Peachy.

If polled, I think most people would agree that there isn't much better in life than a perfectly ripe peach.  Maybe this is because a perfect peach is so fleeting, the window of perfect eating is gloriously small.  Both over and under ripe peaches have their place fortunately, but for that split instant of perfection, one might wait all year.

Because I was raised in a rural, northern Wisconsin, our peaches came in lugs from Michigan or Colorado.  My Mom canned quart upon quart to last us a whole year, something she still does and shares with me.  It's a lot of work for something that can disappear so quickly - those glass quarts of peaches seem to be everyone's favorite.  

I used to just drink the canned peach juice after the peaches were gone, but in the great sugar diet reduction of the past few years, I tried hard to be okay with just ditching it.  Then I realized that I could be extending it by boiling the peach juice with ample amounts of ginger and then using it to flavor seltzer or other drinks.  I simmer it for 10 minutes or so, with as much finely chopped ginger as I feel like, then let it cool and strain it through a nut milk bag.  The summer I worked a little at my friend's cafe, we added some ginger-centric chai concentrate to coffee and were pleasantly surprised (but it was never on the menu).  A touch in your coffee is a unique twist that you might end up liking!  For me it was a flavor combination that at first seemed weird, but then I all of a sudden craved.

As a kid, it might not have solely been my job to run down to the basement shelves to pick out a jam when we were out upstairs, but it seems like it was.  And it also seems like my Mom used certain jars for certain things.  I haven't asked her yet, but I feel like the peach jam was always canned in round jars - and I had totally forgotten about this until I was down in my own basement this week wrangling up half pints.  I made small batches of Marisa's Salted Peach Jam (recipe in Preserving by the Pint), and just 2 1/2 jars of the Peach-Sriracha Butter I can no longer live without.  I canned the jam in round jars.  And I thought all the while of how thankful I am for my Mom and her habit of providing me homemade peachy things for pretty much my whole life.

Isn't that was preserving for yourself, you family, and friends is all about?  Little glimpses into the past, to remember those days when you put the fruit into jars in the first place, a look back on my own childhood completely full of peanut butter and homemade jam sandwiches and who I ate those sandwiches with?  Peaches then are much more than a once a year luxury; they hold some deeply rooted history underneath their fuzzy exteriors...

And speaking of fuzzy exteriors, I made a pie last week without peeling the peaches.  This was under advisement of the Bojon Gourmet (Alanna Taylor-Tobin), who is writing her first book.  Not peeling peaches for pie is a revelation, and I'm sold!  I also can hardly wait to see her finished book that will feature gluten-free baked goods.  It should be out next spring, and it's available for pre-order on Amazon.

The past several years, we've had a peach truck delivery at numerous locations in our area.  It's called Tree-Ripe Citrus, and you can find Midwest schedules and drop point locations here.  Their peaches come from Georgia, and are reliably good.  I split a case with my in-laws last Tuesday and Wednesday morning I came into the kitchen to find my eater baby had bitten into 6 of them.  Most likely, he was looking for the perfect peach because most of them were rock hard having just been picked.  He didn't yet know that he needed to wait and be patiently look them over twice daily, but maybe he somehow knew that in continuous trying he would find that perfect one.  The one to drip down all over him and the one that will start him on his way to his own memories of all things peachy.

Peach Sriracha Butter.

One of the surprising blessings that came along with having children was getting to know my neighbors.  I live in a small neighborhood of about 3 streets wide, a collection of maybe 100 homes that before kids I knew nothing about.  Introverted by nature, I politely went about my day coming to and fro without much interaction with the community around me, exchanging a few pleasantries maybe but not really knowing anyone personally.  Kids changed that.  Suddenly, you begin to run into the same people while running after a toddling youngster: you discover that your kids play well with their kids, you are on a first name basis with every dog on the block, and you find that the people around you are really interesting and creative and lend a huge impact to your daily life.

Monday I spent part of the morning with a few lovely women as our children played hard together.  There seems to be an unstated rule that conversation can be quickly interrupted for any number of reasons, which is actually quite nice.  It frees you from the rigor of conducting yourself in a more proper manner; I've never felt like I've been very good at moderating the flow of conversation, so stopping one abruptly to run after a child and then starting up a new one suits me pretty well.

My friend Susan is a musician and we got to talking.  She was saying how she had material that had been on hold since before her son was born (5 years) and how she should never do that because it interrupts the process.  I immediately thought about my own creative processes.  If I don't take the time to document something that really inspires or excites me within a day or so of making it, I just let it go.  "Of the moment" is so much part of the thing that makes my writing mine, makes it relevant to me as I look back on it.

It's really not so unlike preservation as I capture that split second that the food goes in the jar, I also sieze the feeling around it - the light in the kitchen creating pictures that echo the weather outside and even the time of day I had the time to muster the thoughts to the page.  Making that time seems ever more difficult as the summer is in full swing and there are so many things that just pop up on a day to day basis.  Prioritizing my online life falls to the back of the line, even when there have been so many things worthy of sharing.

Food in Jars' Peach Sriracha Jam (Honey Sweetened Peach Chutney) I made last week.

The summer is the heaviest preserving season, and traditionally I think I've been much more creative than I've been this year.  Short both on time and money, I didn't overdo or overthink my pantry shelves.  I have smaller batches and just enough based on what was eaten most heavily last year.  Where I used to make the time to stand stirring the pot with excess, I now stirred it with just enough - thankful for it and happy I knew where to turn for solid recipes when I didn't have the wiggle room for experimentation.

