The apartment that Scott and I live in once belonged to my grandparents. My grandfather bought it in 1966 and my grandmother Tutu lived here until she died in 2002. I moved in soon after her death and I spent the first two years here slowly going through boxes and drawers, letting go of her things and making room for mine.

My grandfather Phil never actually got to live here. He died of a heart attack just months before they were scheduled to move in. Though I never had the opportunity to meet him, I know that he was one of the kindest and most generous men of his generation. He took care of everyone around him, and in a essential way, has provided for me as well.

One of the boxes I found as I sifted and sorted contained every condolence card Tutu received after Phil died. Some were heartfelt letters, while others were simply a few words dashed on now-vintage greeting cards.

And one was this simple note from Laurie Colwin.

During my childhood, I loved hearing stories of about when my mom was young. She’d tell me about life in the suburbs of Philadelphia, of walking to school without parents, playing outside with friends every afternoon and long, snowy winter nights (living in Southern California, snow was particularly exotic). There were lots of characters in these stories, including neighbors, classmates and the mean kids who went to the Catholic school around the corner.

One such story-time bit player was Laurie. She was a family friend, who briefly dated my uncle in high school and grew up to be a writer. When I found the note, I knew of the connection. But in the years since those bedtime stories, I had also discovered and devoured Laurie Colwin’s food writing. Her words had made her important to me and so the note became instantly valuable.

I’ve lived a life that’s been fairly free of mentors. I’ve always longed to have someone swoop down and offer me guidance and encouragement when it felt that the road had turned impossibly rocky. For whatever reason, no mentor has appeared. So I made one up. I tucked Laurie’s note into my calendar as touchstone and pretended that she was still alive and cared about my career.

I re-read her books regularly in an attempt to glean just what it is that made her food writing so good. When I was working on my cookbook, I often asked myself what Laurie might have thought of this chapter intro or that recipe headnote. And when I write something I’m pleased with, I imagine that she might have enjoyed reading it too.

I realize that I may have just confessed something that will make me sound slightly off my rocker, but honestly, having my imaginary Laurie mentor has helped me through many a tough spot.

When the topic of gingerbread came up last night, it seemed only natural to turn to one of Laurie’s recipes (she has one in each volume of essays and each is a little different). I used the one in Home Cooking, as it was the easier book to put hands on, and began tweaking so that it came into alignment with my own gingerbread vision.

I used half blackstrap molasses and half Lyle’s Golden Syrup (her preferred sweetener in the More Home Cooking recipe) and swapped in some whole wheat flour for a bit of the all-purpose to give it a sense of virtuousness. I used some freshly grated ginger to boost the intensity of flavor and stirred in a cup of chopped pears.

The finished cake has a smooth, crackly crust and is all tender and spice inside. The pears add small pockets of juicy flavor and play so nicely with fire of the ginger. It’s the perfect thing to eat with a mug of tea on a cozy winter afternoon and I think Laurie would have loved it.

Pear Gingerbread
adapted from Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1/4 cup black strap molasses
1/4 cup cane syrup or honey
2 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk (or some plain yogurt thinned out with milk)
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cup peeled and finely chopped pear

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Butter an 11 x 7 cake pan and set aside.

Cream butter and brown sugar together. Once they well integrated, add molasses, cane syrup, eggs, buttermilk, vanilla extract and grated ginger. Mix to combine.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, cloves and allspice.

Add dry ingredients to wet and mix to combine. Once they are well integrated, fold in the chopped pears.

Scrape batter into the buttered baking dish and bake for 25-35 minutes. It is done when the edges pull away from the corners of the pan and a tester comes out mostly clean.

Let cool just until it is warm enough to handle and cut yourself a slice. Gingerbread is good just about any way you slice it, but is SO good when eaten warm.

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I ate my first memorable apricot in 1986. I was seven years old and my sister was in her final year of nursery school. The normal order of things in those days was that my mom would pick Raina up at school first and then together, they’d come to get me. For whatever reason, that day the pick-up order was reserved. I delighted in that mostly because it meant I could ride in the front seat without a battle.

