Item: The older car's been making a funny rattle which had been thought to be due to recent ridiculously sub-normal temperatures. Turns out? Water pump. Undriveable for now, part in transit, work to commence at some unspecified point in the near future.
Item: The newer car (newer being relative; it's a 2001 model year) started smoldering on the much-dreaded Route 202S last night. The summoned brother-in-law, a fireman, grinned while delivering the news, "Yep. Your car is burning." New oxygen sensors, at minimum, required. Work to commence at some unspecified point in the near future.
Consequences: Behind on laundry, dishes, errands, packing, wrapping, sewing and canning. Gift posts coming, and I mean it this time, after the holiday. For those of you in countries without a holiday this week (lots of referrals from Uzbekistan lately - hi Uzbekistan!) and have no idea of what I am speaking this means, more or less, that I'll start posting again on Sunday.
Until then, amuse yourself with cranberry chutney or making your own relish tray or otherwise having a splendid week. As for me, the kids and I are outta here. I have tons for which to be thankful and I may as well start now.
Blood Drive
The spiced honey post is being delayed just a bit because a friend-related emergency has arisen which requires my complete attention and a small amount of time (which nonetheless interferes with canning ops). My friend is, I feel compelled to note, rational, mature, intelligent and even-keeled.
She also wants to see Twilight. Tonight. At midnight. Not alone.
When a friend needs me, who am I to turn away? Sure, we both have to parent and work tomorrow and we both have Saturdays that look terrifying on paper. But we both also like a little vampire lurve (she specifically with these characters, with which I have no experience) so why not? It's not like opportunities to recapture one's youth come 'round every day.
I haven't been to a movie theater since the first Harry Potter film which I think was, what?, 2001 or something? I scarcely know how to act in a theater anymore since they got indoor plumbing.
Wish me luck.
She also wants to see Twilight. Tonight. At midnight. Not alone.
When a friend needs me, who am I to turn away? Sure, we both have to parent and work tomorrow and we both have Saturdays that look terrifying on paper. But we both also like a little vampire lurve (she specifically with these characters, with which I have no experience) so why not? It's not like opportunities to recapture one's youth come 'round every day.
I haven't been to a movie theater since the first Harry Potter film which I think was, what?, 2001 or something? I scarcely know how to act in a theater anymore since they got indoor plumbing.
Wish me luck.
Eighteen with Twenty-Two Years Experience
On December 31 - a mere 42 days from today - I will celebrate observe experience my 40th birthday. Despite my natural inclination to draw attention to myself and insist upon adoration and fealty from all who cross my path on that sacred day, I suspect that this year might be significantly quieter than past such events.
In my youth a New Year's Eve birthday was splendid. I never had to go to school on my birthday and friends were almost always home to attend an afternoon party. When I grew up enough for sleepovers, my friends' parents were only too delighted to send their darlings to my house clearing their own out for duration. In still later years I enjoyed a surfeit of entertainment options and always had a date (or two) at the ready to assist with whatever celebrations came my way. I rarely had to organize anything because the world (well, my world) was only too happy to thrust merriment upon me and cook up outrageous fun on my behalf. This delightful truth held until recent years.
These days I have only one date in the form of Brainiac, a wonderful man who'd really rather not bother with the whole thing at all and in the process throws the baby of my birthday out with the New Year's Eve bathwater. If we go anywhere we're the couple that bugs out around 11 p.m. so that he can be home safe and sound and in pajamas before counting down of any kind begins. If we stay home he's zonked well before Barry Manilow ever takes the stage.
Getting together with friends can also be tricky. Some have established traditions, spending the holiday with other friends or family or a set combination of both. Others travel, making a point to be somewhere besides cold and grey southeast Pennsylvania. Many of my friends have children and there simply are not enough babysitters to go around while a kid-friendly party does little to thrill those friends who don't share their daily lives with younger folk. What to do?
I've decided that I need an Official Birthday. You know, like Queen Elizabeth? She has a day for celebration - Trooping the Color? How fantastic is that? - entirely separate from the actual day on which she was born. I've long thought that if it's good (key word being "good") for Queen Elizabeth, it's good for me. So with that in mind, I need a day when 1) there is little chance of mass public drunkenness, thereby enticing Brainiac to activity, 2) the weather is likely to be good, 3) friends are inclined to be in town and available. Brainiac's birthday is in May and almost always coincides with the long Memorial Day weekend and my first thought was perhaps to tie my Official Birthday to Labor Day, thus book ending summer nicely. But darn near everyone we know locally takes off to the beach or the mountains for Labor Day, in clear violation of requirement number 3. So maybe the Saturday after Labor Day? Or perhaps the one before? Mid-October is good, too.
This is going to require some thought. Although I am not really sad about turning 40 or finding it particularly problematic, buying myself another nine or ten months before the event is, well, official is kind of nifty. I'll even make it easy by not demanding my very own parade.
In my youth a New Year's Eve birthday was splendid. I never had to go to school on my birthday and friends were almost always home to attend an afternoon party. When I grew up enough for sleepovers, my friends' parents were only too delighted to send their darlings to my house clearing their own out for duration. In still later years I enjoyed a surfeit of entertainment options and always had a date (or two) at the ready to assist with whatever celebrations came my way. I rarely had to organize anything because the world (well, my world) was only too happy to thrust merriment upon me and cook up outrageous fun on my behalf. This delightful truth held until recent years.