I got peaches at two different times, and split both with  neighbors.  (You can read about the first peach adventure here.)  Quickly enamored of the honey-sweetened peach chutney that Marisa McClellan posted on her site Food in Jars, I turned to her latest book as the peaches softened and I felt guilty just eating them all standing alone over the sink.  I made the small batch last week and was totally addicted.  I had exactly 2 lbs. of precious peaches left, and got to thinking that making the recipe into a more homogenized butter might be a pretty swell idea.  It takes a little longer for the boiling butter to thicken and it spatters up the stove something terrible, but all in all I think it's worth it.  It's like a spicy peach ketchup, and I've been trying it on everything.  And, just as you'd suspect, it is good on everything.

Peach Sriracha Butter (adapted from Marisa McClellan's recipe in Preserving by the Pint)
yields about 2 half pints

• 2 lbs. peaches, pitted and pureed (I used a Vitamix, but you could use a regular blender)
• 1 c. granulated sugar
• juice of 1 lime
• 1/4 c. Sriracha sauce

Combine the peach puree, sugar, and lime juice in a preserving pot (I used a 3 quart shallow saute pan, despite the spattering issue).  Over medium high heat, cook and stir frequently until the butter reduced and thickens, 20-30 minutes.  You should be able to draw the spoon through the butter and the trail doesn't fill in quickly.  Just before hitting the right consistency (aim for a thick ketchup), stir in the Sriracha and bring back to a simmer until thickened.

Pour into sterilized jars leaving 1/2 inch headspace, and process in a boiling water bath for 15 minutes.

Does anyone ever remember tossing out a bottle of Sriracha?  It seems to just last forever, and then disappear...

Peaches have now come and gone.  I really shouldn't dare make any more sweet preserves for the year,  but have enough extra for gifts and special occasions.  I have too many open jars of jam floating around the fridge in a never-ending tetris game of space.  I'll have to invite a lot of the neighbors over to help me polish them off!

Recent Preserving.

I use the term "recent" loosely.  It was Monday when I finally got the jars I had my imagination set on completing, and it was Monday when I made the decision to ditch the second little batch of delicious honey-sweetened strawberry-thyme jam (from Food in Jars' latest book, Preserving by the Pint)  that had been waiting for me in my covered red leCreuset pot for 4 days.  (It smelled fermented, and sadly the berries did not have a pleasant flavor.)  Time with two little boys and summer and birthdays got the better of me; I remind myself that it's okay to let things go back to the Earth when time slips like that.  That's my Mom's quote, and I think of her each time I forget about some precious leftovers, or get too ambitious and forget to mind my real-life timing.

Last Saturday, we went to Klee's Out on a Limb.  I discovered them last year, and make no qualms about calling them my personal orchard now.  It's maybe a 20 minute drive, but feels more rural than that.  This was the second time I've gotten currants, and not being within days of giving birth as I was last year, I was able to pick them myself (with Candy's help).  I tried every variety and since the blackcurrants weren't quite ready, I got red and white.  White currants.  I think I mentioned 50 times how beautiful those things are, making up for the flavor I felt wasn't quite as good as the red seeing as they weren't as tart.  After 5 lbs. in my bucket, I tried some pink currants too - and those had quite a lovely flavor.  I have to rein myself in from a currant only preserving season.  I think I love them that much.

Transluscent, they look like pearls or fish eggs.  My eager baby-eater liked them very much.   

Last year, I made cordials out of them.  Both were great, though I probably preferred the shrub that turned viscous and thick, a mouth-coating thickness from all the pectin.  I actually just finished off the bottle, only tippling tiny cupfuls here and there because it was so sweet.  Aged a year, it was still wonderful.  I agonize over investing in good rum to make more, and as I do, the extracted red currant juice ages in my fridge.  I should decide to can it or freeze it before typing any more, so it doesn't succumb to going back to the Earth too.

I also have a small amount of non-juiced currants left which I need to get into vinegar.  Red currant drinking vinegar was my favorite flavored vinegar last year, it barely lasted me a month!  I might try it with the white currants and see how I like it.  (Note to self: must also invest in another SodaStream seltzer cartridge.)

Seedy currant jam.

Last year, I only made currant jelly - which is so easy I'm not sure there is an easier preserve to tackle.  Only slightly more work was currant jam, which uses mostly currant juice (I used red) and a pound of whole, stemmed currants.  For juice, you don't need to remove the stems so the process is truly efforless.  The 20 minutes spent gingerly plucking the white currants from their tiny green stems was worth it - and I thought the color contrast was beautiful even though I knew it would fade with the cooking.

The jam itself is nicely seedy, tasting tart like the currant jelly, but more interesting and maybe kind of nutty with the seeds.  I read that currant seeds are quite healthful too (especially in the blackcurrants, but I figure the other colors must be as well), so it seems like a worthy offset for a sugary preserve.

Nearly a week before the currants, I split a case of peaches with a neighbor.  It's the 3rd year I've had "peach truck" peaches, which come from Georgia and are dropped nearby at a number of locations locally.  (The service is Tree-Ripe.)  I feel like we hit the jackpot, since they harvested Berta peaches for the first trucks of the season.  They were some of the best peaches I've had in years, true "drip-down-your-wrist" fruits, with excellent flavor and color.  I made a half batch of Marisa's Honey Sweetened Peach Chutney, which I altered slightly to account for my extra spice addiction.  A friend gave me a jar of dried Piri Piri chiles last year, and I hadn't used too many of them.  I added 15 to the pot - which turned out to be pretty spicy.  I fished 4 of them out as I was tasting, but boy those have some good flavor.    I also added extra brown mustard seed, and probably more fresh ginger.