When we walked into the main area of Wee Kirk (is it strange that 25 years later, I still remember the name of my younger sister’s pre-school?), sitting on a high table was a giant basket of apricots with a sign that simply said, “Help yourself.” A parent had brought it in, an attempt to cope with the amount of fruit that a tree in Southern California can produce.

I took one, slurped it down and then quickly pocketed two more, loving the way the sweet and tart played together. My mom stopped me before I could well and truly ruin my dinner, but she was too late to keep me from falling under the spell of the apricot.

Though I’ve happily put away more than a few apricots in the intervening years, my appreciation for apricots was well and truly rekindled during my Slashfood days. That when I was the lucky recipient of a jar of Blenheim apricot jam from We Love Jam. This was about six months before my own jam making practice exploded, and so that jar seemed magical and hugely precious. I turned some aspect of every meal into a vehicle for that jam.

Last year, thanks to a friend with good fruit connections, I got a good deal on apricots and made jam and butter galore. However, I gave away a bunch and ate the rest and it was all long gone well before January. This season I was determined not to spend even a moment without access to an apricot preserve of some stripe. So I bought 25 pounds of apricots from Beechwood Orchards a few weeks back. They were seconds. They were heavy. They were a dollar a pound. I couldn’t resist.

I realize that confessing the volume of this purchase flies in the face of an urban preserving post. But before you freak out, I want to make it clear that you don’t have to be like me. My canning exists at one end of the spectrum. Here’s how you can make a batch of apricot jam on the on the other end. The small batch kind. All you need is two pounds of apricots. Whether you pluck them from a larger haul or you restrain yourself to buying just the handful necessary is up to you.

The way it works is fairly simple. Take two pounds of apricots and pull them in half with your fingers. Pluck out the pits and put them aside. Heap the halved apricots into a measuring cup with at least four cups capacity. Once they’re all there, use a fork or a small potato masher and break them down. The pieces don’t have to be uniform in size, you just want a pulpy, vividly orange mess.

Combine them with two cups of sugar and three tablespoons of finely chopped rosemary (should you not be a fan of rosemary, feel free to leave it out for a more traditional flavor profile). Pour into a pot and cook until it spits and spatters and runs thickly off the side of a spoon. Add the juice of a lemon. Fill the jars and process. No pectin or extensive cook times required (apricots are already so thick and jammy before you even add sugar that they cook up speedy fast).

The final flavor is sweet, tart and just a touch herbal. It’s good slathered on chicken before baking or dabbed atop a healthy blog of goat cheese. My inspiration for the addition of rosemary comes from the lovely site Putting By. I really enjoy the use of blog as personal record of food preservation. I aspire to that level of documentation, but rarely achieve it.

Should you need a more detailed set of instructions, an organized recipe is after the jump.

Apricot Rosemary Jam
makes 4 half pints

4 cups mashed apricots (about two pounds whole fruit)
2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons finely chopped rosemary
1 lemon, juiced

Prepare a small boiling water bath canner and 4 half pint jars. Place lids in a small pan of water and set to a bare simmer.

Combine mashed apricots, sugar and rosemary in a roomy, non-reactive pot and bring to a boil. Let cook for 7-15 minutes*, until the fruit thickens and runs slowly and thickly off the back of a spoon.

When jam seems thick and spreadable, add the lemon juice. Stir to combine. Remove pot from heat.

Carefully ladle jam into four half pint jars (depending on the concentration of the sugars in the fruit, it may reduce down further and leave you with just three half pints. Prepare to be surprised). Wipe rims, apply lids and rings and process in your small boiling water canner for 10 minutes.

When time is up, remove jars from pot. Let cool. When jars are cool enough to handle, remove rings and test seals. If seals are good, store jars in a cool, dark place. If any of the jars did not seal, put those jars in the fridge and use within a month or two.

*Please remember that cook times are approximations that can vary greatly depending on the width of your pot, the amount of water in the fruit and even the humidity in the air. Don’t just blindly rely on that time frame, use your senses to help you.

