Happy New Year, friends! I hope your celebrations last night were full of delight. Scott and I rang in the new year with pizza, champagne and a few favorite people (including 20-month-old twins who entertained us by dancing to the Nutcracker Suite).

I didn’t intend to go entirely quiet over the last week, but I so wanted to relish my last couple days in Portland with my parents. When I landed in Philadelphia on Wednesday morning, it just felt right to continue the break. It’s been a lovely thing to take a little time away from this space, to think about how I want to approach it in 2012.

I plan to continue to post new recipes, including more pressure canner tutorials, small batch preserves and ways to get your jams, chutneys and sauces out of their jars and onto the table.

You’ll see more foods in jars made by other people. Though it’s always my goal to help inspire people to head for their own kitchens, there’s also a world of delicious foods in jars out there being made by truly talented folks. I want to occasionally showcase them.

There will also be posts about cookbooks, space for questions and answers and some regular video features. I’m also going to be out and about a bit over the spring and summer to help promote my cookbook, so I’ll be posting about any and all opportunities to come and spend a bit of time with me.

Now, about that recipe. While I was out in Portland, my mom and I came across a persimmon tree. It was in someone’s yard, bursting with fruit and covered with birds. We stood there for a moment, pondering the ethics of the situation, when a car pulled into the house’s driveway. We asked about picking a few and the owner held out an open grocery bag and simply said, “take what you want.”

Not wanting to be greedy, we took just three of the perfect fuyu persimmons from his bag and said thanks. We brought them home and proceeded to let them sit around for nearly a week. On the morning of Christmas Eve, my mom commented that I either needed to make something with them or throw them out. And so, I made a small batch of chutney with our three foraged persimmons and two bruised pears that had been rolling around the fridge.

After cutting away the bad spots and chopping them finely, I combined the pears and persimmons with half of a finely chopped red onion, 1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar, 3/4 cup apple cider vinegar, 2 tablespoons grated ginger, 2 tablespoons raisins, 1 teaspoon sea salt and 1/2 teaspoon allspice in a wide, heavy-bottomed pot.

Then it was just a matter of letting the mixture cook down for 30-45 minutes over medium-high heat. As you simmer the chutney, taste it and adjust the sugar, spices and salt. Should you like a bit of heat in your chutney, add a pinch of red chili flakes or smidgen of cayenne pepper. The chutney is finished when the persimmon skins are tender and it doesn’t look at all watery.

My batch filled three half-pint jars with just a bit leftover to eat immediately with cheese. It can be processed in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes, or just kept in the fridge for regular eating. This time of year, when we rely more heavily on braises, stews and soups, it’s nice to have something within easy reach that can add a burst of bright flavor. I left all that I made back in Portland and am hoping to find a few inexpensive persimmons in Philly to make another batch.

Related Posts:

• Urban Preserving: Small Batch Kumquat Marmalade
• Pear Cinnamon Jam
• Urban Preserving: Blueberry Ginger Jam

I am a coffee drinker. Growing up in a cafe-loving city like Portland, OR, it was hard not to pick up the habit during my early high school years. However, every 18 months or so, I cut way back on coffee and switch to black tea. I don’t do it intentionally, there just comes a morning when I wake up craving the nuance of tea.

I am currently smack in the midst of a tea phase. However, this one isn’t as inexplicable as the previous ones have been. I trace it directly to a recent preserving project that Alexis from teaspoons & petals and I recently tried.

Wanting to see how fall fruit would work with a tea infusion, we imagined a few small jars filled with sliced poached quince suspended in a spiced chai syrup (our first collaboration was a peach oolong jelly) and set a date to make it happen.

The morning of our canning appointment, Alexis picked up an assam-based chai spiked with cinnamon and cloves from Philadelphia’s House of Tea while I ran to Reading Terminal Market to pick up 4 fragrant quince. After washing them well to remove any fuzz from their skin, we chopped the quince into slices, taking care to remove any hard inner bits and put them in water to poach until tender (this took approximately 30 minutes).