Another great thing about this recipe is Marisa's trick of removing peach skins.  Simply cut the peaches in quarters, remove the pit of course, and cover with boiling water for 3 minutes.  Drain, and the skins slip right off.  Amazing!  I used the same method to make some fresh peach salsa for our tacos last night, I don't think I'll ever blanch a peach traditionally ever again.

This stuff is so good that I might use the last of the peaches to make another batch - maybe less spicy for gift giving.  I'm definitely hoarding the 4 jars for myself.

In with my currants from Klee's, I had a handful (literally, 58 g.) of gooseberry.  I have never tried gooseberry.  I can't describe how excited I get to try new things, and at the orchard, I nibbled a bunch of different varities.  (I need to remember to bring a notepad and pen there, I can only remember choice things: like that the Newtown Pippen apple was Thomas Jefferson's favorite, and which tree was the mammoth Wolf River variety...)  The gooseberries will be on more by this weekend, so I made the tiniest batch of jam ever to see what I could expect.

I used a 6 inch stainless saucepan for this jam.

On some reading, I let them sit around until they were pretty soft and had turned from their bright green to a more rosy color.  Then I topped and tailed them (that's a Linda Ziedrich term that seems to really stick in my brain), and weighed them in at a mere 56 g.  I added a tablespoon or so of water and steamed them a minute or two to get them softened before adding the same amount of sugar and cooking them down.  It was such a small batch that the whole process took less than 10 minutes.  The color and flavor were incredible.  I'll have to make time to get down there for more!

I really just couldn't get over the color, which I figured was about as close to watermelon-colored as I could describe.  The tiny seeds even look like melon seeds too - which I thought was interesting.  The flavor of gooseberry jam was different than I expected, though I'm not sure at all what I was expecting.  It has a tropical nuance to it, nicely tart but not as tart as the currant it seemed.  It feels pectin rich, and has a very firm set - I could have probably simmered it a little less.  My tiny batch filled half of a 4 oz. pimento jar, more than I expected, but definitely not enough to satisfy my new gooseberry obsession.

It's a good start to the season, which I have to remind myself is actually here.  It's a pleasantly cool summer,  with only a handful of 80 degree days so far.  It's filled with walks and bike rides (my older son just discovered how fun his first bike can be, and has developed an obsession of his own), fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants meal planning, and yet another year of a struggling garden.  I remind myself that it's not important right now to be cataloging what I do.  But, still I love the photographing, and if I seem quiet here, there are still notable things going up on my Facebook page and Flickr.  If you have some gooseberry ideas for me, shoot them my way.  We'll see what comes of them!

Rhubarby.

Last Sunday evening we pulled back into town, four of us stuffed into the car that seemed to shrink fast with two boys in the backseat and so many plants and eggs and luggage and leftovers nestled in around us that it was hard to move.  The baby and I went out to the farm for a 4-day weekend, and my husband and a school-worn 2nd grader had come to pick us up.  Sunday morning, my Dad picked me some rhubarb.  That always seems to be tricky thing.  How much do you want?  Not too much?  Once you get to slicing through the stalks, you lose track of how much rhubarb is not too much.  I figure I had a paper sack with about 30 pounds, so much that he had to tie it up well with garden twine to contain it to the bag.  

With baby for scale.  This rhubarb patch is huge.

I remember the days when I practically lived behind the windshield.  Almost every weekend it would take me exactly 4 minutes to pack everything I'd need; I'd toss all of it into a green army duffel sack that I actually still have but is going unused in the basement.  Now, it takes me way too much time and planning to get out the door.  I have to tuck all the cultures in, I have to bake bread to bring along.  I have coolers in the summer to keep all the stuff I bring to and fro cool.  An extra son makes backseat real estate a premium, and I absolutely refuse to drive a minivan so these sardine days will be with us for the foreseeable future...

But the rhubarb was worth it.  I didn't bring any dessert with me this time because I knew my Mom would have something rhubarby baked, and she did.  It was great.  In fact on Saturday, I ate rhubarb dessert 3 separate times.  But when I lobbed the heavy bag into the basement fridge on Sunday night I wondered if I'd get through it without having to sacrifice any to the compost pile.  It took the week, but I did it.   I'm proud to admit I had zero waste, even though that rhubarb patch grows like crazy and when I can't reach it I'm blessed with neighbors who are happy to share.

I got to meet Marisa McClellan (Food in Jars) in person when she was in the Chicago area in April, and was freshly inspired by her and her books.  I made a tiny batch of her Rhubarb-Rosemary jelly (a single canned jar, actually and a mostly full one to enjoy now) from her new Preserving by the Pint book after the rhubarb had been prepped and sitting in the pan with water for 24 hours.  It seems each day I feel I get nothing accomplished, and when I fall into bed exhausted at the end of the day, I realize that I actually accomplish tons.  Sometimes preserving might go on hold for a few hours but thankfully it's a forgiving process.

Encouraged by my Mom's bright pink rhubarb dessert, which when asked she told me she just baked with the pinkest parts, I set out making rhubarb juice concentrate using just the pinkest parts of the stalks.  Why didn't I ever think of that?  For years, my rhubarb endeavors were "industrial green" as I had taken to calling them.  Delicious, but utilitarian.  The concentrate was from the Ball Home Preserving book, and had lemon and orange zests and juice in it.  It's really very nice, and 4 1/2 pints are probably a perfect quantity for me as the sole rhubarb consumer.