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Recently, I found myself in the possession of a flat of cherries. Half sweet and half sour, I spent several days binging on cherries and finding various ways to put them up. I made jam with some of the sours, turned others into that no-cook sour cherry syrup and finally stashed four pitted cups in the freezer for another day.

I intended for that other day to be July 4th, but like so often in my life, I’m a day late (though hopefully not a dollar short). Scott and I had a couple friends over yesterday to swim in the pool on our roof and then dig into an indoor cookout. We had burgers, hot dogs, chicken sausage, potato salad, coleslaw, and grilled zucchini. It was quite a feast and in the activity of getting the rest of the meal made, I didn’t manage to make the pie (I also make five pints of dilly beans and nearly six pints of salsa yesterday, so it wasn’t as if I was lazing).

But wanting to post a contribution to Shauna’s Pie Party, the first thing I did when I got home from work today was pull out my previously prepared pie crust to soften (I got so far as making the crust yesterday) and mix my defrosted cherries with a bit of sugar and flour.

One of the challenges that comes with making pie in my household is that my husband isn’t into fruit and so won’t help eat a pie (not even one as delicious as sour cherry). I am not capable of eating enough of any single pie in a timely fashion to make it worth making. So I determined to make small pies that could be frozen. I pondered forming them into jars like so many clever folk have done, but it’s canning season and I can’t spare the jars.

Instead, I used the large, six-cup muffin tin that Scott brought this to our marriage (it’s not a piece of equipment I would have bought on my own, but I find I use it all the time) and formed the pies into its wells. I tried to be creative in the ways I slit the top pastry, but by the time I was forming those lids, I’d overworked the dough and the gluten was making things too elastic to cut easily. I traded creativity for expediency and just cut slits.

They baked for approximately 40 minutes at 375 degrees. They bubbled beautifully and tasted like pure heaven (oh sour cherries, how did I survive my first 27 years without you?). A rough recipe is after the jump.

Small Sour Cherry Pies

Basic Pie Dough Recipe (makes enough for a double pie crust)

2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons sea salt
2 sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1/2 cup ice water

Combine the flours, sugar and salt in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse to combine. Add the cold butter cubes to the bowl and pulse until the butter is incorporated into the flours and largest bits look to be the size of peas.

Then, with the motor running, slowly stream the water into the bowl using the tube. Stop once you’ve added 1/4 cup of water and test the dough by squeezing it. If it sticks together, it’s done. You want it to just barely hold together.

Divide the dough in two and wrap it in plastic wrap or waxed paper. Store in the refrigerator for at least an hour before using. Overnight is fine too. The dough can also be frozen for up to a month.

If you don’t have a food processor, pie dough is still within your grasp. Combine the flours, sugar and salt in a large bowl and whisk together. Grate very cold butter using a box grater. When it’s all grated, combine with the flours in the bowl and work together using a pastry blender or your hands. Add water drop by drop until the dough comes together. Divide and store as recommended above.

Sour Cherry Pie filling

4 cups sour cherries, pitted
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons butter

Egg Wash

1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon water

Pit sour cherries and let sit for half an hour (I find that freezing and then defrosting the cherries is a really effective way to remove some of the excess liquid). Drain any liquid off. Add sugar and flour to cherries and stir. Set aside.

Roll out the pie crust and cut six rounds to fit your muffin tin or custard cups. Gently fit the rounds into the muffin wells. Evenly divide the cherry pie filling between the six cups. Top each small pie with 1/2 tablespoon butter.

Cut six smaller rounds of pie crust to use as lids. Cut vents to allow for steam (or use your creativity to devise something more aesthetically appealing). Brush pastry lids with egg wash on both sides. Fit onto pie bottoms and crimp to seal.

Bake at 375 degrees for 35-40 minutes, until tops are browned and the pie juices run thick and glossy.

Remove from oven and allow to cool for at least 10 minutes before removing from tins. Eat immediately or freeze on a cookie sheet.

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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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I discovered raspberries when I was nine years old. That was the first spring my family lived in Portland, and tucked back behind our garage were some well-established red raspberry canes. For the weeks that they were in season, I would squeeze myself into the space between the garage and the fence and eat every ripe berry I could reach.

