Jam Basics

I'm not sure I'll ever stop experimenting with my jam recipes (that's what makes canning/cooking fun), but thought I'd save myself a little of the annual aggravation by jotting down some of the constants.


TIPS:
Better to use a large shallow pot (I use my big enameled dutch oven) to cook jams.  The fruit will cook more evenly and thus, twice as fast.

Cook at a controlled boil and stir constantly so the fruit mixture doesn't scorch.  I love my silicone spoon (with the metal handle).  I bought one at Williams-Sonoma that has straight side so it swipes the curve at the bottom of my pot.

Don't be afraid to add a pouch of liquid fruit pectin once your jam has reached the desired consistency.  Boil jam for one minute (no longer) after adding pectin.

Its best to skim foam off of jam before adding the liquid pectin.

Add fresh herbs at the very end of cook time (or along with your pectin).  If you add them too soon, they become a bit chewy.

1 1/2 lbs of raw chopped raw fruit, equals roughly 6 cups; 2 lbs equals about 8 cups.  These are approximate measures.  Check Williams-Sonoma's Art of Preserving for more equivalents.  They include conversions in their recipes.

The pamphlet that comes in the liquid pectin boxes is a good cross reference for sugar and fruit amounts.

You only need to leave a 1/4 inch headspace for jams, and process for 10 minutes in boiling water bath.

  

It's TURKEY-time!

Thanksgiving Recipes at the Bottom of Post

They say that no other American holiday is as associated with food, as Thanksgiving. When I think Thanksgiving, I think TURKEY.  

The venerated fowl, which Ben Franklin once suggested as our national bird, has been gracing American dinner tables since the Europeans landed on Plymouth Rock (or thereabouts).  When spied pecking their way across colonial meadows and woodlands, the hapless birds were mistaken for a type of guinea fowl native to the Turkish region of Europe, and thus named Turkey.

Turkey remains today, a thoroughly exotic, American food.  Americans dining in Europe may find turkey listed on a menu in a more upscale locale, but in general, Europeans don't eat turkey.

While living outside of Brussels, Belgium in the mid-1990s, a tip from a friend, led me to a butcher that sold fresh American turkeys.  Upon placing my order, I felt proud as a peahen, believing I'd be serving my family a traditional holiday meal, on our first Thanksgiving abroad.

The boucherie  (butcher shop) was packed the day I went to pick up my bird.  When I stepped to the counter, identified myself, and my order, the butcher smiled and disappeared into the meat locker behind him.  He emerged with a hideous creature, which he proudly hung before me - a whole turkey - minus the feathers - head flopped to one side - presented for my approval.

As I stood in horror, words from the butcher's mouth flew past my untrained ears, faster than I could understand them.

A kind woman stepped up, obviously aware of my panic, and translated.  The butcher wanted to know, if I wanted the turkey dressed.  Dressed, as in butchered?  YES, YES!  PLEASE, sir.  PLEASE, DRESS MY TURKEY!

I have no idea what I would have done, if the Belgian butcher had simply flung the undressed bird, over the counter, and sent me on my way.  I suppose, I would have paid, left the shop, and considered the entire experience, a lesson learned.

No doubt, turkey is an American culinary staple, and yet as popular as it is, many people are afraid to prepare a stuffed, and roasted bird.  I'm sure that even the newest foodie-novitiate has heard a myriad of turkey-horror-stories about the perils of undercooked or bacteria-laden turkey-meat.

My own mother had a story she loved to tell of a college acquaintance whose entire family was hospitalized after a run-in with a fouled-fowl.

With all of the cookbook cautions, warning labels, public service announcements, and on-line-turkey-hotlines, it seems a stretch to imagine anyone getting sick today, from mishandling a raw or cooked turkey.

As celebrated as a handsomely roasted turkey is, it won't stand alone without the support of an array of festive holiday dishes.  I've added links below, to some of my favorite holiday recipes.  Some are very traditional, and others, are tradition with a twist.  Enjoy!

(click below on the recipe title)

Farmhouse Bread Stuffing with Oysters and Pecans

 Make-Ahead Turkey Stock and Gravy

Cheesy Broccoli Casserole

Comfort Corn Pudding

Cranberry-Cherry Chutney

Cape Cod Cranberry Bread

Pumpkin Pie with Spiced Whipped Cream

Cran-Raspberry Jello Salad

Cranberry Bliss Bars

Heavenly Potato Casserole

Celebrating Ireland

The emerald countryside of Northern Ireland.

Long before it became trendy to boast of dishes prepared with locally-procurred, and organically-grown meats and produce, the Irish had perfected the art of country-cooking.  Having graced more than a few Irish country pubs, and farmhouse bed and breakfast establishments, Rick and I have long been fans of Ireland's humble, cuisine.