These days I have only one date in the form of Brainiac, a wonderful man who'd really rather not bother with the whole thing at all and in the process throws the baby of my birthday out with the New Year's Eve bathwater. If we go anywhere we're the couple that bugs out around 11 p.m. so that he can be home safe and sound and in pajamas before counting down of any kind begins. If we stay home he's zonked well before Barry Manilow ever takes the stage.
Getting together with friends can also be tricky. Some have established traditions, spending the holiday with other friends or family or a set combination of both. Others travel, making a point to be somewhere besides cold and grey southeast Pennsylvania. Many of my friends have children and there simply are not enough babysitters to go around while a kid-friendly party does little to thrill those friends who don't share their daily lives with younger folk. What to do?
I've decided that I need an Official Birthday. You know, like Queen Elizabeth? She has a day for celebration - Trooping the Color? How fantastic is that? - entirely separate from the actual day on which she was born. I've long thought that if it's good (key word being "good") for Queen Elizabeth, it's good for me. So with that in mind, I need a day when 1) there is little chance of mass public drunkenness, thereby enticing Brainiac to activity, 2) the weather is likely to be good, 3) friends are inclined to be in town and available. Brainiac's birthday is in May and almost always coincides with the long Memorial Day weekend and my first thought was perhaps to tie my Official Birthday to Labor Day, thus book ending summer nicely. But darn near everyone we know locally takes off to the beach or the mountains for Labor Day, in clear violation of requirement number 3. So maybe the Saturday after Labor Day? Or perhaps the one before? Mid-October is good, too.
This is going to require some thought. Although I am not really sad about turning 40 or finding it particularly problematic, buying myself another nine or ten months before the event is, well, official is kind of nifty. I'll even make it easy by not demanding my very own parade.
Seeing Stars
Although I posted that I'd be making the White Wine-Sage Mustard next, I've had so many e-mails looking for the spiced honey that I'm going to put that up this week and save the mustard for the the first week in December. I've actually been a little afraid of the honey idea - honey being so sticky and hard to control - and I'm glad that the interest is there to keep me on task. I'm going to make two kinds; one with cinnamon and clove and one with star anise. Both are insanely delicious, really not at all hard to make (stickiness aside) and wonderful to give (or not). Watch for the honey post by the end of the day Thursday.
In the meantime, I've been also trying to finish up some crafty gifts in time for my Thanksgiving trip to Buffalo. The kids and I are heading up for the long weekend and I'm very keen to be able to have all the presents wrapped and ready to go. I'm way more organized this year than in the last few and that makes all the difference between good intentions and actual gift production. Being organized! I'm amazed someone didn't think of it sooner.
We'll be arriving back from the trip up north on the first day of Advent and in the spirit of organization I'm putting together plans for the activities and projects that truly add to our observance and am being very bold about declining to participate in engagements that would diminish our enjoyment of the season. The short list so far includes a nice balance of private reflection and friendly togetherness with people I don't see nearly enough. I've decided this year not to have a big gingerbread house party - we've had a few shindigs this year and I don't think there's harm in skipping just this once (maybe I'll defer that energy to a 2009 Easter egg hunt?). Similarly, Brainiac and I have decided to forego work-related events, instead demonstrating collegiality and all-around fitness for continued employability by sharing the results of what I hope will be marathon and highly pleasurable cookie- and candy-making sessions.
Speaking of cookies, I'd be remiss if I my annual tradition of sending you all to Susie J.'s Christmas Baking site. The Advent Calendar alone will make you weep and Sue makes her own mixed peel for fruitcakes, an activity I wholly and enthusiastically endorse. When I last saw her during a run to Penzey's, I obtained her promise that the site is backed-up thoroughly because I would be lost without several of the recipes (despite being too lazy to actually write them down anywhere), specifically gingerbread, Albertle, Ausstecherle and mokka. In case she needs proof that no good deed goes unpunished, I may just invite myself to her house for a lesson in zimtsterne since I remain in total paralyzing fear of making them on my own.
You know, now that I think of it, zimtsterne and tea sweetened with cinnamon honey would make an excellent winter snack. The combination might be just the thing to bring into our respective offices to promote a little goodwill toward men, not to mention peace on Earth (or at least the Philadelphia suburbs).
In the meantime, I've been also trying to finish up some crafty gifts in time for my Thanksgiving trip to Buffalo. The kids and I are heading up for the long weekend and I'm very keen to be able to have all the presents wrapped and ready to go. I'm way more organized this year than in the last few and that makes all the difference between good intentions and actual gift production. Being organized! I'm amazed someone didn't think of it sooner.
We'll be arriving back from the trip up north on the first day of Advent and in the spirit of organization I'm putting together plans for the activities and projects that truly add to our observance and am being very bold about declining to participate in engagements that would diminish our enjoyment of the season. The short list so far includes a nice balance of private reflection and friendly togetherness with people I don't see nearly enough. I've decided this year not to have a big gingerbread house party - we've had a few shindigs this year and I don't think there's harm in skipping just this once (maybe I'll defer that energy to a 2009 Easter egg hunt?). Similarly, Brainiac and I have decided to forego work-related events, instead demonstrating collegiality and all-around fitness for continued employability by sharing the results of what I hope will be marathon and highly pleasurable cookie- and candy-making sessions.