While they cooked, we made the syrup. I combined 1 1/2 cups granulated white sugar with 2 cups of water (this makes a fairly heavy syrup) in a medium saucepan and simmered until the sugar was entirely dissolved. Alexis measured out two generous tablespoons of the tea and tucked it into a paper infuser.

We let the tea steep in the syrup for 5 minutes, tasting after the time was up to ensure that the flavor intensity was where we wanted it (it was). When the quince slices were tender but not falling apart, we lifted them out of the water with a spider and dropped them into the syrup.

Then it was just standard canning procedure. Funnel slices into prepared jars. Top with syrup. Remove air bubbles and adjust syrup levels (1/2 inch headspace, please). Wipe rims and apply lids and rings. Process in a boiling water canner for 10 minutes.

The result of this experiment are three half pints jars of the most wonderfully spiced slices of quince ever. The syrup is also a revelation, we had a bit leftover and I spent a couple of days making myself spiced chai sodas with sparkling water. I’ve served one jar with slices of this gingerbread (good on its own, it’s a marvel when drizzled with this syrup and topped with a couple slices of quince).

The only thing I’d do differently in the future is that I’d wait to make the syrup until the quince were finished poaching and use some of that liquid. That way, I’d get even more of the quince flavor into the final product.

If quince are already gone from your area, you might try this recipe with slices of pear instead. I imagine they’d be wonderful with a spiced syrup like this one. Skip the poached step and instead just cook the pears in the finished syrup for a moment or two. Imagine that served with some creamy cheese. Boggles the mind, doesn’t it!

Related Posts:

• Guest Post: Elderberry Syrup with Alexis Siemons of teaspoons & petals
• November Can Jam: Rosy Quince Jelly

When I was growing up, the Bybee-Howell House on Sauvie Island (just outside of Portland, Oregon) held a Wintering In festival each fall. For me, the highlight of this event was the fact that they gathered all the apples from the adjacent orchard and pressed them into cider in front of our eyes. I’ve had a deep love for the flavor of fresh cider ever since.

For the longest time, I’ve wanted to capture that fresh apple cider flavor in a preserve*. The idea of an apple cider syrup seemed particularly appealing, because it would be so flexible. I even tried to make it about a month ago, but cooked it right up to the set point and ended up with jelly instead. It was tasty, but not what I was going for.

This weekend I tried again. I picked up a gallon of fresh cider from my local farmers market, brought it home and poured it into a big pot. I added three cinnamon sticks and brought it to a boil. Once it was bubbling madly, I lowered the temperature a bit and let the cider cook down while I cleaned the kitchen and started a batch of soup.

It simmered for about an hour, until it was reduced by a little more than half. At that point, I removed the cinnamon sticks and added two cups of granulated white sugar. I stirred the sugar in until it was dissolved and continued to cook for another ten minutes or so. At this point, I began to monitor the temperature of the cider. Once it reached 218 degrees, the syrup was done (remember, the set point of jelly is 220 degrees, so if you want something to remain a syrup, you have to stop short of that temperature).

Once it was done, I was left with a generous 6 cups of syrup. I funneled it into an assortment of prepared jars and processed them in a boiling water bath canner for 10 minutes.

Now, you may be asking yourself, what does one do with several pints of apple cider syrup? My favorite way to use it is as a base for a quick mug of warm cider. Simply spoon some of the syrup (I like three tablespoons worth, but your tastes may vary) into the bottom of a heatproof mug and top with boiling water. It’s a great treat on a cold winter night.

You can also use it as a pancake syrup, which is a very nice way to go. If you find it a little too thin, just add a small amount of cornstarch to thicken just before serving (don’t add cornstarch prior to canning, it doesn’t hold up). I don’t mind it the way it is, but again, tastes vary.

It would also be good drizzled over cake that needs a bit of moisture or stirred into hot cereal. I haven’t tried it yet, but I also imagine it would be very good in a warm brandy drink. Just a thought.

How would you use an apple cider syrup?