Then with a glass of rhubarb juice in hand, I made myself a crisp.

In the interest of time, I noted the process on flickr if you click the photo.  I still have some left - it's marvelously tart.

Thursday I made 2 9x13 pans of Rhubarb Kuchen and yesterday I delivered them to my friend Ginny who shared them.  And somehow in between line-dried batches of laundry I also managed to get a batch of Marisa's Rhubarb Vanilla Jam with Earl Grey done yesterday too (the recipe is in her first book, and also on her site) - and in the company of a napless and fairly cranky kid who grasped at my knees for dear life pretty much the whole time I was stirring the canning pot. 

I really can't get over the difference using just the pinkest part of the rhubarb stalks!  I think this is one of the nicest rhubarb jams I've had ever.  I left some of the errant earl grey tea leaves in for asthetics.

All of that pink rhubarb left me with an amount of green rhubarb, which I think tastes just as fine as the rosy base of the stalk if not conjuring a more vegetal side of rhubarb.  Yes, I could do something savory with it... but I wouldn't bother trying to get the boys to eat it.  Instead, I chopped it up and was amazed to find I had exactly the 2 1/2 pounds that Deborah Madison calls for to make a green rhubarb puree in her Seasonal Fruit Desserts book that I was fortunate to find a copy of.  I have to pick up a grapefruit later today to make it, but look forward to her tarts made with a corn flour base and barely spiced green rhubarb puree.

Hopefully, that can wait a few days until the rhubarb crisp is gone.  It does seem to me that sliced rhubarb keeps well in the refrigerator if stored in plastic.  That's probably a good thing.

Book Review: Preserving by the Pint

When I got my review copy of Marisa McClellan's latest book a few weeks back, time seemed to stand still for the moment and I almost immediately read the entire thing cover to cover.  I had been looking forward to cracking open this one since I had the pleasure of testing a few of the recipes for it last year, and it truly is a lovely addition to the growing canning book section of my kitchen library.

I couldn't help but think as I turned page after page that Marisa is going to be writing new books for years.  She has the magic trifecta in her cookery books: timeless recipes, succinct instructions, and simple inspirations.  She is passionate about her craft, and eager to share with everyone - which I think is the underlying theme of Preserving by the Pint.  Organized by season, this book encourages everyone to make small batches using local and seasonal foods.  It tempts us to branch out and try something maybe we haven't considered before, even to source special ingredients that might not be cost efficient if making a more traditionally sized amount.

Personally I like to can for my storage shelves, but with my ongoing quest for sugar reduction, having a jar or two of a really stellar preserves is an excellent idea - especially since I can tend towards the hoarding jams and jellies even when I've made 8 or 9 jars of them.  After finishing the book, I immediate found some Meyer lemons at my co-op to make Candied Meyer Lemon Slices.  Only needing a pound for the recipe made it feel doable for me when I didn't have the foresight to get on the Lemon Ladies list for bulk fruit like Marisa did.  (And, she had made a beautiful Meyer Lemon Syrup on her blog not long before, and I was feeling especially bad for missing the lemon season...) 

I really loved these candied lemons, they had a nice marmalade texture and trademark Meyer lemon astrengency.  I was glad I had a little bit of the syrup leftover which set into a little lemon jelly to enjoy right away on morning toast.  I intend to make a pound cake for my birthday in September and crown it with a jar of them, and I should be able to save a jar that long since the 2 jar yield leaves me one to enjoy before then.

Spring in my neck of the woods also signals maple syruping time and for a while my family had planned to make it to an Amish neighbor's sugaring operation to reacquaint ourselves with the small miracle that is maple syrup.  Last weekend, a small group of family members went to see Daniel Hochstetler's rustic sugar shack.  We arrived just as he was getting the fire going underneath a stainless vat of sap.  Already, he had harvested over 100 gallons of finished syrup and he was hoping for another good week of syruping weather.  (Last year was a perfect year for syrup; they harvested more than 300 gallons and still had some leftover before starting this year.  If boiled to the proper temperature, maple syrup never really spoils.  The two past seasons make up for the strangely warm spring two years ago when there was no syrup to be found.)  My Mom and Dad generously sent me home with 2 gallons, which usually can last us the whole year if we watch our pancake breakfasts...

I respect the Amish desire not to have their faces photographed, but was able to capture a photo of Daniel and his sugar shack from a distance...

As I stood there breathing in the sauna of maple scented sap, I was dreaming of a recipe Marisa included in the book for Blueberry Maple Jam - thankful for my hoarding of a gallon bagful of blueberries in my freezer from last year, and thankful for a new harvest of syrup to replenish my waning stores. When I got back home, I started the jam right away but got busy.  Fortunately, letting the fruit macerate overnight with the syrup and brown sugar is an acceptable practice.  My yield was a little less than the 2 half-pints, but I suspect it is because I used frozen fruit.  I haven't had blueberry jam in ages - in part because of the amount of berries it requires - and this one was so good.  I was actually glad I was a little shy of a second half pint so I had some to enjoy right away.

I made this jam with frozen berries and using the metric weights.  As I mentioned above, I think I lost a little volume due to the frozen fruit - but this is so good I probably wouldn't have needed to can it!  If canning, be sure to use the bottled lemon juice.  As Marisa explains, maple syrup is lower in acidity than sugar and the bottled lemon juice ensures a safe acid level.