It’s been years since I’ve had access like that to raspberries. My parents have a few canes, but I’m rarely able to get out to Portland when they’re ripe. In the last few years, I’ve made a point of indulging in a bit of raspberry u-pick, but until this week I wouldn’t have been able to tell you the last time I felt well and truly sated when it comes to raspberries.

Raspberry season arrived earlier this week to my neck of the country and I determined to splurge on a truly indulgent volume of berries. I opted for black raspberries, after hearing their many virtues praised by a friend who’s berry-judgment I greatly trust. On Tuesday, I took myself on a little field trip out to Lancaster County to buy jars at Good’s Store and pick up a flat of black raspberries from Shenk Berry Farm.

Though I was mostly innocent to black raspberries before this week, I am now well and truly converted to their many charms. They are smaller than their red siblings and quite seedy, but not in an unpleasant way. There’s a slight hint of wine in each bite. And they make dark, gorgeous, spreadable jam.

The following recipe is a very basic one. There’s nothing here but fruit, sugar, lemon and a just a bit of pectin (though if you’re okay with a slightly runnier jam, you could easily do without. Just make sure to track your temperature with a thermometer to insure you get to the set point).

Feel free to add cinnamon, nutmeg, sage leaves, star anise or some other flavor enhancer, should you wish. This recipe would also work equally well with red raspberries if black ones are not to be had in your area.

Black Raspberry Jam Recipe
makes 3 pints

6 cups mashed black raspberries (4 pints, about 3 pounds of berries)
3 cups sugar
1 lemon, zested and juiced
2 tablespoons powdered pectin (I used Ball’s flex pectin)

Prep 3 pint or 6 half pint jars.

Combine mashed berries, sugar, lemon zest and juice in a large pot (a wide, non-reactive pot is best). Bring to a boil, stirring regularly. Skim the foam that develops.

When the jam has thickened a bit* and the boil can’t be stirred down, sprinkle in the pectin and stir to combine. Cook for an additional 5-8 minutes, until the jam seems quite thick (the saucer test is helpful here).

When the jam has thickened to your liking, remove it from the heat. Ladle into jars, wipe rims, apply lids and process in a boiling water canner for ten minutes. When time is up, remove jars from canner and let cool on a folded kitchen towel.

When jars are cool enough to touch, remove rings and test seals. Jam is ready to eat as soon as it is cooled but can also be stored in a cool, dark place for up to a year.

*You’ll notice that I don’t give a cooking time. That’s because cooking times can vary greatly depending on the width of your pot, the power of your stove, the amount of humidity in the air and even how much rain fell in the days before your fruit was picked. Stay close to the stove as you cook your jam and watch closely for changes.

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It’s common knowledge that strawberries and rhubarb go well together. Just about everyone I know has a fond memory of a pie or cobbler made with a smattering of sugar and those two ingredients. It should come as no surprise to you that these natural partners make an exceptionally good jam. Truly, it’s exceptional in it’s tart, freshness.

I’ve made this recipe a couple of times recently, though as I looked for photos to use in this post, I realized that I didn’t manage to capture the process. This happens sometimes. When I’m awash in fruit and canning more for myself than for the blog (I know it might shock you, but this does happen), I will head into the kitchen and let myself slip into the meditation that cooking something familiar can offer. The camera doesn’t get much play when that happens.

Outside of the stack of sealed jars now cooling their heels in my coat closet, the only evidence that I even made this jam is the corner of that yellow bowl off on the right edge of this picture. It’s full of macerated berries and chopped rhubarb. The new copper preserving pan I got obviously stole the show that day. (I’ve made a few batches in the copper pan so far and I’m really enjoying it. I plan on writing up my thoughts in a more organized fashion sometime soon, so keep your eyes peeled for that.)

Before we get to the recipe, there’s just one more order of business to take care of. That’s right, it’s giveaway time! This week, I have a gorgeous pair of Santoku knives from Cutco to offer up to one lucky winner. This is the second year I’ve had the opportunity to work with Cutco and I’m delighted to do it. I like their knives because they are sharp (and stay sharp), have heft without being too heavy and are fairly indestructible.