*There’s a mulled cider jelly in my cookbook that’s pretty darn good, but of course, I can’t share that one with you quite yet.

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Bad news, kids. Tomorrow’s apple festival at Linvilla Orchards has been cancelled, which means I won’t be there at 4 pm giving a demonstration of Honey Lemon Apple Jam. It’s a two-day festival, so if the weather clears up, I may be there on Sunday. We’ll just have to wait and see, so stay tuned!

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• Linvilla Canning Demo on for Sunday, September 25
• Demos, Classes, Can-It-Forward and Canning Week on Simple Bites

Welcome to the first day of Drink Week! The next five days will feature fruit and herbal syrups, boozy infusions and shrubs that will have you planning parties to feature your new specialty cocktails and mocktails (and because I’m not much of a drinker, you’ll definitely see as many virgin options as you do the spiked ones). As part of Drink Week, I’m giving away a Sodastream seltzer maker (click here to enter the giveaway).

You didn’t think you’d seen the last of those black raspberries, did you? I had a whole flat of those gorgeous little berries to use, so they may well turn up even a third time (if all things go as planned).

Let me share a secret about myself with you. I am a sparkling water lover. Rarely does a day go by (particularly during the summer months) when I don’t pour myself a glass of fizzy water. Often I drink it plain, or with a squirt of lemon juice (one of these dehydrated lemon slices works too). Sometimes, I muddle a little bit of runny jam into my glass (it’s a great way to use up something with a less-than-perfect set). And occasionally, I make something designed just for stirring with seltzer.

For this syrup, I measured out 3 cups of black raspberries and used the Vitamix to pulverize them into a delicious goo (wear an apron and keep it away from light-colored counter tops, it stains upon contact). If your kitchen happens to be lacking a fancy blender, you could also pulse them in a food processor or even just go to town with a potato masher.

I scraped the puree into a saucepan and stirred in 1/2 cup water and 1 cup sugar. I brought it to a quick simmer and let it cook for 5-6 minutes. Because the starting puree was so thick, it didn’t need much time on the stove to come together.

Using a very fine mesh sieve, I separated the syrup from their seeds. Don’t be afraid to really work the seedy bits and press firmly to remove the last bits of liquid. You’re not extracting liquid for jelly so there’s no need to be delicate or attempt to prevent cloudiness. At this point, taste your syrup. If it isn’t sweet enough, you can add a bit more sugar and return it to the saucepan until the sugar is dissolved. If it is too sweet, stir in a little lemon juice to balance the flavors.

Because I hate waste, after the syrup was decanted into it’s own jar, I plopped the leftover seeds in their own vessel and topped it with 2 cups distilled white vinegar. After it spends a couple weeks imparting all that lovely black raspberry flavor into the vinegar, I’ll strain the seeds out and finally throw them away.

After that, it’s just a matter of spooning a bit of the syrup into a tall glass and topping it off with a long pour of sparkling water. A couple of ice cubes and you have a refreshing summer drink. For the grown-ups in the crowd, you could add a bit of vodka or a fruity liqueur.

Because this recipe makes a cup and a half of syrup, I popped it into the fridge and skipped any processing step. However, should you be facing a massive raspberry harvest (this technique works just as well with red raspberries or even blackberries), you could make up a far larger batch and process it in pints or half pints in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Just remember that sugar is a preservative, so if you cut the sugar content drastically, the syrup will not have as long a shelf life.

Now, make yourself some black raspberry syrup and head over to enter the Sodastream giveaway!

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About a month ago, I crushed the hopes and dreams of many a preserver, when I wrote about the reasons why pumpkin butter can’t be safely canned at home. In fact, the USDA says that because of its density, any pureed pumpkin product should not be canned. You can’t even pressure can the puree (don’t ask me how the commercial guys do it, because I’m not privy to their techniques. I do assume that there’s a great deal more heat and pressure involved than can be generated in a home kitchen).