Blueberry Maple Jam (Marisa McClellan, Preserving by the Pint)

Yields 2 half-pints

• 1 dry quart fresh blueberries, rinsed, pickedd over, and mashed (about 1 1/2 lbs. / 680 g.)
• 3/4 c. / 175 g. packed light brown sugar
• 1/2 c. / 120 ml pure maple syrup
• 2 T. bottled lemon juice

Prepare a boiling water bath and 2 half-pint jars.  Place 2 lids in a small sauce pan of water and bring to a gentle simmer.

Combine the blueberries, sugar, maple syrup, and lemon juice in a large skillet.  (I used this 3-quart one, which was a perfect size.) Stir to help the sugar dissolve and to integrate the maple syrup.  Once the mixture has begun to look syrupy, place the skillet over medium-high heat and bring to a boil.

Stirring regularly, bring the fruit to a boil and cook until it bubbles and looks quite thick, 10-12 minutes.  It's done when you pull a spatula through the jam and it doesn't immediately rush in to fill the space you've cleared.

When the jam is finished cooking, remove the pot from the heat and pour into the prepared jars.  Wipe the rims, apply the lids and rings, and process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes.

I can't say I've ever used my 3 quart saucepan to make jam before, and that is a great tip for small batches in particular.  The surface area helps evaporate the liquid faster; I really couldn't believe the small batch was finished cooking in just 10 minutes. 

Another great thing about this book is that if you make just a few jars of something, you wouldn't necessarily have to can it if you didn't want to.  Save yourself a jar, and share another with a neighbor or two and save yourself a hot water bath and the canning time.  But I am looking forward to a little patchwork of fully preserved jars on the shelf by the first frost of fall, new preserves from this beautiful book to take me through the winter and help me wait out the time until Marisa's next book.

You can catch more glimpses of Preserving by the Pint at The Preserved Life, Well Preserved, Hip Girls Guide to Homemaking (still a couple of days left to enter their giveaway), and of course at Food in Jars where you can also find Marisa's upcoming appearances.

DISCLOSURE: I received a copy of this book for review, but as always all of my thoughts and opinions are my own.

How Food in Jars Changed my Life.

Maybe some of the chatter about the new Food in Jars cookbook has died down, but I will gladly start it back up again. You might notice the lilacs on the table in the photo below, a visual clue to how long I've been mentally adding up my thoughts on Marisa McClellan's new canning tome. I'm really not even sure how to start, since Marisa was that little whisper in my ear that transformed me from the girl whose family canned, to the girl who confidently cans herself.

My Mother and Grandmother will forever echo in my mind as steadfast preservers, their shelves steadily growing each Summer and then beginning to dwindle by Spring of the following year. Canning was a way of life for our family, our Northern Wisconsin gardens always struggling to produce nearly all we needed in the short growing season. The glass jars deeply lined the shelves my Dad built my Mom in our basement, simple but well constructed out of pine. I never realized what a luxury it was to be asked to go downstairs and pick out a jar of vegetables for dinner - my choice. I now know that those short journeys to the basement were life changing and a blessing of wholesome choice.

My Gram's house was a scant half mile from ours, her little red log cabin had enormous rocks as a foundation which kept her basement cool, dark and scary. I would be afraid to venture down the rock stairs (or at least they seemed like rocks; that basement seemed like a castle dungeon to me) to the tiny room just at the bottom. When the door was opened and the light flipped on, a magical and colorful land woke up: floor to ceiling shelves holding all kinds of things in jars. It was the pantry that all pantries want to be when they grow up, and the one I will judge all pantries to.

At the feet of those women, I unknowingly was instilled in good food and preservation. As most of us often do growing up, I didn't hold dear those things I was raised to love. I'd dabbled in a few canning projects - those adventures were always peppered heavily with phone calls to my Mom. She talked me through many first time experiences, consulting her aged Ball preserving book for ratios or telling me how they always did things - little tips to make things easier on the next try. My canning life never stuck for good, I seemed to rest on the laurels of my family and treated preservation as something I would do if I had a bigger garden or a bigger family.

dilly beans from last year.

I never really owned the feeling of being a full-fledged preservationist until after I began this blog, and after I happened upon the Food in Jars recipe for Dilly Beans which I printed off and also shared with my Mom. That first Summer my true roots began to show as I worked my way through Marisa's jams and jellies. All of a sudden, I treated my local farmer's markets as an extension of my own backyard garden. Marisa taught me that I didn't have to grow it myself to preserve it, and that I could can just a few jars of something unusual and not can dozens of jars of pantry staples. Food in Jars became a regular stop on my Internet rounds, and Marisa became a real person that answered the questions I occasionally emailed her, a prophet of the DIY food scene that was nearly an in-the-flesh friend to me. Her blog became the source I compared against for canning inspiration and knowledge.

I couldn't have been more excited when I first heard about her book, and my excitement remained until May when the book was released. When my copy arrived in the mail, it came on a day when my son was still in school and I was pretty much caught up on my housework. In my own celebratory way, I marched down to my basement and plucked a jar of dilly beans off the shelf and opened them to eat with my lunch. I ate them thinking of Marisa and how happy I was for her. Then, I took my new book outside and read half of it from the beginning in the cool Spring sunshine.

I've done a bit of jam-making at the beginning of this year, but my preservation season is off to a slow start. This book is marked up with lots of post-it page markers - reminding me that I need to find apricots for the Apricot Jam and to pick up cantaloupe later this Summer for the Cantaloupe Jam with Vanilla (which Deena at Mostly Foodstuffs has already declared lives up to the claims of tasting exactly like a Creamsicle). It will be a good resource for this Summer, and beyond - giving recipes for year-round pantry staples like can-able Grainy White Wine Mustard and a number of non-canning, frequently stored in jars items like granolas.