Irish menus may not be lengthy or extravagant, but no matter where you go in Ireland, you can generally count on the food being fresh, and prepared in a tasty manner. Irish cooks are at their best, when making do with what they have on-hand, and though the country is a relatively small island, staples vary widely by region.

Whether roasted, or served in a rich, savory stew, country-lamb takes center stage in the north and interior of Ireland, while fresh-water trout is a favorite of the mountain districts.

Though most commonly served in restaurants these days, locally harvested shellfish can still be purchased from handcarts, in many small fishing villages along the southern coast.  While touring Ireland in the mid 1990's, I was delighted to hear a weathered old vendor hawking his cockles and mussels from a pushcart, while strolling the sleepy streets of one dreamy little village.

In addition to shellfish, the cold water of the North Sea produces a mild, soft-pink, salmon few in the United States would recognize. Nothing screams comfort on a bitterly cold and windy day, like a bowl of steaming fish chowder, served with whole-grain, brown bread, that's been slathered with creamery-fresh, unsalted butter.

And, when you're feelin' a bit parched, and a wee-bit hungry, nothing beats a frothy pint of Guinness, a wedge of sharp, farmhouse-cheddar cheese, and a sliver of baked ham.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention, my favorite Irish meal-of-the-day, breakfast!  As most good country-folk know, you can't start your day, without fueling your engine.  A typical Irish breakfast includes eggs cooked sunny-side-up (with the largest, most deeply colored yolks I've ever seen), bangers (plump little sausage links), pan-fried tomatoes, and mushrooms, clotted cream, marmalade, and breakfast scones.  And, if that's not enough, you can always order a pork chop on the side.

While touring Ireland, I purchased several local cookbooks which I found easy to follow, and chock-full of wholesome, country recipes. What you won't find in Ireland, much to the surprise of most tourist, is corned beef and cabbage, a distinctly Irish-American dish.  No matter, it remains a favorite of our family, and always makes an appearance around St. Patty's Day, along with my mother's Bit O'Shamrock cake (ever hear of an Irish pistachio?).

A listing of recipes, both authentically Irish, and Irish-American, can be found labeled Irish/St. Patty's Day, in the margin of this blog.

On The Border

Cheesy Chicken Enchiladas  and Fiesta Rice

From a foodie's standpoint, one of the benefits of living in Southern California, is the availability of fresh, authentic Mexican cuisine.  With take-away taco shops on every neighborhood corner, it's impossible to avoid the lure of fresh, handmade corn tortillas, and homemade pork tamales, fresh fish tacos, and ceviche (a marinated seafood cocktail), and nacho bars offering a selection of piquant salsas, zesty pickled peppers, salty, homemade tortilla chips, and rich guacamole.

While living in Escondido, I became addicted to the homemade salsas assembled and sold at our neighborhood produce stand.  Their pureed cooked salsa was my personal, all-time favorite, so I made a point of stopping in late every afternoon for a fresh container.  While there, I'd pick up a handful of fresh avocados, a vegetable for dinner, and a local melon, mango or other fruit for desert.

Learning the language of the local produce was a challenge at first.  There are endless numbers of chilies and peppers available.  I never really did learn to distinguish which peppers were which at the really hot end of the scale.  I knew enough to understand that I was better off selecting the milder alternatives, and rarely experimented with the unfamiliar.  Call me cowardly, but for me, the good old jalapeno pepper was as hot as it got!

Growing up in the mid-western United States in the 1960s and '70s, I thought Mexican meant chili powder and red kidney beans.  It was while living in California, that I discovered cumin, coriander and fresh cilantro, staple ingredients in many Mexican dishes.  I still remember my first mouthful of avocado, which had been added, along with alfalfa sprouts, to an otherwise traditional bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich at a hole-in-the-wall sub shop in Mission Viejo.  It was 1977, long before the days of Subway and Quiznos.  I had just graduated from high school, and moved with my family to California.  I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.  

Twenty-five years later in Camarillo, California, I owned my own mini-grove of Haas avocados trees.  We haphazardly grew our avocados the size of small ostrich eggs, much to chagrin of the big grove owners who were having trouble producing an avocado larger than a small pear.  I hated leaving those trees behind when we headed south to San Diego, and I still cringe at paying $1.50+ for what is laughingly referred to as an avocado in the grocery store.

While living in Camarillo, we dined once a week at a little local hideaway called Lalos.  There, I fell in love with Carnitas, which is braised or roasted pork shoulder, served with fresh flour tortillas, shredded lettuce, Mexican rice, creamy beans, and fresh guacamole.  It's to die for, especially when chased by a pitcher of golden Margaritas.

Happy as I am to be back in western Pennsylvania, I must admit to missing real Mexican food (chain restaurants - bah!).  Fortunately, I've a binder of recipes, and a pretty cool Mexican market in Pittsburgh's Strip District, that I can go to satisfy my craving.  If only I could find a way to transport a case of my favorite salsa.  Darn airport security!!