I don’t adore the look of the handle (though it’s far more appealing in the pearl finish), but it’s shockingly comfortable in the hand and doesn’t mind spending a couple of hours soaking in the sink (not so for my wooden handled knives. And yes, I know that that’s not how you’re supposed to treat knives, but life doesn’t always allow me to wash dishes immediately after they’re made).

If you’re interested in a chance to win this pair of knives, leave a comment here tell me about your favorite kitchen knife (my parents still prefer the ancient L. L. Bean fileting knife that my dad inherited from his father in 1971 above all others). One entry per person, please. Winner will be chosen at random. Comments will close on Sunday, June 19, 2011 at 11:59 p.m. and I will post the winner promptly the next day.

Disclosure: Cutco gave me a pair of these knives for free and is offering the set for giveaway at no cost to me. Happily, my opinions are still all my own (I’m not nearly that cheap).

Now, on to that recipe!

Strawberry Rhubarb Jam

Makes approximately 2 pints (plus a bit for the fridge)

2 cup of chopped rhubarb (approximately 1 1/2 pounds of stalks)
4 cups of chopped strawberries (approximately one quart)
3 cups sugar
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 packet liquid pectin

Wash your jars and rings and lay them out on a towel to dry. Place your lids in a small saucepan and put over medium heat, so that the sealing compound softens in preparation for canning.

In a 8-quart, non-reactive pot, stir the rhubarb, strawberries and sugar together off the heat. Once the sugar has begun to dissolve, place pot on burner and bring to a boil.

Add the lemon juice/zest to the pot and let it bubble gently for approximately 15-20 minutes. As the jam cooks, use the back of a wooden spoon to mash any large pieces of fruit. Add the pectin, stir to combine and let cook for a few more minutes.

At this point, dip a spoon in the jam and see how it coats the back of the spoon. You can also try the saucer test. If you get a nice, even sheet, the jam is done. You can also taste at this point, to see if you like the balance of flavors. Add a little more lemon juice if you feel it needs additional brightening.

Pour into hot jars, wipe rims to remove any spillage and apply lids/rings.

Process in a hot water bath for ten minutes.

Remove from water and let cool. When jars are cool, remove rings and test seals. Refrigerate any jars that didn’t seal and store the rest in a cool, dark place.

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As many of you know, I live in a fairly compact apartment (remember these pictures of my kitchen?). My husband and I have something in the neighborhood of 1,050 square feet that we call our own. In the last three years, my canning habit has expanded and between empty jars, full jars and equipment, occupies a goodly amount of our available storage space. Over the last 12 months, it was necessary as I was creating and testing recipes for my cookbook project.

This summer, I’ve decided that it’s time to scale back just a bit. And though I love having enough to give away to friends and family, I just don’t need to make vast batches of strawberry jam that yield five or six pints. For my own use, just a few half pint jars will most certainly do. And so I’m going to try something new here on the blog. Every week or two, I’ll be posted a recipe under the header “Urban Preserving.” These recipes will be small batch preserves, all scaled to use just a pint, a quart or pound of produce. The yields will be petite, perfect for those of you who have small households or are short on space, time or cash.

Before I left town for the Memorial Day holiday, I turned a quart of strawberries into three half pints of strawberry vanilla jam. I bought the berries on a Sunday, chopped them up when I returned home from the farmers’ market and tossed them with a cup of sugar and two split vanilla beans. Poured into a jar, the berries took a three-day rest in the refrigerator. I didn’t actually intend to let them macerate for that long, but as so often happens, life was busy and I just could not find the time to make jam until Wednesday night.

One of the true joys of small batch canning is that there’s no need to pull out a giant pot to serve as your water bath. A small one does the job just fine. I have two such pots that work well as a tiny canning pot. The first is the asparagus pot that I wrote about here. The second is the tall, spouted pot you see above.

Called a 4th burner pot, this is truly one of the best and most versatile pieces of cookware I own. I love it for making pickles, because you can heat the brine in it and then pour it directly into the jars. It makes the perfect gravy pot during the holidays. It can double as a tea kettle. And because it’s got that rack, it makes a terrific small batch canning pot. See how perfectly those three half-pint Elite jars fit into it?