What I didn’t get into in that post is the one way that pumpkin can safely be canned, mostly because I wanted to try it out first before I wrote about it. Yes, you heard me right. Pumpkin is safe for canning if you cut it into one-inch cubes, pack it in water and pressure can the heck out of it.

A couple of weekends ago, I walked the neck pumpkin that has been sitting in my living room since Labor Day Weekend into the kitchen and proceeded to peel, slice and cube. It took me the better part of an hour to break that sucker down (it weighted at least ten pounds).

Following the directions in So Easy to Preserve, I simmered my one-inch cubes in a pot of boiling water for two minutes, filled my jars with the softened pumpkin and topped them off with the cooking liquid, taking care to leave the necessary one-inch of headspace on all the jars (I got nine pints from that pumpkin, with a bit leftover for eating mashed with butter and cinnamon).

The jars of pumpkin took a 55 minute trip through the pressure canner at 11 pounds of pressure (note: Thanks to my ancient stove with it’s five heat settings, I have a very hard time keeping my pressure canner at exactly the correct pressure and so always overshoot it a little bit. I was able to get it rest on 13 pounds for the duration of the canning and was plenty happy to be able to maintain a pressure so close to the desired pressure).

When the time was up, I turned off the heat and let the canner rest overnight so that the pressure could come down gently and naturally. The next morning, I had nine perfectly sealed pints of tender neck pumpkin. I’ve yet to open a jar, but I’m sure I’ll find a few good ways to use these guys up.

However, I must confess that I don’t think that this technique is going on my regular roster of yearly canning activities. I say this because pumpkin (and most other hard skinned, winter squash) are naturally designed for storage. They can keep for months just has they are and don’t need the investment of energy and canning resources to be preserved for the winter. As I mentioned up above, I’ve had this pumpkin for more than two months. And until I used my trusty vegetable peeler to strip its skin away, it was in perfect, healthy shape and I believe that I could have left it there for at least another month or two before it was necessary to cook it.

That is not to say that I don’t see the virtue in having squash that is ready to use (because have no doubt, after 55 minutes in a pressure canner, this squash is cooked), I’m just not sure that it’s the best use of canning time for me. However, if this is something you regularly do, I’d love to hear the ways in which you use your pressure canned pumpkin cubes.

I have not written out the specific instructions for doing this at home (it’s late and I’m tired). However, the National Center for Home Food Preservation has a handy one-pager that details everything you need to know. Find it here.

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• Canning 101: A Couple Pumpkin Reminders
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This post was originally published last November. However, we’re heading into applesauce season again, so I’ve updated it to include an organized recipe and am re-posting it now, for all of you who didn’t see if the first time around.

To me, applesauce is the quintessential fall food. I have fond memories of wandering the antique apple orchard at the Bybee-Howell House on Sauvie Island (a mostly agricultural island outside of Portland), really bundled up in scarves and layers for the first time of season, picking up windfall apples* with my mom and sister. Often, we’d bring our dog with us, and she’d run between the trees, tossing apples up in the air with her nose and then chasing after them.

We’d come home with grocery bags full of bruised, but still edible fruit. My mom would cover counter tops with newspaper and we’d begin to peel. When the fruit was all de-skinned, cored and chopped, it would go into her biggest soup pot with a splash of orange juice, cinnamon and grated nutmeg until it had cooked down into a homey sauce.

These days, I still make a yearly batch of applesauce, but I do it a little differently than we used to. I’ve learned over the years to not spend a whole lot of time peeling or chopping my apples. Instead, I cut the apples into quarters and remove the core (of course, if you have windfall fruit, you do have to invest the time in cutting away the bruises and bad spots). The quarters go into the pot with half a cup of apple cider to simmer. As they cook down, the skins will separate from the flesh of the fruit and you can just use a pair of tongs to fish them out.

I like slightly chunky, unsweetened applesauce, seasoned with lots of cinnamon, nutmeg and a dash of cloves (depending on how I’m feeling, sometimes I’ll also add a bit of allspice or powdered ginger), so once the skins are removed and the apples are smashable with the back of a wooden spoon, I’m done. However, if you like a smoother product, feel free to puree or run through a food mill (at this point, you could also go in a different direction and cook it down further, for apple butter).