Some of my favorite Mexican recipes may be found on this site, labeled Mexican.

Churros, are Mexican doughnuts rolled in a cinnamon-sugar-cardamom mixture.  Delicious! 

Produce photos and the cowboy placard were taken at my favorite produce stand in Escondido.

Root Forward Into the New Year

Honestly, I'm not a very superstitious person, but I wouldn't think of celebrating the New Year without eating pork, of some kind.  

My family has always celebrated the new year with a pork roast.  My father simply wouldn't have it any other way.

Eastern Europeans believe that you must celebrate the new year by consuming the flesh of an animal that roots forward while foraging for food. By doing so, you can be assured of heading forward into the new year, thus optimizing your chances of success and good fortune.

One year, while trekking home down the Ohio turnpike on New Year's Day, we encountered a blizzard. It was getting late and there was no chance we were going to find a decent place to eat. Dad was tired, hungry and irritable, when we pulled into a highway rest-stop. It was past the dinner hour, the place was deserted and at first it appeared as though the kitchen was closed. All hope for something hot to eat seemed lost, when Mom spied the bratwurst. I'll never forget the change in Dad's demeanor. Not only was he going to get something to eat, he was going to eat pork! Alleluia! Good things were going to happen! After dinner, we piled back into the car and inched our way forward down the freeway toward home.

                             From:  Women On Tractors, Rooting Forward 2010

I remember my parents actually debating whether eating a bratwurst would satisfy the superstition.  I guess the mere fact that we were able to move forward down the highway, without having to turn back, answered that question!

Another explanation I've heard for eating pork on New Year's Day, comes from the Middle Ages, when the men of a village gathered for a boar hunt on the last day of the year.  If they returned with fresh kill, it meant that game in the local woodland was plentiful.  If they failed, then the woods were most likely hunted-out, which meant there would be starvation in the coming year.

Pork isn't the only food associated with the New Year.  No self-respecting southerner would think of ushering in a new year without eating black-eyed peas, which are believed to symbolize prosperity.  I've heard several different explanations for this tradition, but the most common seems to have originated after the Civil War, when food was scarce.  If a family had black-eyed peas in the pantry, it meant that they had luck on their side, and would be prosperous in the coming year.

Feeling I could use a little extra luck and prosperity as I rang in the new year, I whipped up a bowl of Texas Caviar, using canned black eyed peas and yellow hominy.  It was a big hit, especially with my two-year-old grandson, Richard, who loves tomatoes.

If you're in mind to try a new pork recipe, I've got a few I think you'll enjoy.  Don't be fooled by the title of the second  one though, City Chicken is pork with a twist.

Zesty Pork and Sauerkraut Balls

Mom's City Chicken

Judy's Pork with Apple-Kraut

In the City

I spent the most delightful day with my daughter, and grandchildren this week, poking around our favorite foodie locales in the city of Pittsburgh.  Sometimes you have to venture beyond your own neck of the woods to see what's new out there. 

It started with a facebook foodie alert from my little cousin over at Crafty's Cafe, saying the Peppermint Joe Joes had arrived at our local Trader Joe's.

For the unenlightened, Trader Joe's, is a southern California institution, specializing in fresh, frozen and canned organics.  The wise folks at TJ's corporate headquarters must have realized there was a cultivated foodie population here in western PA, because they chose Pittsburgh as one of their out-reach cities.

Joe Joes are TJ's version of an Oreo (just as tasty, but better for you), and Peppermint Joe Joes (to die for, as the creamy little centers are studded with bits of candy cane) are only available for a few short weeks each year.

I was looking for an excuse to make a trip to the city, so I called Daughter No. 3, a fellow enthusiast, and we planned our day.  The next morning, we strapped the kids in the mini-van, set our GPS, and hit the road.


After a rough start (the Pittsburgh Public Market was closed on Tuesday), we hit the Strip District on foot, and settled on lunch at my favorite fish market, Wholey's, where we stood in line (along with twenty-some other foodies) for a fresh, hand battered fish sandwich, appropriately referred to as the the Whaler.

No. 3 couldn't make it past the sushi-man (stationed at the front door) without ordering a spider-roll (soft-shelled crab).  And, we both agreed we had to sample the lauded crab and lobster bisque.


The tender, batter-fried whiting was fabulous, as was the oversized spider roll. The two-year-old (foodie in training) who ate more than just a little of the fish, couldn't get enough of the bisque.

Next, we headed on over to Fudgie-Wudgie for a chocolate dipped, marshmallow-pop (with little round sprinkles).  


