We host a dinner every year for our friends who are in town for Thanksgiving. I usually do the classic meal centered on roast turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce etc. (plus lots of add-ons). This year I”ve decided to Indianize the meal. My friend Sandra says that immigrants incorporating the flavours of their source cuisines into Thanksgiving meals is a longstanding Thanksgiving tradition in its own right, but the truth of the matter is after 22 years in this country I’m a little bored of eating (and in the last decade and more, making) more or less the same meal. Sure, I’ve brined and spatchcocked the turkey and improvised different spice rubs; sure, I’ve made various different stuffings and cranberry sauces—but this year I wanted to go further. And so here is the core of this year’s menu: turkey “roast” in a Kerala style; pulao in place of stuffing; spicy and sour roasted squash soup with tamarind and coconut milk; mashed roasted squash with ghee and garam masala; and this cranberry chutney. I made a test batch this week and it came out quite well. Continue reading
I mentioned in a comment last week that I would be making another batch of peach-ginger-bourbon jam and some straight-up peach jam this week. I did make the second batch of the peach-ginger-bourbon but ended up making a raspberry-peach jam with the rest of the peaches. This because our CSA’s limit on raspberries this week was one quart, which is not enough to be worth the jam-making effort for a raspberry-only jam, and for unappetizing reasons that I’ll go into later, we weren’t going to be eating the berries as is. So, another combo jam it was. But I did manage to keep myself from adding booze to it.
I’ve only ever put raspberries in multiple berry jams before (I’ll have my “Red, Black and Blue” jam up soon) and I’d imagined that what I might end up with was a mostly golden peach jam with raspberries suspended in them. No such thing happened. Despite there being twice as much peach in there as raspberry, the raspberry dominated, both in terms of colour and flavour and of course they disintegrated completely. It’s tasty though. Continue reading
Did you really think you were going to make it out of the week without another jam recipe? Suckers! Yes, WordPress’s statistics tell me that my regular readership’s interest in my jam-making is inversely proportional to my desire to make jam and describe my jam-making. The only time any of my jam recipes gets any views is if a food site links to them. This one’s got bourbon in it though, so maybe it counts as a whisky post?
I make peach jam and chutney every year. Normally I make a straight up peach jam and a peach jam with ginger. This year I decided to spice and booze it up a bit. Herewith the quite successful (in my view) results. (I’ll likely have a peach-ginger-habanero chutney recipe too for you to ignore in a few weeks—I’m waiting for the fruit on my habanero plant to ripen.)
This is just to say
I have taken the plums
that were on
and made them
into boozy jam
You can try some
at breakfast but
I must warn you
it’s rather tart.
I have this terrible fear that I missed peach and apricot season entirely while in Los Angeles. Missed from the point of view of jam making, that is. At least the local co-op had only very sad looking peaches and apricots when I went in late last week. What they did have though were attractive Dapple Dandy pluots/plums and blueberries. And so, here is a recipe for an improvised blueberry-plum jam.
As I’ve said before, one of the great attractions of making your own jam is that you can create chimerical combinations that you don’t usually see in stores. As it turns out, this is a combination that seems to have occurred to many jam makers—the web is lousy with recipes (and far more attractive photographs than mine).
I bought a pineapple for a fruit salad for the younger brat’s birthday party. In the chaos of preparing for the party—which included an extended wrestling session with an inflated and partially filled kiddie pool that could have been the showstopper in a Buster Keaton film—I forgot to cut up said pineapple for the fruit salad. I then forgot about the pineapple until the day before we were to leave for Los Angeles. Admittedly, this is a hard thing to do; not forgetting in general: any fool can forget all kinds of things and I often do. But it is difficult to forget a pineapple because, unless you actively hide it, a pineapple is a very visible thing, almost flagrantly so; tends to catch the eye—there’s a reason Carmen Miranda didn’t put a pineapple on her head (didn’t want the competition, you see); and if she did, it also proves my point. So unless you hid a pineapple—and who could forget hiding a pineapple?—it would be hard to forget a pineapple. But I did. And then I saw it and I had to do something with it that didn’t include eating it as we had lots of other fruit to finish before leaving and when it comes to the frantic overeating of fruit it is mangoes and not pineapples I am partial to. The effort of making jam from one pineapple—not to mention the uncertainty about canning said jam given that pineapple is a high pH fruit—did not appeal. Chutney then. Continue reading
This jam is merely a variation on the pluot jam I posted a recipe of a week or so ago, but what’s the point of having a blog if you can’t make entirely superfluous posts? I was moved to make it for three reasons: 1) quality apricots are not in season/available here yet; 2) the local co-op had a different variety of pluots in which made this seem like it could count as a different fruit (though for some reason they didn’t list the variety); 3) after the Galliano experiment I wanted to play around with other liqueurs/liquors as well.
