Showing posts with label preserves. Show all posts
Showing posts with label preserves. Show all posts

Monday, July 23, 2007

Ode to a Maslin Pan...and Other Farm Wife Impedimenta



Yesterday, I sliced a heaping cup of garlic paper thin and finely julienned a cup of ginger, and then chopped five pounds of apples to make chutney. That sounds like a lot, but yielded just seven, tiny, precious half-pints. It's a recipe that I was lucky enough to get many years ago from the amazing Parsi food diva, Niloufer Ichaporia King. I cooked the chutney last night, let it sit to meld the flavors and check the seasoning, then reheated and put it in jars this morning. As I write, it's making little plunking sounds when each bottle cools and seals. I get a tiny surge of pleasure each time, like when the cork pops out of a bottle of sparkling wine. Viva!

After my complaints about how much trouble it is to make preserves, I have to admit that it's considerably easier than it used to be. I learned most of my Farm Wife skills from Gran, my father's mother, and as a result, I tend to do things the way she was taught by her mother. That puts me at least a century behind the times, with a methodology that hovers around 1895. Recently, though, I've found some handy tools that I wish I'd discovered years ago. Besides the usual jar lifters, wide mouth funnels, and other basics, several new implements have made the whole messy business easier. I'm going to share these tips with you, dear reader, since I forgot to have children, and hate to see all of my brilliant ideas go down with me when my time comes.

First, the maslin pan. I'm in love with the maslin pan. It's a stainless steel pan with a thick bottom to reduce the risk of scorching and sticking. It's wider at the top than the bottom to speed evaporation, and it has a bail, just like a bucket, and a pour spout on one side. Trying to get that last half cup out of a regular pan is tough, but with a maslin pan, so easy. It's a thing of beauty if, like me, your pulse elevates around sturdy cookware. The second tool that Gran didn't have is the silicone spatula. How did I get by before these amazing heat-resistant tools were invented? You can stir with them, and swish around the inside of the pan to keep things from sticking and the spatula won't melt. What to do with the spatula between stirs? That problem is answered by the pot clip, a little gizmo that goes on the edge of the maslin pan and holds the sticky spatula suspended over the pot, ready to use, but out of the way. Finally, the mandoline. My beloved. I started using the mandoline when I lived in Japan twenty years ago, and after returning to California, used to beg my friend Ruth to bring new ones when she would visit. Mine is a basic little"benriner", which tranlsates something like "handy thing", and it is indeed. I use it every day for slicing and grating (it makes handsome little square shreds instead of the homely stuff that comes out of a regular grater), but it's especially useful when there are gallons of fruit to slice for marmalade, or horrifying amounts of garlic to prepare, like for yesterday's chutney. As it says on the top, "Watch your fingers." I confess that I've been unfaithful to the mandoline this Farm Wife season, because I broke down and bought the slicer grinder attachments for my Kitchen Aid mixer. It's speedy, but somewhat haphazard, and I may need a little more practice with it before it competes with the little mandoline.

I've discovered that I can put links to Amazon on this blog, and they will actually give me money if anyone buys something after being directed there. I promise that it won't ever influence what I say, and I hope to have my integrity intact after doing this. Besides, you can't even get a maslin pan from Amazon. I found mine at Lee Valley, the nifty tool company, and I recommend it for your benefit, dear reader, not theirs.

There's one more modern tool I use when I make preserves. Avery, the company that makes the labels I use for the pantry, has free downloadable software that makes it easy to customize a label, and print exactly the number you need. Just remember to put the labels in the printer upside down, something I forget at least once every summer.

The biggest Calypso dog just told me that the Satsuma plums are falling off the tree. Sigh.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Farm Wife Summer

"Bought marmalade? Oh dear, I call that very feeble."
-----Maggie Smith as Constance in Gosford Park

I have a love/hate relationship with this time of year, when the fruit in the orchard becomes a huge chore on its way to becoming a treasure. At our house, the morning routine requires coffee with toast and jam, and that jam has to be homemade. Alas, I do not love everything about the process.

The love:

Open kettle preserves have a flavor that can't be matched by most commercial jam, which tends to be bulked up with pectin and worse. Most of the fruit I use is from trees I can see from my porch or blackberries that grow along the edges of the vineyard. The process of making preserves is sensual and meditative. It always makes me feel connected with my grandmother, who first taught me the Farm Wife arts. When I'm finished for the season, I'm unreasonably pleased with my industry and gloat over the handsome rows of jars on the shelf. Plus, lately more aware of the part food plays in a healthy planet, there's satisfaction in the recycling of Mason jars, and the environmental plus of not shipping my jam from Bulgaria.

The hate:

The fruit ripens during hot weather. That means that turning it into preserves heats the house and makes me miserable all day. Every year, I find I've forgotten how long it takes, and how much work it is to chop the fruit and cook it. The crop always seems to hit its imperative moment when I had other ideas for the day. I either feel guilty for ignoring it, or martyred that I have to abandon my plans to stand at the stove.

Is it worth it to go through Farm Wife Summer every year? I know I'm always glad that I did it when I enjoy that homegrown tablespoon of summer on my morning toast. However, I only make as much as we need, and no more. Don't expect to find a jar under the Christmas tree with your name on it. I have a little devil on my shoulder (that couldn't be my voice, could it?) saying "Why would you go through this for people who think their own time is too valuable to spend making marmalade, or, goddess forbid, people who don't know the difference?"