So, to catch up, I poured the jar of chopped, macerated strawberries into a 5 1/2 quart pot. I added an additional cup of sugar (bringing the total to 2 cups) and removed the vanilla bean pods. I turned up the heat and inserted a thermometer to track the temperature. I cooked the jam to 220 degrees and also eyeballed the back of the spoon, rivulet test. A lemon’s worth of juice and zest went it towards the end of cooking.

There’s another reason that making small batch jam is so satisfying. Because there’s less volume in the pot, it cooks down more quickly. That means it’s easier to get it to 220 degrees and often means that you can skip the pectin in recipes that might otherwise need it (I know that there are some of you who eschew the pectin entirely, but I’ve always found it necessary when making strawberry jam). Shorter cooking time also means a fresher tasting jam and such glowing color!

The jam was poured into the hot half pint jars (it fit exactly, but I scraped every droplet out of the pot to ensure evenly filled jars), lids were applied and the jars were stacked into the rack. Lowered into the pot, they spent 10 minutes simmering in the handy 4th burner pot.

Within 45 minutes of when I turned on the heat under my jam pot, the jars were out of the canner and pinging on the counter top. I took one jar up to Northampton last weekend to share with our hosts. The other two jars are tucked away for next winter.

A non-narrative, traditionally organized recipe is after the jump. Small Batch Strawberry Vanilla Jam

1 quart strawberries (a little over 1 1/2 pounds, should be approximately 4 cups of chopped berries)
2 cups sugar, divided
2 vanilla beans, split and scraped
1 lemon, zested and juiced

Wash and chop berries. Toss them with 1 cup of sugar and the vanilla beans/seeds and place in a large jar or bowl. Allow the berries to macerate for at least 2-3 hours and up to 72 hours.

When you’re ready to make the jam, prepare three half pint jars.

Pour macerated strawberries into a large pot and add the remaining cup of sugar. Bring to a boil and simmer until the jam reaches 220 degrees. Add the lemon zest and juice in the final 5 minutes of cooking.

Once the jar has reached 220 degrees, remove the pan from the heat. Pour jam into your prepared jars. Wipe rims, apply lids and rings and process in your canner for 10 minutes (normally I’d admonish you not to start your timer until the water has returned to a boil. However, as long as your water is quite hot when the jars go into the canner, the time it will take to return to boiling should be minimal).

When time is up, remove jars from canner and let them cool on a towel-lined counter top. When jars are cool enough to handle, remove rings and check seals. If any jars are not sealed, store them in the fridge and use them first. Store sealed jars in a cool, dark place.

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The deliciousness of butter is a universally understood truth (and the primary reason for Paula Deen’s career). However, for as good as regular old butter can be, cultured butter is just that much better. Cultured butter is made from cream that has been doctored with a culturing agent, allowed to sit out for a bit and develop tasty, tangy bacteria.

Now, cast your minds back a couple of months to when I wrote about making creme fraiche. To recap, it’s a process in which you stir some buttermilk (culturing agent) into a jar of heavy cream (not the ultra-pasteurized stuff) and let it sit out until it develops a host of tangy bacteria. Do you see where I’m going here? That’s right! Once you’ve made creme fraiche, you’re about 15 minutes away from homemade cultured butter. Let’s walk through the steps, shall we?

Pour your creme fraiche into the bowl of a food processor. I started with approximately 20 ounces of very thick, tangy product. Tighten the lid of the process and run the motor for 2-5 minutes.

It only takes about 2 minutes in my food processor, but I’m certain your times will vary. You want to process it until it looks like the picture above. You should have a thin, visible liquid with clumps of butter spread throughout. Do know that the liquid will be thicker than when you make butter from uncultured cream.

Place a fine mesh sieve over a bowl and pour the butter and whey through the sieve. Make sure to save that whey, it’s incredibly flavorful and I’ll be posting a baking recipe for you guys that will detail how to use it later in the week. Using the back of a rubber or silicone spatula, gently move and scrape the butter in the sieve to help remove more of the whey. You will find that a bit of butter pushes through the sieve, just scrape it off the bottom and plop it back into the bowl of the sieve.