As it happens, I think this jam is better than the previous. It also recycles an element of another pluot/plum jam I made a few years: the use of star anise to scent the jam. The star anise doesn’t actually get jarred with the jam, by the way—it just makes for a more arresting photograph; though I don’t know if it would be a problem if it was jarred. If anyone has any opinions on whether it would be a problem from a spoilage perspective if it were to stay in there please chime in. I’m inclined to think it might be a problem from a flavour perspective anyway as the star anise might get too woody and/or assertive.
A few years ago I made a pluot jam scented with star anise that came out rather well. This year I thought I’d try adding a different set of flavours to the jam and decided to use Galliano, the herbal liqueur, a bottle of which I’ve been trying to finish for who knows how many years now (there aren’t really very many palatable cocktails that call for it). This seemed like a good way to infuse the jam with anise and other botanical flavours without having to fish around for stray pieces of spices, as I remember having to do when I used whole star anise (and, of course, anything that makes more of a dent in this bottle of Galliano is a good thing). For the hell of it I decided to add some apple cider vinegar as well. This sort of thing is the other great benefit of making your own jam: once you develop a bit of confidence you can make experimental jams that would make Dr. Moreau’s head spin.
On Thursday I posted a recipe for strawberries in syrup. Here now is my recipe for a very simple but also very excellent strawberry jam. It only has three ingredients (well, maybe four): strawberries, sugar, lemon juice. When you have excellent, perfectly ripe strawberries that you just picked yourself the day before, you don’t mess around.
One of the pleasures of home-made jam, as I said on Thursday, is that you get to keep the sugar low, or at least lower than in most commercial jams, and this jam puts intense strawberry flavour and not sugar front and center. The lemon juice is there for acidity, necessary both to keep you from killing people who eat your jam months after you make it and to help release the pectin in the fruit. Pectin is what you need to get the jam to jell/set and strawberries are not particularly high in pectin. Some/many home canners get around this by using commercially available powdered pectin. I’m not one of these people.
A couple of years after we got to Minnesota we joined a CSA—the excellent Open Hands farm, just outside our town. Our CSA is different from most in that it gives us a lot of flexibility. Rather than receiving a random box packed by the farm, we go to the farm on our pickup day and make our own selections from different categories of greens and veg: if you don’t want kohlrabi (as I never do), don’t take any kohlrabi. The other great thing about Open Hands is that they have a bunch of stuff for “U-Pick”—things that we can pick ourselves in the fields (over and above the rest of the stuff). The amounts and selections vary over the season but peas, beans, cherry tomatoes, tomatillos, herbs, flowers, and, most excitingly, strawberries and raspberries are all available for picking. And it’s not just a handful or two—this past week I picked 4 quarts of strawberries on our pickup day.
In the first edition of Indian Home Cooking Week I promised a post on chapatis, parathas and pickles and only provided chapatis and parathas. For this edition I promised a post on pickles and here I am with a post on one pickle. But it’s a good pickle. And with some easy variations it becomes as many as three pickles—so, as you can see, I did not lie a second time. That’s just not the kind of person I am. I have also not always been the kind of person who made pickles. It always seemed a daunting proposition involving greater patience and a lower propensity to screw up and kill people with botulism than I possess. But, as with most forbidding things, it turns out that when you look into it it’s not actually very difficult.