Speaking of cookies, I'd be remiss if I my annual tradition of sending you all to Susie J.'s Christmas Baking site. The Advent Calendar alone will make you weep and Sue makes her own mixed peel for fruitcakes, an activity I wholly and enthusiastically endorse. When I last saw her during a run to Penzey's, I obtained her promise that the site is backed-up thoroughly because I would be lost without several of the recipes (despite being too lazy to actually write them down anywhere), specifically gingerbread, Albertle, Ausstecherle and mokka. In case she needs proof that no good deed goes unpunished, I may just invite myself to her house for a lesson in zimtsterne since I remain in total paralyzing fear of making them on my own.
You know, now that I think of it, zimtsterne and tea sweetened with cinnamon honey would make an excellent winter snack. The combination might be just the thing to bring into our respective offices to promote a little goodwill toward men, not to mention peace on Earth (or at least the Philadelphia suburbs).
Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce
I found this recipe first online at the Fresh Preserving website and then again in the Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving that Lauren Devine sent me a few months back. I was struck right away how perfect this sauce would be for the Homecanned Gift project - simple enough for beginners to follow easily while also being different enough from the usual jams and pickles to interest the more experienced among us.
With only five ingredients and requiring no long cooking time or chemical reaction for success, it's the perfect choice for making a quick, inexpensive and utterly unique and delicious gift at home. Making 10 half-pint jars took only 20 minutes of hands-on time. The longest part was waiting for the water bath to boil, a lull of which I took advantage by typing this post.
To make the sauce, you need:
Start by starting the water bath to boiling, simmering lids and rings and sterilizing your jars.
Combine the chopped garlic and salt in a glass or ceramic bowl and set aside. I chopped up a little more than a head of garlic to get a half a cup. I suppose you could use a garlic masher thingy or buy a jar of pre-chopped garlic as well.
In a stainless steel saucepan, bring the vinegar to a boil. For the love of Ball, don't put your face over the pot while you do this - boiling vinegar is not something you want to inhale. After the vinegar comes to a nice boil add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Lower the heat and allow to simmer for five minutes.
Remove the vinegar from heat and stir in both the garlic mixture and the pepper flakes, stir to combine.
Ladle the sauce into your hot, sterilized jars. Seal according to package instructions and process in a boiling hot water bath for 15 minutes.
When the processing is complete, remove the jars from the water bath (carefully!) and place them on a double thickness of dish cloth or tea towel to cool. Allow plenty of room for air to circulate and try not to disturb them for at least 12 hours. Try, too, to resist pressing the little button on the top of the lid to check for a seal. I know you'll want to, but try to avoid it.
And that's that. You now have 8 to 10 half-pint jars of Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce with which to bless a friend (or yourself - we eat a lot of steamed dumplings around here and I may need to make a second batch). Next time you can add a bit of lemon grass or galangal or ginger, but for now you've made something perfectly excellent and of which you hold your head up high. As for cost, assuming you'll get the same ten jars I did and pay similar prices I'd say you're looking at a little less than a dollar a jar (for jars and ingredients but not including energy costs for processing and cooking).
In a few weeks we'll talk about embellishing the jars for a nice presentation. This sauce doesn't require much in that regard - it has a lovely amber color and a fun snowglobe-like effect from the pepper flakes and garlic. It could be given exactly as is or, if you're feeling expansive and generous, bundled with a recipe and perhaps a dumpling press, which can be had for a couple dollars apiece.
Whatever you decide to do in the way of gifting, be proud that you have made something delicious, useful, frugal and beautiful. Happy holidays, indeed!
Next up: Lemon-Sage Wine Mustard. Yum!
With only five ingredients and requiring no long cooking time or chemical reaction for success, it's the perfect choice for making a quick, inexpensive and utterly unique and delicious gift at home. Making 10 half-pint jars took only 20 minutes of hands-on time. The longest part was waiting for the water bath to boil, a lull of which I took advantage by typing this post.
To make the sauce, you need:
- 1/2 cup of finely chopped garlic
1 tablespoon of salt
six cups cider vinegar
six cups of white sugar
1/2 cup hot red pepper flakes
Start by starting the water bath to boiling, simmering lids and rings and sterilizing your jars.
Combine the chopped garlic and salt in a glass or ceramic bowl and set aside. I chopped up a little more than a head of garlic to get a half a cup. I suppose you could use a garlic masher thingy or buy a jar of pre-chopped garlic as well.
In a stainless steel saucepan, bring the vinegar to a boil. For the love of Ball, don't put your face over the pot while you do this - boiling vinegar is not something you want to inhale. After the vinegar comes to a nice boil add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Lower the heat and allow to simmer for five minutes.
Remove the vinegar from heat and stir in both the garlic mixture and the pepper flakes, stir to combine.
Ladle the sauce into your hot, sterilized jars. Seal according to package instructions and process in a boiling hot water bath for 15 minutes.