When it comes to adding sugar, fans of unsweetened applesauce can rejoice, as you are able to can applesauce without any additional sugar. If you want to increase the level of sweetness, you can add approximately 1/8 cup of sugar per quart. I sometimes add a bit of honey if I find the applesauce to be a little too tart. It’s important to taste your sauce before you can it, in order to balance out the sweet/tart flavors. If it’s too sweet, a bit of lemon juice will always brighten the flavors.

To process, bring your applesauce to a boil and pack into clean, hot jars, leaving a half inch of headspace. Remove the air bubbles, wipe the rims and apply lids. Process in a boiling water bath for 15 (pints) or 20 (quarts) minutes. Store in a cool, dark place and enjoy homemade applesauce all year long.

*The Bybee-Howell house used to be a historic site open to the public. They had a Wintering In event each fall that included hand pressed cider and so asked visitors to only pick the windfall apples, as they were saving the ones on the trees for the pressing. However, they lost their funding, the house is no longer open and the Wintering In event doesn’t happen anymore. So it may be that people are allowed to pick the apples. I don’t know for sure.

Homecanned Spiced Applesauce

4 pounds apples
½ cup apple cider or water

Optional spices:
2 pieces star anise
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon grated nutmeg
½ teaspoon cloves
sugar

Quarter apples. Put them in a large, non-reactive pot. Add liquid and star anise (if using), put on lid and bring to a simmer. Let fruit cook for approximately 15-20 minutes, until the fruit has broken down. Use tongs to fish out apple skins.

Remove star anise. Using a potato masher or immersion blender, break down the fruit until it has reached your desired consistency. Add cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. Taste and add sugar if you feel it is necessary.

Pour applesauce into your prepared jars. Wipe rims, apply lids and screw on rings. Process in a boiling water canner for 15 minutes for half pints and pints, 20 minutes for quarts.

When time has elapsed, remove jars from canner and let them cool on a towel-lined countertop.

To store, remove rings and keep in a cool, dark place. Applesauce will keep in storage up to one year.

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On September 1st, I picked up 100 pounds of tomatoes from a local market who occasionally places special orders for me. I had a number of recipes in mind to make with them and assumed that I’d spend most of Labor Day weekend, peacefully plowing my way through them. Of course, life never really works out as planned. I had a lovely time last weekend, but didn’t really buckle down and tackle those four boxes until Sunday night.

By the time Tuesday morning rolled around and I was headed back to work, there were still tomatoes languishing in my dining room. I peeled, chopped and preserved them Tuesday and again on Thursday. Eventually, I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

The picture above is what has happened to approximately 60 pounds of those tomatoes. Nineteen quarts of whole peeled tomatoes (seven canned in their own juices in the pressure canner, twelve packed in water and processed in a boiling water canner). Four quarts of crushed tomatoes. Two pints of tomato sauce (the juice and some tomatoes leftover in the crushed tomato process). Seven pints of salsa (a recipe for the book). Missing from that picture are the nine half pints of tomato jam (recipe coming tomorrow) that didn’t make it out from the kitchen.

Also included in the picture are seven pints of cucumber bread and butter pickles and three pints of zucchini bread and butters. I had a lot of cucurbits to use up!

Approximately twenty pounds of the original 100 have been preserved in non-canning ways. I roasted and froze a whole bunch and also marinated and dehydrated quite a few (a technique inspired by this post from the Tennessee Locavore).

What this means is that nearly two weeks later, I still have fifteen pounds of tomatoes in my dining room (a friend happily took a few when I offered). I’m planning to make a corn salsa (another recipe to test for the cookbook) and well as Molly’s conserva. That will leave me with just a few left. Looking forward to that day.

Note: I’m sure that a few of you will notice that some of the above jars are sealed with those reusable Tattler lids that have been making the internet rounds of late. I’m planning on devoting my Canning 101 post to them on Tuesday, so please hold any questions about them until then.