Ginger-Walnut Granola, sweetened with Steen's cane syrup I happened to have stashed in the freezer...

(Gluten-Free) Crunchy Buckwheat Granola

The granolas were actually some the things I was most looking forward to reading about and sampling. I had made this recipe Marisa wrote years ago on SlashFood, a number of times - and a version appears in the cookbook. Of all the things I usually never use a recipe for, I actually followed two of the granola recipes exactly to give them a test run. Both were delicious, especially the one made with buckwheat. Marisa calls for kasha, which are buckwheat groats that have been toasted. Kasha is available for purchase, but I had buckwheat on hand and sprouted/dehydrated some myself to use. This recipe alone (in my opinion) could be worth the cover price! It's much crunchier than traditional granola, and if you have gluten-free oats, it's GF as well. I tried not to overindulge in granola eating, but both jars didn't last long. And, I learned that to get naturally forming clumps in homemade granola a couple of egg whites can often help, as can letting the granola cool when gently heaped up into a mound in the center of the baking sheet.

With Spring asparagus in the supermarkets, I took advantage of the seasonality and decided to put up a small batch of Pickled Asparagus. I picked up two large bunches which only amounted to about 2 1/2 lbs. (The recipe called for 4 lbs.) I got two jars with spears, and then decided to re-blanch the tougher stems and pickle up a third jar containing them since I had extra brine. I actually haven't transferred them to the dark basement yet, because I've enjoyed looking at them so much. I haven't cracked them open to taste them yet either - but I'm certain they won't disappoint. One thing I've come to know about Marisa's recipes is that they are always spot-on.

I have a few canning books on my personal shelf now that have easily slipped into the classic category. Now right next to Linda Ziedrich and Pam Corbin sits cookbook author Marisa McClellan's first book, and that name printed on the front of a beautiful, hardcover book makes me as proud as if it were my own name. I can't really be sure why this is. It could be because the world of preservers is bonded by not only economy, thrift and seasonality, but also by unspoken vows of commonality. We are happiest when those we know give unending gifts to the canning world, the recipes in this book will do just that - and will continue to do it for many years to come.



DISCLOSURE: I received a copy of this book for review, but all of my thoughts and opinions are my own. I am extremely happy to have this book in my collection, and look forward to using it heavily!

Homegrown Philly in Milwaukee

When I was contacted at the end of March by Marisa (from Food in Jars) and Caroline at the Philadelphia Tourism department about checking out some local foods from Philadelphia, I was very excited. With the current state of the postal service and the ever upward rise in electronic communication, I rarely get any personal mail. I even more rarely get mail that is any fun at all. I was really looking forward to getting a box of mystery foodstuffs to sample, and the chance to travel just a bit without leaving home.

Philly Homegrown is a project through the Greater Philadelphia Tourism and Marketing Corporation.

If I am honest, I have been hugely influenced by Marisa McClellan at Food in Jars. When I started my blog two years ago, I started reading more blogs and being influenced by great blogs like Food in Jars. What I didn't expect from the experience of sharing a bit of myself with the world was that I would find inspiration to do that which I always had in me to do: home preservation.

Growing up in a canning household, I rested comfortably on the laurels of my family, while only doing a batch of jam here and there myself for something to do. I could have had a pantry full of things for each time I told someone "My Mom cans that" or "My Gram used to can that". In the past 2 years, I've seen myself change completely. There are more homemade (and fermented!) foods in my diet than ever before and I have to thank Marisa for making home preservation look so attainable. If she could do it in her tiny apartment kitchen (and with a full-time job), then I could do it in my larger-by-comparison kitchen (in my current state of "unemployent"), right?

I have made many of her recipes, and even enlisted my Mom to make the ones that I ran out of time or ingredients for. While I come nowhere close to putting by the food that she does, I feel like I have become a competent preserver, and for that I thank her sincerely.

Since I have spent a lot of time reading about Philadelphia through Marisa's food, I think my anticipation of my box of Philly food included added dimension of excitement. Philadelphia always seemed like an interesting city through her eyes, even though I've never been. I immediately began my usual method of obsession, of future plans to include traveling to Pennsylvania. Then, my box came:

Click the picture to read more about the contents on Flickr...

I know we are in a time of Green everything, and that's not really a bad thing. It is certainly uncool to want excess waste, but I am still the biggest appreciator of great packaging. This box was no exception. It was great packaging that I saved every bit of to reuse. It was actually packed in a sturdy styrofoam cooler; this will have new life for years, since my Parents do a fair amount of traveling with food and are in need of such means of keeping things cool for short periods of time. The With Love packing paper that cushioned all the goods (pictured at top) got smoothed out and folded, most likely to reuse as wrapping things to send in the mail. I was even happy that the glass jars were of canning size - I have seen canning lids at the Amish bulk store that are the screw on type, and maybe this will be the summer I will experiment with that. Once I got past all the packaging, I laid everything out on the table. I had mail, great looking, edible mail. Isn't that the best kind?

The best part about a box like this is that these were all things that were unique to an area. I am proud of my state, and I got to peek just a little into another and see that same pride. I waited until the next morning to try the biscotti which was grainy and delicious, cut much thicker than the stuff I make myself. (And, studded with orange peel. So good.)

And I tried that tiny, darling jar of honey on a sourdough English muffin... and honey is so much one of my favorite things. All the nuance of place can be tasted in good honey.