When the processing is complete, remove the jars from the water bath (carefully!) and place them on a double thickness of dish cloth or tea towel to cool. Allow plenty of room for air to circulate and try not to disturb them for at least 12 hours. Try, too, to resist pressing the little button on the top of the lid to check for a seal. I know you'll want to, but try to avoid it.
And that's that. You now have 8 to 10 half-pint jars of Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce with which to bless a friend (or yourself - we eat a lot of steamed dumplings around here and I may need to make a second batch). Next time you can add a bit of lemon grass or galangal or ginger, but for now you've made something perfectly excellent and of which you hold your head up high. As for cost, assuming you'll get the same ten jars I did and pay similar prices I'd say you're looking at a little less than a dollar a jar (for jars and ingredients but not including energy costs for processing and cooking).
In a few weeks we'll talk about embellishing the jars for a nice presentation. This sauce doesn't require much in that regard - it has a lovely amber color and a fun snowglobe-like effect from the pepper flakes and garlic. It could be given exactly as is or, if you're feeling expansive and generous, bundled with a recipe and perhaps a dumpling press, which can be had for a couple dollars apiece.
Whatever you decide to do in the way of gifting, be proud that you have made something delicious, useful, frugal and beautiful. Happy holidays, indeed!
Next up: Lemon-Sage Wine Mustard. Yum!
My Dear Mr. Slater
Earlier this year I went on a bit of a Nigel Slater glom, reading every one of his books I could access through my local library system. I can't remember how it started or if I had any particular goals in mind - I only recall feeling a little let down with his pedantic style and presentation and not getting whatever it had been I was expecting. Laconic nearly to the point of inducing slumber, Slater's writing betrays little of the passion he says he feels about food and cooking. I read and read trying to find a clue as to why he is so beloved and respected until in The Kitchen Diaries he made disparaging comments about home-canned items given as gifts. This, as you might well imagine, I feel is a deal breaker and an appalling position for one who claims to support micro producers and local foodways.
In my own small way I feel called upon to try to rebalance the scale in favor of homecanned fabulousness - especially for gifting and for hosting. What I wouldn't give to be offered a piece of poundcake glazed with homemade apricot jam this holiday season instead of a gooey oversweet whatsit from the freezer section. Or be able to open a jar of chutney to pair with whole grain crackers rather than heat up some pre-made pastry thing. Or, or, or... You, too? Then let's do something about it.
Over the next weeks I'll be making and posting about a variety of canned foodstuffs that are not only delicious but also easy to make and suitable projects for home canners from novice to expert. Any can be given as wonderful gifts on their own or matched with inexpensive additions or can be kept aside for those days when you'd like to have friends over* but aren't up to the task or expense of shopping. If you don't already have water-bath canning gear and want to play along check out this post and consider about spending some of your grocery budget on supplies (including half- or quarter-pint jars) - or chip in with a friend or borrow if it's your first time. My own canning kettle is in use throughout the year and I count the money it cost as among the best I've ever spent, repaid many times over in savings and enjoyment.
What shall we make? These are the ideas I have, but I am nothing if not flexible. If there's something you'd like to try, do let me know and we'll see what can be done. I'll start with the following:
For each of these projects I'll post the recipe, some pics and a few ideas to maximize its gifting potential. If you're inspired to try some canning on your own, I'll hope you'll leave links to your projects in the comments so we can all learn together.
If Mr. Slater's been disappointed by gifts of homemade lusciousness in the past, my guess is he never received a present from one of us.
* You know how you're always saying you should have people over more? Yeah, me too. I'm seriously thinking that should be my New Year's Resolution - more people, more often.
In my own small way I feel called upon to try to rebalance the scale in favor of homecanned fabulousness - especially for gifting and for hosting. What I wouldn't give to be offered a piece of poundcake glazed with homemade apricot jam this holiday season instead of a gooey oversweet whatsit from the freezer section. Or be able to open a jar of chutney to pair with whole grain crackers rather than heat up some pre-made pastry thing. Or, or, or... You, too? Then let's do something about it.
Over the next weeks I'll be making and posting about a variety of canned foodstuffs that are not only delicious but also easy to make and suitable projects for home canners from novice to expert. Any can be given as wonderful gifts on their own or matched with inexpensive additions or can be kept aside for those days when you'd like to have friends over* but aren't up to the task or expense of shopping. If you don't already have water-bath canning gear and want to play along check out this post and consider about spending some of your grocery budget on supplies (including half- or quarter-pint jars) - or chip in with a friend or borrow if it's your first time. My own canning kettle is in use throughout the year and I count the money it cost as among the best I've ever spent, repaid many times over in savings and enjoyment.
What shall we make? These are the ideas I have, but I am nothing if not flexible. If there's something you'd like to try, do let me know and we'll see what can be done. I'll start with the following:
- Spiced honey
Lemon-Sage Wine Mustard
Roasted Red Pepper Spread
Lime Chutney
Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce
For each of these projects I'll post the recipe, some pics and a few ideas to maximize its gifting potential. If you're inspired to try some canning on your own, I'll hope you'll leave links to your projects in the comments so we can all learn together.
