat, stirring often, until mixture begins to thicken, about 18 minutes.
- Remove saucepan from heat.
- Drain hot water from jars and rest them on a flat surface. Ladle jam into each jar, leaving 3/4-inch space at top.
- Clean rim of each jar with a cloth, but try to keep the cloth from rubbing inside the jars.
- With tongs, lift lids from their pot one at a time. Shake dry and place atop jars. Seal with a screw band.
- Place jars in the large pot. be sure each is covered with at least one inch of water. Cover the pot and bring the water to a boil. reduce heat and boil gently for ten minutes. Turn off the heat and wait five minutes. Use tongs to remove each jar without tilting. Place upright on a towel and let the jam cool to room temperature.
some jam-making and canning tips:
- To test if your jam is gelled: before you begin actually making the jam, place a saucer in the freezer. When your fruit has thickened in the pot, dribble a bit onto the the cold saucer, and return to the freezer for one minute. Remove the saucer and jam from the freezer. If the jam wrinkles when you poke it it is ready for canning.
- Protecting the jars: You should have something in the bottom of the pot with the cans that protects them from touching direct heat. Recipes I looked at suggested a rack. I did not have one and found a dish towel worked perfectly. Place it after the water has boiled.
- Check the lids for seal by pressing lightly on the top. The lids of sealed jars will be concave and will not move when pressed.
Blogging. It’s been on the list of things that I really want to do but cannot start until I know that I can commit for quite some time now. It’s sandwiched between running a marathon and writing a book. Both of these, I assure you, will happen.
Just so as to wipe away any scrap of mystery, let me explain what I’m doing. My mission statement, in a large nutshell:
This is my space to start writing for myself again. This is a project, an experiment, a lesson. I’m a few months out of my undergraduate degree, and after a summer of unmotivated laze I find myself erupting with innovation and a sudden craving for productivity. For the next while I will be playing in the kitchen mostly. I plan to churn through a few cookbooks, locate all those scraps scribbled with recipes, and bake and cook and learn as much as possible. Bear with me as I figure out how to write creatively again, to get my camera to take pictures I like, and figure out just what oh what I should do with myself.And we’re off!