And cheese. I am in Wisconsin, and still I am in no way a cheese expert (although I do eat my fair share). This raw cheddar was very good, stiff and buttery. I still have some left - and will try it with apple as suggested. I had some with the gluten free crackers and the sprouted grain crackers I had stashed in the freezer. (If you freeze crackers, it's marvelous. Fresh crackers whenever you demand them. I have my Mom to thank for that tip!)

So after a week or so of tastes, I thought I'd like to make up some kind of dinner using things I rarely have on hand like jarred tomato sauce. I opened the sauce and had a spoonful to see what I was working with. I have to preface that I don't buy jarred sauce, and I was surprised that this one tasted like summer tomatoes. Bright, tangy, delicious.

I had a half pound of crimini mushrooms that I knew I should use when they were still in optimum form, so I figured I'd make pasta with two types of "sauce". My pickiest eater, the Boy-O, has just recently started branching out. Slightly. If I pair something he likes with something unfamiliar on the side, chances are if I'm looking the other way he'll combine the two. The Stepped in What sauce lay in wait in a bright red pool... and mysteriously disappeared completely, sopped up by those delicious noodles.

It was actually difficult for me to open this package of pasta. It felt heavy and beautiful, and well cared for. It had two ingredients on the label and was a luxury item - if pasta can be considered luxury (and I'm pretty sure it can). I felt like I would be perfectly happy eating it with butter, salt and pepper only, but instead I sauteed an inch and a half of the cubed salame with some onion and garlic in a little olive oil and added some quartered mushrooms. Simple, but was it good! The salame is rich, and flavored everything for using such a small amount.

On the sourdough front: I haven't made a loaf of bread in more than a week due to the English muffin mayhem. For the past 2 weeks, I've been feeding the starter more (by more I mean half it's weight each in water and flour every morning), and can I ever tell the difference. It is much more active, and has much more rising power. I also folded the dough during the first fermentation, which incorporates air into the loaf. It could also be that we've had a string of gorgeous, warmish days as well, but my bread was perfect. I half suspected it to be hollow in the center it was so uniformly round and risen, but no - just perfect with small airy holes.

So, my dinner was maybe a little unconventional. I layered the oily salame sauce over the pasta then added a bit of tomato sauce on the side. When mixed, the assertive tomato sauce took over, but when eaten segregated, both were very delicious. I made a salad dressing reminiscent of a Caesar by boiling an egg for 45 seconds (oh, those Cook's Illustrated people!), then whisking it with garlic, lemon juice and olive oil. Sopping up the plate with bread was one of my favorite ways to end the day.

I'm not lying when I say that if I have a bit of money and a weekend to spare this Summer or early Fall, I want to go to Philadelphia. It's a place I never considered, and neither is a "foodie vacation". I know just the person I'll invite to meet me there, too. Thank you to Marisa and Caroline for sending me such a fun box, and no doubt hooking me on the food culture of Philadelphia just a little bit.

Long Term Storage: Canning Rolled Oats.

It may not seem noteworthy to think about stocking dry goods in bulk, but I'd like to make a note of it anyway. For the me who is now an urban dweller, the phrase "making hay while the sun shines" doesn't hold the same feeling as it did when I lived rurally. I think back to when I first moved to the city, and only went to the grocery store every 3 weeks or so. This was the way we always shopped as I grew up, and for many years, it didn't occur to me that I could shop a few times a week if I wanted. Rurally, there wasn't really an option of running to get one forgotten ingredient, or just swinging by the store on the way home. Well, as I grew older, there was the option, but the store likely didn't have what you needed anyway. The small community closest to our home during my teenage years was really a place to get the occasional banana or box of cereal, and even then was very expensive. We tended to live off the pantry, and one shopping trip "to the city" every month.

In my adult life, my personal focus on preservation tends to be on things that were staples to me growing up: most specifically dill pickles, applesauce and tomatoes. Every year, I seem to add things that I now can't live without, Marisa's dilly beans and candied jalapenos for starters. This year lacto-fermentation was on the docket, and depending on the shelf lilfe, which has yet to be determined, I can see doing a lot more of it in the future. But no matter how much I feel like I have already preserved, I feel like I can always do more, like I am a "hoarder" of good whole food. Bulk (dry) storage hasn't really even been in the back of my mind, but it is always nice to know that I have bulk grains and now even raw sugar stashed in the basement.

When most of the year, organic oats at the co-op run near $1.50 a pound, I now seldom bat an eye knowing full well that I have quart jars full and sealed, just waiting for my breakfast and baking needs. Between my Mom and I, we usually secure a much lower price by buying in bulk - usually 50 lb. bags from her co-op in LaCrosse. In years past, my Mom would can the dry rolled oats, and then I would barter them from her, usually with pounds of Alterra coffee and quarts of toasty granola.

But recently, I was able to secure the best price on rolled oats from my co-op, so I purchased 60 pounds at 89 cents a pound, and am dry pack canning 30 pounds myself for the first time. My Mom has dry canned oats for several years, and really it is the easiest thing. Simply heat the oven to a low 225 degrees, fill quart jars with oats to within 1/4 inch of the top, and top with lids and rings. The jars can "bake" on their sides for 45-60 minutes. Remove from the oven, stand them carefully upright, and be patient for the "pop" of the lids. It takes just a bit longer (or, requires a bit more patience) to hear than the pop of the water bathed or pressure canned goods, but once sealed, it's a great feeling to know that the oats are safely sealed from moisture and pests. If you have some that don't seal, you can use them first. (My first batch of 12 quarts, or 10 lbs. of rolled oats had 4 non-sealing quarts. On my next batch, I plan to gently wipe the rims with a clean, lint free cloth to see if I can improve my sealant ratio.)