If Mr. Slater's been disappointed by gifts of homemade lusciousness in the past, my guess is he never received a present from one of us.
* You know how you're always saying you should have people over more? Yeah, me too. I'm seriously thinking that should be my New Year's Resolution - more people, more often.
Plus ça change
For as long as humans have memorialized religious and cultural events with feasts and gift-giving there have been corresponding backlashes seeking to return such celebrations to the way they used to be. No doubt the second observance of any given holiday is beset by plaintive wailings of "but we didn't to it that way laaaast year" which are repeated with gathering and indignant alarm every year thereafter.
Which brings us to the Holiday Season 2008. Happy Diwali everyone!
This year I am taking a position on the vanguard of So It's Not Like Last Year (or Any Year Prior to That). I read a lot of old books, books which are just as rife with complaints about immoral excess amongst celebrating citizenry as our current blogs. I'm struck by the similarity of arguments over the centuries - that children are given too much, that adults eat too much and overshop, that religious institutions don't do enough to stem the tide of modern intemperance. The dismay of 1800 isn't so very different from ours today.
Not that I think that we can turn a blind eye to any problems, micro or macro, that may arise from both public and private observances. I groove on the Handmade Holiday and the Buy Handmade movements as much as the next girl. I adore Etsy with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns. And yet I recognize and wince more than a bit at the creeping temptation and encouragement to use such sensibilities and resources as shorthand for how well someone "gets" any number of issues, from transforming any given holiday into some ill-defined notion of past celebrations to making an economic statement.
Who among us wants to be the one who tells a working-two-minimum-wage-jobs mom that she needs to be getting online (digital divide, anyone?) and ordering artisanal puppets for her children because that's better for the environment and a more authentic gift? Or that she should kitting up to make those puppets, with the required expenses of fabric and glue gun and needle because that's what moms of yesteryear would have done (o.k., maybe Ma Ingalls did without the glue gun...) and those women would have beensatisfied thrilled with such modest, within-budget expressions of affection? Meanwhile, the dollar store has adorable puppets in a range of styles that are deemed by a privileged class to be less-than because of where they were made or how much energy they required to get here. Well, that's not a conversation that I am willing to have.
There's an awful lot that vies to detract from our wholehearted engagement in whatever celebrations appear on our personal calendars and much to make us doubt any celebration in which we indulge is sufficient by one measure or another. Goodness knows that a glance the headlines is enough to make anyone want to call the whole thing off, or at least attempt to dial things back to an imaginary golden time when we believe that people didn't face such scariness as a matter of course. But of course they did, humans always have (there were no good old days, after all, where children and adults were perfectly pious in their merrymaking). This is part of the reason we have such celebratory seasons as the one we are entering. It's no accident that so many of us are preparing for festivals and holidays relating to various notions of finding light, literally and metaphorically.
I like walking into stores this time of year and taking note of the many types and varieties of candles, rich in color and scent. I love the strings of lights as suitable for Diwali as for my own Christmas observance. My local "designer discount" store has a collection of gorgeous Menorahs for sale - Jews mark the miracle of the oil with nine candles on a Menorah, candles which could also serve well for Sweden’s St. Lucia day or Thailand’s Loi Krathong festival.
The message is clear to me. In a time of deepening darkness, the best response is to find the light in each other. Let us avoid trying to find our own search lacking as compared to current false ideals papered over past realities. Humans are united in the search for illumination. This season, may we all find it, in every sense.
Which brings us to the Holiday Season 2008. Happy Diwali everyone!
This year I am taking a position on the vanguard of So It's Not Like Last Year (or Any Year Prior to That). I read a lot of old books, books which are just as rife with complaints about immoral excess amongst celebrating citizenry as our current blogs. I'm struck by the similarity of arguments over the centuries - that children are given too much, that adults eat too much and overshop, that religious institutions don't do enough to stem the tide of modern intemperance. The dismay of 1800 isn't so very different from ours today.
Not that I think that we can turn a blind eye to any problems, micro or macro, that may arise from both public and private observances. I groove on the Handmade Holiday and the Buy Handmade movements as much as the next girl. I adore Etsy with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns. And yet I recognize and wince more than a bit at the creeping temptation and encouragement to use such sensibilities and resources as shorthand for how well someone "gets" any number of issues, from transforming any given holiday into some ill-defined notion of past celebrations to making an economic statement.
Who among us wants to be the one who tells a working-two-minimum-wage-jobs mom that she needs to be getting online (digital divide, anyone?) and ordering artisanal puppets for her children because that's better for the environment and a more authentic gift? Or that she should kitting up to make those puppets, with the required expenses of fabric and glue gun and needle because that's what moms of yesteryear would have done (o.k., maybe Ma Ingalls did without the glue gun...) and those women would have been
There's an awful lot that vies to detract from our wholehearted engagement in whatever celebrations appear on our personal calendars and much to make us doubt any celebration in which we indulge is sufficient by one measure or another. Goodness knows that a glance the headlines is enough to make anyone want to call the whole thing off, or at least attempt to dial things back to an imaginary golden time when we believe that people didn't face such scariness as a matter of course. But of course they did, humans always have (there were no good old days, after all, where children and adults were perfectly pious in their merrymaking). This is part of the reason we have such celebratory seasons as the one we are entering. It's no accident that so many of us are preparing for festivals and holidays relating to various notions of finding light, literally and metaphorically.