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Last week, when I wrote about my recent experience canning clementines, a number of people (both in person and in the comments) asked about how well they stored and tasted. In the interest of science (and your ability to accurately stock your pantries), I cracked open one of my jars today, to eat with my lunch and see how well the clementines were storing.

The one thing that’s decidedly different about my canned clementines, when compared to the commercially canned ones, is that I didn’t remove the segment membranes. In fact, when I first pondered this project, I briefly considered hand-peeling each clementine sliver, in an attempt to make them as authentic as possible. But being that I’m essentially a lazy canner, I quickly abandoned that idea.

While looking into how the commercial guys do it, I discovered that they soak their mandarins in a lye solution, which eats the membranes away. Makes you think twice about buying those little cans, doesn’t it?

So, how did they taste? They were good. They were juicy and flavorful. As one would expect, they had that slight cooked fruit taste that is the by-product of the boiling water bath, but with none of that metallic tang that comes with commercially canned fruit. They weren’t excessively sweet (since I used the lightest syrup possible). While eating, I was reminded of how important it is to use the best and most freshest ingredients possible when canning, as I could absolutely tell the different between a clementine segment that had come off a piece of fruit that was zingy with life and one that was a bit tired.

All in all, I’m really pleased with my canned clementines. I plan on doing at least one more batch before the season is over. Next time, I think I’ll flavor the syrup with a bit of ginger and I’ll separate each segment, as opposed to canning them in halves and quarters (the texture of the individual segments was just slightly better than the fruit canned in clinging halves).

I’m delighted to have discovered a way to have my favorite fruit and cottage cheese lunch, without making too much waste or eating fruit that once took a bath in a pot of lye.

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Happy New Year, all you canners and jar lovers!I hope you’ve all had a lovely holiday season and that you were on the receiving end of a few lovely edibles in jars (I got two separate jars of peach jam, one spicy and the other scented with rosemary. I’m looking forward to opening them both in due time).

It’s that time of year when bloggers all across the nation announce the ways in which they’re going to grab hold of the shiny, fresh new year and achieve! great! things! I’ve written up a few more personal resolutions over on my other blog but I figured this blog needed a few goals of its own. So here we go…

1. Offer up one new recipe a week. Be it a jam, pickle, preserve, chutney or more, it’s going to be a wonderful year of delicious foods in jars.

2. Participate (without fail) in the Tigress Can Jam. I admit, this is more of a pleasure than a hardship, but still, I wanted to publicly declare my participation.

3. Make sure to eat and enjoy all the wonderful things I put into jars last summer and fall. I sometimes get so wrapped up in the pleasure of having those colorful jars tucked away, that I forget that I need to be pulling them back out and enjoying them. To that end, I promise to do a better job of sharing how I integrate all those preserves into my cooking routine.

4. Teach more classes. Well-meaning friends often ask me why I don’t get into the business of selling my jams and pickles. My reason, I tell them, is that I don’t want to become a producer of artisanal foods (it’s a wonderful thing for lots of people, it’s just not for me). My goal is to teach people how to make all these lovely things for themselves, so that more and more folks can have a hand in the things they eat on a daily basis. It’s not about paying $8 for a jar of dilly beans, it’s about making a dozen jars for that price and then feeling a deep sense of accomplishment for having produced something delicious and tangible.

I already have two classes on the books for 2010. The first is a Homemade Condiments Class on January 16 and the second is a Marmalade Class on February 13. Both are at Foster’s Homewares (their new location, at 33 N. 3rd Street). However, I’m up for more. If you want me to come and teach a class in your area this spring or summer, let’s talk. All I need is a venue (community centers and churches/synagogues often have usable spaces) and enough people to cover the cost of time/travel/supplies. If you’re interested setting something up for the coming year, shoot me an email at foodinjars@gmail.com.

Since we’re talking preserving goals, I’d love to hear what the rest of you are planning for 2010!

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