When most of the visible whey has been released, remove the bowl from underneath the sieve. Rinse the butter with the coldest water your tap can produce and repeat the pressing and draining of the butter (still without the bowl). The goal is to remove as much of the whey and water from the butter. The more whey you can remove, the longer the shelf life of the butter will be.

After several rinses, place the butter in a shallow bowl (I love this wooden bowl for this job) and work it some more, still attempting to work any remaining whey out of the butter. If you like a salted butter, this is the point where you can sprinkle in a pinch or two of fine grain salt. Mix it into the butter thoroughly with the spatula. In addition to the flavor boost the salt gives, it will also extend the shelf life of the butter a bit.

When your butter is a smooth and whey-free as you can manage, pack it into a small jar (I got enough to exactly fill an 8-ounce jar with this batch). Pour the reserved whey into a container (I love this milk jug I brought back from Portland a couple of years ago for this sort of thing). Both should be stored in the fridge.

Cultured butter is amazing stirred into polenta, dabbed on warm muffins or slathered on toast. Once you make it, you’ll find yourself inventing reasons to eat it.

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• Nothing to see here.

I’ve been up to my eyeballs in citrus this weekend. In the last 48 hours I’ve made 16 1/2 pints of marmalade, all in an effort to ensure that the recipes I’m including in this crazy cookbook of mine will be the best ones possible. And I think I’m on the right track. Last night, I found my sitting in front of my computer, eating blood orange marmalade from my overflow jar with a spoon.

However, I did manage to squeeze (ha!) just one little project to feature here. It’s a orange jelly, thoroughly flecked with vanilla seeds. I’m calling it creamsicle jelly, because as I tasted it during cooking (what? I had to make sure it tasted good), it made me think of nothing so much as those popsicles from childhood (though it doesn’t include any cream).

Typically I’d tell you all that you should really start from whole fruit, but when it comes to orange jelly, I believe it’s okay to cheat a little. There’s a world of really good, freshly squeezed orange juice out there and often, it ends up being less expensive (at least in Philadelphia. I know you Floridians have oranges coming out your ears this time of year) than buying enough fruit to yield four full cups of juice.

And aren’t those Weck jars pretty? Look for a how-to post on Tuesday that will show you all the ins and outs of using them (truly, they’re pretty darn easy once you know a couple of things).

Creamsicle Jelly
makes 2 pints

4 cups freshly squeezed orange juice
4 cups sugar
2 vanilla beans, split and scraped
1 packet liquid pectin (half a box)

Combine orange juice, sugar, vanilla bean scrapings and beans (to extract as much flavor from them as possible) in a large pot (this one is a foamer). Bring to a boil over high heat and cook with the intention of reducing the volume by approximately half.

Use a thermometer to track the temperature, so that you know when you’re getting to 220 degrees (the set point of jams and jellies). When it has reached 220 degrees and is able to maintain that temperature even after a good stir*, add the pectin. Cook for an additional 2-3 minutes and remove from heat.

Remove the vanilla beans from the pot and pour jam into prepared jars. Wipe rims, apply lids and screw on bands. Process in a boiling water canner for ten minutes.

When time is up, remove jars from processing pot and place them on a towel-lined countertop and let them cool undisturbed for several hours. When they are cool enough to handle, check the seals. Store any unsealed jars in the fridge and place the rest in your pantry.

Eat this jelly on toast or stirred into yogurt (if you want to get the true creamsicle effect).

Update 1: When I cooked this jelly, it reached 220 degrees at least six or seven times before it was time to add the pectin. It needs at least 30 minutes of boiling (if not more) in order to set up well.

Update 2: I’m hear reports that people are having a really hard time getting this jelly to set. I think the liquid pectin may be to blame. These days, I’m only using Ball brand liquid pectin, because I’ve discovered that the Certo brand barely seems to work anymore. Last summer, I had a number of recipes fail with it that used to work quite easily.