I like walking into stores this time of year and taking note of the many types and varieties of candles, rich in color and scent. I love the strings of lights as suitable for Diwali as for my own Christmas observance. My local "designer discount" store has a collection of gorgeous Menorahs for sale - Jews mark the miracle of the oil with nine candles on a Menorah, candles which could also serve well for Sweden’s St. Lucia day or Thailand’s Loi Krathong festival.
The message is clear to me. In a time of deepening darkness, the best response is to find the light in each other. Let us avoid trying to find our own search lacking as compared to current false ideals papered over past realities. Humans are united in the search for illumination. This season, may we all find it, in every sense.
My search for a new go-to perfume has been much more interesting than I could have ever predicted. I've long since given up the spray-and-smell method of fragrance selection as being not at all sufficient. Stalking my local perfume counters got me a whole bunch of nothing but a headache and some boring conversation with sales folks who know not much more than I outside the marketing materials plastered all over every glass and chrome surface. Even more frustrating is the fact that any given perfume counter sports exactly the same perfumes as any other (why I thought it would be otherwise when stores all seem to have the same clothes I couldn't tell you). Turns out there's a whole world of perfume blogs and books and websites and...did you know that the New York Times has a perfume critic? It does, in the dreamy Chandler Burr.
Googling phrases like how to pick a perfume and what perfume should I wear if I liked Magie Noire brought me to Perfume Smellin' Things. An excellent beginning, this blog helped me frame my search more as a quest for how I want to feel alongside how I want to smell. From there I ended up at Bois de Jasmin and spent hours reading review after review and then moved into a third perfume blog with a great post sharing the 411 on how to get testers. See? I'm not alone in my disinclination to shell out for a scent that might be a disaster (Angel? I'm looking at you.)
Finally, I ended up at The Perfumed Court (TPC). Score! These lovely folks decant bottles of expensiveness into smaller portions of the merely indulgent. Registering for their newsletter I found myself in possession of a coupon code that allowed me to try six teeny bottles of promising perfumes selected via blog reviews cross-referenced against TPC's "scents by notes" study guide and my lists of Brainiac's and my favorite smells. Mine: roses, pepper, leather, port, almond. His: roses, chocolate, leather, Scotch and cigars.
Most of what I ordered from TPC didn't work out as I had hoped, although they were perfectly pleasant (with a notable exception that was more Deep-Woods Off than anything else). One, though, came through in a way that I could not have possibly predicted having read about it - I'd ordered more as a dare to myself than with any real expectation of success. As I type I'm wearing Rose Poivree (by The Different Company) and keep stopping to smell my wrist. It's rosy - but not in a tea-rose-boutonniere way, it's something more genteelly decayed and altogether less cute - and peppery and a wee bit naughty smelling (this article by the aforementioned scrumptious Chandler Burr explains why, but trust me that YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ IT. Consider yourself warned and don't come crying to me if you get grossed out. It's interesting, though.)
Not unlike myself, Rose Poivree has a bit of a mixed reputation. Some consider it a masterpiece, others a catastrophe. In the article linked above (which, remember? you don't want to read) Chandler Burr calls it "...unsettling and gorgeous, the perfume that Satan’s wife would wear to an opening at MoMA", a perspective that makes me laugh since I am so very far from embodying that kind of menacing glamour. The companion review gives Rose Poivree 5 stars. On me Rose Poivree smells deep and rich, peppery but not very spicy and rosy but not at all sweet. I love it.
The downside is that Brainiac can't smell it. Either I go around like a romance novel heroine smelling of peppered roses all the time and he can't tell the difference or it's just not a fragrance that registers for him (there's a word for this, but I can't think what it is). I'm keeping it anyway and will likely order a slightly larger bottle soon since my itsy decant is nearly gone and I'm feeling proactively bereft.
Rose Poivree is for me so I can smell my wrist all day long and be deliriously happy and just a teensy bit not-office-appropriate. But what of my quest to replace Magie Noire for encounters more romantic than sitting at my desk? I'm not giving up. The next round of contenders has been selected. Seeing as they involve more roses and spice and perhaps a surprise or two, something more ladylike, almost the exact opposite of the Rose Poivree?
This is so insanely fun.
Googling phrases like how to pick a perfume and what perfume should I wear if I liked Magie Noire brought me to Perfume Smellin' Things. An excellent beginning, this blog helped me frame my search more as a quest for how I want to feel alongside how I want to smell. From there I ended up at Bois de Jasmin and spent hours reading review after review and then moved into a third perfume blog with a great post sharing the 411 on how to get testers. See? I'm not alone in my disinclination to shell out for a scent that might be a disaster (Angel? I'm looking at you.)
Finally, I ended up at The Perfumed Court (TPC). Score! These lovely folks decant bottles of expensiveness into smaller portions of the merely indulgent. Registering for their newsletter I found myself in possession of a coupon code that allowed me to try six teeny bottles of promising perfumes selected via blog reviews cross-referenced against TPC's "scents by notes" study guide and my lists of Brainiac's and my favorite smells. Mine: roses, pepper, leather, port, almond. His: roses, chocolate, leather, Scotch and cigars.
