Well, this was an unmitigated disaster.
One of the many things I miss about my mum is her raspberry
jam. It remains the finest I’ve ever tasted. She also made delicious marmalade,
though it was advisable to be out that day as it always put her in a bad mood.
I’d never made jam myself, despite my friend Becky having
bought me the Best-Kept Secrets Of The Women’s
Institute: Jams, Pickles and Chutneys book for my 30th birthday.
I think her implication was that I was hitting middle age, which makes me
worried about what I might be hitting now that I’m nearly 40. I did have a go
at courgette chutney three years ago, when our allotment-owning neighbour left
a marrow the size of an airship on our front doorstep. And though I say so
myself, the chutney came out rather well. Even my dad liked it. This inspired
me to ask for a jam pan the following Christmas. But soon after Christmas I
found out I was pregnant, felt like crap, and the jam pan has remained in its
box ever since.
So to celebrate the start of the Olympics, I decided to have
my very first go at making jam. I chose the very British flavour of raspberry
and rhubarb. I was even going to go and pick the fruit myself, but Charlotte
woke up from her afternoon nap in such a foul mood that it was just easier to
drive to the farm shop, show her their pet goats and chickens, grab some
punnets of fruit, buy her a chocolate car, and leave as quickly as possible.
She was marginally cheered up when the Red Arrows suddenly flew over, at least.
Waiting for the BBC coverage of the Olympics opening
ceremony to stop being boring interviews and start being Danny Boyle, I weighed
everything out and started cooking. And I was really quite surprised by just
how much sugar is in jam. I thought I was following the Women’s Institute
instructions very well. And I managed to sterilise some jars without smashing
them. But then the jam would not reach the right temperature, and it
continually failed all of its setting point tests. At the point it was about to
boil over the side of the pan and a stench of acrid sugar began to fill the
air, I gave up and just poured it into jars. It looked like jam. I’d made jam.
Unfortunately, it’s disgusting jam. Unless you like burnt caramel with a slight
tinge of raspberry. In which case, it’s probably all right, and you’re more
than welcome to a jar. Even Dave, who is ever the diplomat and always tries to
be complimentary about my cooking, said on dipping his finger into it, “Well,
it was just your first attempt.”
I’m spending this morning trying to clean the black beyond-goo
that’s stop-welded to the bottom of the jam pan. My mother and grandmother are
probably turning in their respective graves at my hopelessness. I wish they
were still here to tell me what I did wrong. The internet has provided some
answers (and some helpful hints on cleaning jam pans) and it’s clear that this
sort of outcome happens a lot. So I feel a bit better about it. The Women’s
Institute didn’t bother to tell me that I might need to STIR the jam at some
point. Or that I should maybe warm the sugar first. Or that I should cook the
fruit very very gently before adding the sugar. This must be why I am not a
member of the Women’s Institute. You’re just supposed to know this stuff.
What was stuck to the bottom of the pan |
It’s annoying to have wasted quite so much delicious Balloon
Tree fruit. I’d have been better off just mashing up the raspberries to smear
on my toast instead. And now I understand why my mother always ended up in such
a bad mood on marmalade-making day. Hopefully, if I brave a marmalade marathon
during Seville Orange season, I’ll have a bit more clue what I’m doing.
On a more positive note, here’s some more bread for challenge 34 (= bake 40 loaves of bread in a year):
Loaf 13: Honey and sunflower wholemeal loaf |
Loaf 14: Another honey and sunflower loaf, baked overnight to greet us the next morning |
Loaf 15: Cheesy courgette loaf, a staple on our summer menu (baked in the oven) |
Loaf 16: A rapid-bake white loaf |
And here is my broad bean crop (from challenge number five - grow something new) in action, mixed into
mushroom and pancetta pasta with home-made pesto and crème fraiche:
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