If you’ve made this jelly and it hasn’t set up, you can give it a few days to see if it eventually gets firmer (this often happens) or reboiling it with a second packet of pectin. If you haven’t made it yet, I’d recommend either using Ball brand liquid pectin or switching to half a packet of powdered pectin.

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• Nothing to see here.

I have made a lot of granola in the last month (a mighty understatement). I was testing recipes for the book and even after giving large containers of it away, I still had enough granola on my kitchen shelves to supply a small restaurant through a busy weekend brunch service, three or four times over. Though Scott and I both embrace a breakfast of granola topped yogurt, there more that we could handle in a reasonable about of time. Steps had to be taken before all that home toasted granola went fusty and stale.

While flipping through Baking on Saturday afternoon in search of Dorie’s cream scones, another recipe caught my attention. Called Granola Grabbers, it is essentially a heartier-than-average oatmeal cookie, made with granola as the primary ingredient. I stuck a magazine subscription card in to serve as reminder to come back and take a closer look. After all, I had a bounty of granola in need of transformation.

Last night found me standing in the kitchen wanting to make something for all of you. I’ve been feeling a little bit lost in the face of late winter. I know citrus is the thing this time of year, but somehow I can’t summon the energy to chop lemons for marmalade right now. So instead of putting something in a jar, I took the remains of a batch of granola (it’s a dried cranberry and orange-scented thing that will be in the book) and made cookies inspired by those granola grabbers.

Though I restrained myself from healthy-ing up the cream scones I posted about on Monday, I wasn’t able to keep from making a few adjustments here. I replaced some of the dairy butter with apple butter (another open jar finished off!), cut the sugar by half (and they’re still quite sweet) and used whole wheat pastry flour in place of the all-purpose. I also added some cinnamon and nutmeg that weren’t in the original recipe, to help bolster the fading flavors of my aging granola.

Having made this recipe as a basic cookie, I think I’ll try it as a bar next time. They are so dense and crumbly (but in a good way) that I think I’d like to be able to grab a smaller bit than these hefty cookies allow. That said, I am not at all unhappy to have them in my cookie jar. In fact, I’m kicking myself that I didn’t bring one or two along to work today, to nibble after lunch (plus, I could use something homemade after my cafeteria salad).

Oh, there’s one more thing you should know before you tackle this one yourself. Dorie’s original recipe asks that you use granola without added fruit. Her very valid concern is that the fruit in store-bought granola can be very dry. However, my homemade granola included plump, moist dried cranberries and lots of slivered almonds. Because of that, I used four cups of granola and omitted the additional cranberries and almonds. I know that granola will vary, so I’ve included her original proportions here. Feel free to use your best judgment when you make these for yourself.

Granola Cookies
Adapted liberally from Dorie Greenspan’s Granola Grabbers

3 cups granola
3/4 cups dried cranberries
1/2 cup slivered almonds
1/2 cup salted and chopped peanuts
1/2 cup unsweetened coconut
1/3 cup wheat germ
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 stick butter (8 tablespoons)
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup apple butter (or any fruit butter you have on hand)
2 tablespoons milk
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Line two large baking sheets with parchment or silicone baking sheets.

Combine the granola, cranberries, almonds, peanuts, coconut, wheat germ, cinnamon and nutmeg in a large bowl and stir until mixed. Set aside.

Using either a stand or hand mixer, cream the butter until it is soft and fluffy. Add the sugar and beat until it is integrated. Add the apple butter, milk, egg and salt and mix until it is uniformly integrated.

Add the flour and combine. Finally, add the bowl of granola and friends and mix until it is just combined (make sure to stop the mixer and scrape the bowl down during mixing).

Portion out your cookies using a tablespoon or a scoop (I used a quarter cup scoop). Because there’s no leavening in the cookies, they will not rise or spread on their own. Make sure to pat them into cookie shapes prior to baking or you’ll end up with rounded cookie nuggets.

Bake 10-12 minutes, until the tops are brown. Let cool on the baking sheet for a couple of minutes before moving them to a rack for their final cool (when they are very hot, they have a tendency to crumble).

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