Most of what I ordered from TPC didn't work out as I had hoped, although they were perfectly pleasant (with a notable exception that was more Deep-Woods Off than anything else). One, though, came through in a way that I could not have possibly predicted having read about it - I'd ordered more as a dare to myself than with any real expectation of success. As I type I'm wearing Rose Poivree (by The Different Company) and keep stopping to smell my wrist. It's rosy - but not in a tea-rose-boutonniere way, it's something more genteelly decayed and altogether less cute - and peppery and a wee bit naughty smelling (this article by the aforementioned scrumptious Chandler Burr explains why, but trust me that YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ IT. Consider yourself warned and don't come crying to me if you get grossed out. It's interesting, though.)
Not unlike myself, Rose Poivree has a bit of a mixed reputation. Some consider it a masterpiece, others a catastrophe. In the article linked above (which, remember? you don't want to read) Chandler Burr calls it "...unsettling and gorgeous, the perfume that Satan’s wife would wear to an opening at MoMA", a perspective that makes me laugh since I am so very far from embodying that kind of menacing glamour. The companion review gives Rose Poivree 5 stars. On me Rose Poivree smells deep and rich, peppery but not very spicy and rosy but not at all sweet. I love it.
The downside is that Brainiac can't smell it. Either I go around like a romance novel heroine smelling of peppered roses all the time and he can't tell the difference or it's just not a fragrance that registers for him (there's a word for this, but I can't think what it is). I'm keeping it anyway and will likely order a slightly larger bottle soon since my itsy decant is nearly gone and I'm feeling proactively bereft.
Rose Poivree is for me so I can smell my wrist all day long and be deliriously happy and just a teensy bit not-office-appropriate. But what of my quest to replace Magie Noire for encounters more romantic than sitting at my desk? I'm not giving up. The next round of contenders has been selected. Seeing as they involve more roses and spice and perhaps a surprise or two, something more ladylike, almost the exact opposite of the Rose Poivree?
This is so insanely fun.
No Place Like Home
On a recent post I noted my disinclination to travel despite my interest in seeing new places and meeting new people. As much as I'd like to do these things, the desire to do so doesn't outweigh my dread of the process of traveling. (I was once a girl who spent weeks at a go living out of a backpack but I haven't seen her in a while.) And so, since one never does anything for which one's interest doesn't make the hassle worthwhile, I rarely go anywhere.
Still, there are places I'd like to go and may well do so if I can get beyond the shudder-inducing thoughts of baggage claim, carbon footprints, finding a pet-sitter, an ever-increasing fear of airplanes, keeping track of the kids in a jungle or bog or whatever, getting lost in a new language (I cannot adequately press upon you how likely I am to become lost in any given place), convincing Brainiac that the cost is worth expanding our collective horizons, and so many other anxieties and neuroses that seem to plague me. If I'm able to overcome this not inconsiderable list of obstacles, I think I'd like to visit:
1) Scotland. Duh, where else am I going to find an immortal Highland warrior of my very own? Of course, not being unavailable for the intimate company of immortal Highland warriors, what with being married and all, I'd introduce him to a single pal right away, making a mental note to press shamelessly for all the details after they do...whatever it is that one does with immortal Highland warriors. And then I'd buy Brainiac a kilt.
All joking (mostly) aside, I think that Scotland must be a beautiful place and I have tremendous respect for its history and what has been endured there through the centuries. And? Scotch, golf, castles and salmon. Score.
2) Thailand. My dad lived in Thailand (in that in-the-Air-Force-during-a-war kind of way) before I was born and his stories of his life there captivated my sisters and me as children. Although I understand that he has held much of the truth of that time to himself, the portrait he created for us was of a wondrous and beautiful country with riches counted in ways beyond those I've come to understand. I'd like to see for myself if reality matches what I see in my head.
3) The "Fairy Tail Road" through Germany. I once spoke German more-or-less well (depending upon my mood at the moment) but now remember virtually nothing save a conviction that it might be about to rain. This would be woefully insufficient for spending some time exploring the towns and villages where the Grimm Bros. collected the stories and legends that have become so well-loved (if in slightly less macabre forms than the originals). I'd like to know if I have the mental grit to dig deep and remember enough to enrich a visit and not annoy anyone. Not too badly, anyway.
4) Vienna and Budapest. I bet they're fabulous and wear the weight of history exceedingly well. And? Pastries.
5) Marrakesh. I just...the past...so much...swoon. Yes. Marrakesh.
6) Canadian Rockies. On a train. Wonderfully huge and iconic and magnificent, an excellent place to feel small.
There are other places - Hadrian's Wall, Pyramids, the Acropolis, among others - I might like to see in a perfect world of safe and affordable on-time travel with no environmental repercussions or lost luggage. The above contenders, though, are those that might just provoke me to get outside of my head and on the road.