Before leaving the district, we stopped to check out the new Right By Nature, an organic grocery, where Regan ate her first clementine (swallowed a little seed, much to Mommy's horror), and Richard experienced the thrill of riding in a glass elevator (to the parking garage).  This place was pretty crunchy (hard-core healthy), and somewhat lacking in excitement, but worth the stop if you are in the area, as they do have a large assortment of canned items, beautiful produce, deli, meat and fish departments, and an in-store cafe.

Back in the car, we consulted the GPS, headed northwest out of the Strip, and toward Shady Side.   The minute we walked through the door at Trader Joe's, I knew I just had to have a cup of whatever they had simmering on a burner in the back of the store.  It smelled like mulled cider, and it was, Spiced Cranberry-Apple Cider. Mmmm.  Delicious!

For those who've never been, going to TJ's is like going to the circus.  It's an assault to the senses, with big, colorfully-cartoonish advertisements that draw your attention to every nook, and rafter in the building.  The two-year-old was captivated.

We explored each and every aisle, had no trouble filling our cart, but failed to find the Peppermint Joe Joes.  On one of the end-caps, I spied TJ's delightfully rich Peppermint Hot Chocolate (made with real bittersweet chocolate shavings) - close, but not the Joe Joes I was looking for.

I was beginning to get a bad feeling, when my suspicion was confirmed by a cheerfully outfitted store employee.  The coveted Peppermint Joe Joes had not yet arrived.  Grrr.  Wait 'til I see my little cousin . . .

I arrived home with plenty of shopping bags to unload, and decided to indulge myself with a hot cup of chocolaty goodness.  As I sat sipping, I decided I'd just have to make another trip to the city.  After all, this hot chocolate would taste just awesome with one of those Peppermint Joe Joes.

Bushels and Bushels of Apples

Apple recipe links at the bottom of this post.

"Anyone can count the seeds in an apple, but only God can count the number of apples in a seed."  Robert H. Schuller

Who doesn't like visiting an apple orchard and cider mill?  

When I was a kid living outside of Detroit, we'd pile in the car each fall and set off for the local cider mill in Franklin, Michigan, where we'd jockey for a parking position along the narrow, old, village street upon which the mill sat.  I could have found my way from the car with my eyes closed, simply by following the intoxicating aroma of frying donuts and sweet cider.  We were allowed one donut and a cup of cider each, before returning  home with a gallon jug, a bag of apples, and smiles on our faces.  

Mom's fresh apple pies, fritters and sauce were standards in our house, but in the fall, what we most enjoyed, were Dad's candied apples.  I'm not sure how or why this particular job fell to my father, but it was always his production and he made the most of it.

When my children were small, we found a similarly delightful orchard and mill outside of Toledo, Ohio where we lived at the time.  I can't remember the name of the place, but memories linger still of the girls with their cherubic faces pressed up against the glass that separated the cider press from the rest of the barn, where bags of apples, pumpkins and gourds, piled high on wooden tables, beckoned customers.  There weren't any homemade donuts at the orchard in Toledo, but the girls got something they thought even better, pony rides! 

Last summer, on one of our many trips back and forth to the cottage, I noticed a small wooden sign on the side of the road advertising a cider mill.  My heart leaped with joy at the thought of having a place to take my grandchildren for a paper cupful of handmade, local cider.  On a subsequent trip, I pulled off the road to investigate and found, after some meandering, the most beautifully maintained family orchard, cider mill, and country gift shop.

I made several stops back this fall with my daughter and grand kids, where we sampled the apple fritters, turnovers and pies, that were assembled and baked before our eyes in the wonderful little barn-kitchen, by Amish neighbors.  

Across from the kitchen, the men-folk spread layers of crushed apples onto burlap lined trays, they'd stack high under the press.  Finally, with the flip of a switch, the press came alive, and as it compacted, the sweet, golden cider rained down from the trays, and into a cauldron.                                                       

Apples are most prolific in the month of October, and they say, are best eaten shortly after they're picked while their flesh is still firm, and crisp.  I never thought about the actual age of a picked apple eaten in April, or May.  Imagine the days before refrigeration, when apples were stored in wooden barrels, buried beneath the dirt floor of the family root cellar.  Its a wonder there was anything worth eating come spring, or summer.

I love apples, and bought bushels of them this autumn, which I processed into sauce and butter to be savored this winter.  My favorite eating apple is a Honey Crisp, but they're not always easy to find, and are usually the first variety to sell-out at neighborhood orchards and markets. So far this autumn, we've enjoyed apple pie and fritters, crisps, muffins and apple cake.  Check out the links below for some of those recipes.  Check back often, as more will be posted.

Almond-Apple Cupcakes with Cinnamon Streusel

Grandpap Mike's Fried Apple Rings

Awesome Apple Butter (click)

Old Fashioned Apple Crisp (click)

Butternut Squash and Apple Soup (click)