Movie stars!
Immortality achieved.
I’m Always Counting Down
Category Archives: compote something
East End Boys And West End Girls
Heirloom tomatoes roasted with olive oil and salt on the left; roasted red tomatoes with olive oil and salt. We jar whole tomatoes from organic farm girls who humor me about my unusual art supplies.
Six years ago, I started thinking about food preservation as a way to test whether my brain would let me learn again after the whole wacky memory loss episode. Congratulations to me! If I really work at it, I can absorb new things. I wanted to try jarring as many different kinds of things as I could to learn as much as I could about what I was doing. The upside of that plan was that invested time, money and effort paid off in some beautiful jars and exciting meals. The downside was that, since I don’t usually cook our dinners, the food in jars ages in the pantry, often beyond what might be safe to eat.
This year, I’m much stronger than I have been since food school started. Today, we went on a 12 mile bike ride on gravel at a good clip two months after Pete’s knee surgery. Afterward, I needed a glass of wine and a nap, but it was completely great and we’re planning more challenging rides. This of course takes time.
This year, I’m thinking about narrowing my focus – STOP LAUGHING! I have focus! – to tomatoes, beets, apples, peaches, raspberries. I would like to find time to get red peppers into jars whole and as red pepper spread, which I love all winter, but if not, I’m going to try not to be heartbreaky about it. I’m finished with beets. We almost can’t get enough tomatoes and tomato sauce into jars, but we’re pushing that rock uphill. I’m excited about moving into fruit soon.
Anyhoo, this is all very promising. We’re on bicycles and out of the kitchen! We’re in the kitchen and on the prowl. I do hear blueberries calling my name…
Whole red beets are both beautiful and slightly spooky.
And In Her Mouth An Amethyst
I feel drab and uninspired. These golden beets, however, look like they could dance until dawn.
You Give Yourself To Him
Left: sugar plum chutney; right: pickled beets.
I am too depressed to talk. Between the sudden death of Tunch, the George Zimmerman acquittal and a strange turn of events in my family, I feel a little broken. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Running High Run Deep Run Wild
Currants are ungodly expensive, so as projects go, they’re strictly gift food.
Fortunately, I don’t really drink much hard liquor anymore and Pete knows if he touches this, I’ll murder him in his sleep.
And Shout the Earth It Moves
At the American Museum of Natural History, Pete and I stumbled into an exhibit about food anthropology and a demonstration about the magic of pectin. I answered questions because Dad died and left me homework. Thanks, Dad!
In other news: Pete’s surgeon declared Pete’s surgery a success. We then tromped around the museum at the edge of Central Park for a few hours because we could without debilitating pain. It was a big moment for us, which we celebrated by taking the train back to New Brunswick and walking over the bridge to where we’d left our car. It doesn’t sound like much of a fiesta, but last year’s trip to the museum sent me to bed for a day, which is so much less fun when it entails agony and drugstore bonbons.
I should have planned that better.
In the waiting room at the Hospital For Special Surgery, we heard the great news: DOMA was struck down and Prop 8 was thrown out. Last night’s groundbreaking filibuster in the Texas State Legislature by Wendy Davis and the crowd was a welcome surprise after the day’s Supreme Court ruling gutting the Voting Rights Act. There’s no time to absorb news as it’s happening this week.
This Is A Long Distance Call
Mom’s having two surgeries this week. Two. By Thursday, I shall be speaking in tongues and all of them will be asking for egg rolls and disinfecting wipes.
Something Tells Me I’m Into Something
Tonight, we moved the kitten’s litter box from the kitchen to the attic, which we refer to as the cats’ room, but we pretend not to know it’s also the lab where they’re building robots. We wink when the mailman delivers parts. We know exactly where to look for missing screwdrivers and small power tools. Cross your fingers: Topaz will soften and we’ll find kitten-size lab coats in the hamper.
Brown rice paella, which is easier to make than you might imagine, if you imagine it’s not easy. But it is. If you can boil water, you can make paella and should!
Your Dreams A Dollar Down
It took two days because we are old and fear dampness, but we cleaned out the corner of the basement in which we store jars, equipment and jarred stuff. This involved a huge amount of dry leaves and mud, which neither of us understands because the basement is indoors. We think. Pete bleached and mopped and we hope the rain outside will stop someday and the floor will dry out.
Proving that I have a life outside of my indoor cats, I have taken this picture of the astroturf welcome mat literally just outside my house.
Ahead of us: clearing out jarred stuff from last year we didn’t finish over the winter. Most of it is fruit. I’m going to eat gallons of fruity yogurt.
I Always Feel Like Somebody’s
A year ago, I caught a low grade fever called Blood Orange Marmalade, mysterious because I don’t actually like marmalades. For months, food writers all seemed to be turning out batches of the stuff in lovely and addictive jewel tones that made my mouth water. Even so, when I found bags blood oranges in the grocery store, I hesitated because the result, good or bad, would be marmalade and, if you recall, I don’t actually like those. I decided to try it anyway when Marissa at Food In Jars posted a recipe for Small Batch Blood Orange Marmalade right where I could salivate over the pictures.
They look friendlier in person.
It wasn’t all glamor, though: when I made the recipe as straight as I could, the color was a beautiful ruby but the flavor was really, really sweet with only the mildest hint of orange, which is to say it tasted like cough syrup, only chewy. I decided that flavor was more important than color, so I added orange juice a cup at a time over a couple of days’ simmering time to improve the orange flavor, but I couldn’t overcome the intense sweetness. I was just about to give up and toss the whole batch when I stared into my fridge and found a possible solution: naranja agria or sour orange juice. About half a cup later, the bright orange flavor was exciting; to balance the additional liquid, I added one packet of liquid pectin. Deliciousness incarnate or chunky cough syrup? That’s for lovers of marmalade to decide.
Poor Impulse Control 