Outpost conveniently packaged the sale oats in 10 pound bags, easier on my back...

Upon a bit of research, I have found that dry pack canning can also be done in tin, and with any dry good that is less than 10% moisture. I like the idea of storing in glass, and have ample glass jars to use. Tin cans also require the use of specialized sealing equipment that may be available to rent in some areas. If you are interested in keeping the food "raw", this site recommends packing the jars with moisture absorbers, and avoiding any heating process. It seems to me that this method would be preferred for those trying to preserve the growing power in grains or beans, since you would not compromise their vitality.

Dry pack canning in the oven is also a good way to preserve nuts, though I have not tried it yet. I think I may try it with raw nuts and see how much "roasting" I get by the low oven temperature. Last year at Christmas, I made a few batches of these delicious nuts from Food in Jars - and I am curious if I could seal them using the dry pack method. I'll be sure to update this post after my experiments...

Update: 11/9/2010

Last night, I sealed another 12 jars (11 quarts, and 1 half gallon jar) using the same dry pack method described above, and achieved 100% sealing. Before fixing on the lids and rings, I brought the lids to a boil, and let them sit for 10 minutes to soften the seals. I also wiped the tops of the jars with a lint free cloth before topping them with the lids and rings.

When canning in a water bath or under pressure, you should never disturb the jars as they cool. But since we are talking about sealing a dry good, there are no such issues to be concerned with. When the jars were nearly room temp, and some still had not sealed, I borrowed a technique no longer recommended for jam making: I turned them upside down. I think I had 5 jars that I inverted, and by this morning, all of them had sealed. (My sealant test is to lift each jar by the lid only.)

Grilled Cheese: The CakeWalk.

The CakeWalk. I have never submitted a recipe to another website before (other than photographically speaking to Tastespotting), and was surprised that my image and recipe appeared lighting-quick on the beautifully appointed Grilled Cheese Academy website, without a lengthy moderation process. You may recall that I went to the website launch event in Madison a while back, and while I was immediately impressed with both the Wisconsin Milk Marketing Board and Tori Miller's execution of such humble ingredients as cheese and bread, I never thought I'd be submitting a recipe of my own. Of course, in true rcakewalk fashion, the recipe is really a Frankenstein's Monster of sorts: Lahey bacon bread, vegan cashew-lemon pesto, and a cheese that I first fell in love with in the early '90's.

When I was still in high school, my family went on a week long vacation to the Ely, Minnesota area. We stayed in a lakeside cabin, my brother and I canoed in the Boundary Waters, and our van broke. We had an enormous bench-seated rental, that I remember we had a lot of fun picking on. I'm sure there is a picture somewhere. But even more memorably than that, we ate at a restaurant called The Chocolate Moose. (It appears that it is still there, but there is no website listed when Googled.) I was vegetarian in those days - much to the chagrin of my Parents, I'd imagine, who were pretty lenient and understanding about my dietary choices.

What made The Chocolate Moose stand out to me was that they had a kitchen garden out in the back, and they were able to use a lot of it in what they served. We ate there multiple times, and I know that I had their grilled cheese every time we did. Their sandwich was something like this: bread, provolone, pesto, tomato, pesto, provolone, bread. I studied it completely. Not only was provolone a rather new cheese to me, I don't think that I'd ever had pesto before.

Theirs was pine nut pesto, and I remember recreating the sandwich soon after we got back to Wisconsin (thankfully, in our own van). I'm sure I bought a little refrigerated tub of pesto back then, but now due to the bounty of a summer kitchen garden of my own, there is no need for that. I used some leftover Cashew Lemon Pesto from a recipe by Dreena Burton in her book Eat, Drink & Be Vegan. When chilled, the cashew pesto was almost like a paste that I spread into a molded shape on the right hand piece of bread (photo below) and then transferred to the grated cheese. When heated, it went right back to it's original state much the same as a refrigerated traditional pesto would.

I love grilled cheese because it is one of those things in the Endlessly Adaptable Club that pretty much always hits the spot. Whatever is lurking in the fridge can find new life nestled in-between good bread and good cheese, and in relatively short order. I think the key to a great sandwich is to line the bread on both sides with some of the cheese, since it provides a moisture barrier, and also to sprinkle a bit of salt on the top of the sandwich after it is grilled. I learned this from my Dad, who is a grilled cheese expert. He would be the first to tell you that he's not much of a cook, but eggs, grilled cheese and outdoor grilling he's got down to a science. That little extra salinity on the top of the sandwich really just makes it.

So, there you have it. The CakeWalk is a sandwich of many parts, but it is one I am proud of. It is satisfying on it's own, but anytime that I'm able to promote Food in Jar's Spicy Dilly Beans, I will! I love these things, and they are even better since now I'm eating my remaining jar with gusto since I know I will have access to fresh green beans very soon to make more. I had a nice big handful on the side this evening, and like to think that everything in this grilled cheese supper was from Wisconsin, save the flour in the bread and the tropical cashew nut in the pesto.

You can check out my recipe in the gallery (search for The CakeWalk) and many others, and even submit one of your own while you're there. It's fun to know that whatever your level of cooking and/or kitchen experimenting, there is a sandwich at the Grilled Cheese Academy just waiting for you to enjoy. I know I have to remember to check out their site more often.