Still, there are places I'd like to go and may well do so if I can get beyond the shudder-inducing thoughts of baggage claim, carbon footprints, finding a pet-sitter, an ever-increasing fear of airplanes, keeping track of the kids in a jungle or bog or whatever, getting lost in a new language (I cannot adequately press upon you how likely I am to become lost in any given place), convincing Brainiac that the cost is worth expanding our collective horizons, and so many other anxieties and neuroses that seem to plague me. If I'm able to overcome this not inconsiderable list of obstacles, I think I'd like to visit:
1) Scotland. Duh, where else am I going to find an immortal Highland warrior of my very own? Of course, not being unavailable for the intimate company of immortal Highland warriors, what with being married and all, I'd introduce him to a single pal right away, making a mental note to press shamelessly for all the details after they do...whatever it is that one does with immortal Highland warriors. And then I'd buy Brainiac a kilt.
All joking (mostly) aside, I think that Scotland must be a beautiful place and I have tremendous respect for its history and what has been endured there through the centuries. And? Scotch, golf, castles and salmon. Score.
2) Thailand. My dad lived in Thailand (in that in-the-Air-Force-during-a-war kind of way) before I was born and his stories of his life there captivated my sisters and me as children. Although I understand that he has held much of the truth of that time to himself, the portrait he created for us was of a wondrous and beautiful country with riches counted in ways beyond those I've come to understand. I'd like to see for myself if reality matches what I see in my head.
3) The "Fairy Tail Road" through Germany. I once spoke German more-or-less well (depending upon my mood at the moment) but now remember virtually nothing save a conviction that it might be about to rain. This would be woefully insufficient for spending some time exploring the towns and villages where the Grimm Bros. collected the stories and legends that have become so well-loved (if in slightly less macabre forms than the originals). I'd like to know if I have the mental grit to dig deep and remember enough to enrich a visit and not annoy anyone. Not too badly, anyway.
4) Vienna and Budapest. I bet they're fabulous and wear the weight of history exceedingly well. And? Pastries.
5) Marrakesh. I just...the past...so much...swoon. Yes. Marrakesh.
6) Canadian Rockies. On a train. Wonderfully huge and iconic and magnificent, an excellent place to feel small.
There are other places - Hadrian's Wall, Pyramids, the Acropolis, among others - I might like to see in a perfect world of safe and affordable on-time travel with no environmental repercussions or lost luggage. The above contenders, though, are those that might just provoke me to get outside of my head and on the road.
Iron Lady
I once read a quote, attributed to Margaret Thatcher, that sticks with me these many years later. The gist of the idea goes like this: Think of a day that finishes with you very happy and satisfied and you will note that it's not a day when you did nothing; rather it is the day when you had everything to do and did it all.
Being a woman disposed to action, I found in these words something of a motto. I weary of navel gazing, long bouts of speculative cogitation without execution and the "ready, aim, aim, aim..." without ever reaching "fire" that typifies so much of life. My patience is short with those who have more excuses than accomplishments (note that I'm not talking - necessarily - about financial and/or professional success; I take a broader view). It is not in my nature to let the wind take me where it will; I have a plan. I have lists. I have flow-charts and forms and all manner of organizational savvy. This is my comfort zone.
So when the times come, as they inevitably do, when I forget a birthday, write but don't mail a thank you note, let my sharpish tongue loose ill-advisedly, I will call up the memory of a day like today. Today we had everything to do and we have done it. Every last line on the list (started by me and Brainaic on Thursday, as is our custom, adding to it right up until we arrive home on Friday evening when the checking-off begins) has been struck and I am considering framing the the result, one slightly worn and very much scribbled-upon piece of repurposed memo.
From remembering the scarves for the Seamen's Church Institute as we breezed out the door for church to defrosting the freezer to changing my car's oil to five loads of laundry washed and dried/hung, I am full of the warm glow of achievement. Food has been made and packed for the upcoming week of football practice, scout meetings, committee meetings, school events and preschool lunch bunch, and broth has been created from the remains of this evening's chicken. I managed to buy a much-needed purse (on sale! Thank you, Columbus) and Brainiac remembered his promise to take the Boy to the driving range, enjoying the fine weather of a perhaps-early Little Summer. I staged a family story time, painted the Girl's fingernails a lovely soft pink, and cheered Brainiac's latest protoyping project. A more glorious day would be hard for me to imagine for we not only were able to do these things but so very appreciative and a grateful for the privilege of having them to do.
And yet. The sun set several hours ago now and in the quiet night my thoughts turn to wondering what trouble or dismay, personal and not, may meet me tomorrow. The twin specters of private fears and public dread fight to crowd my satisfaction in what I know to have been a wonderfully productive time. Still. Whatever the week brings, in my family or in the world, my essential nature is comforted in knowing that life's lists are never totally scratched complete. We have done much and there is much to do. We will do it.
Being a woman disposed to action, I found in these words something of a motto. I weary of navel gazing, long bouts of speculative cogitation without execution and the "ready, aim, aim, aim..." without ever reaching "fire" that typifies so much of life. My patience is short with those who have more excuses than accomplishments (note that I'm not talking - necessarily - about financial and/or professional success; I take a broader view). It is not in my nature to let the wind take me where it will; I have a plan. I have lists. I have flow-charts and forms and all manner of organizational savvy. This is my comfort zone.
So when the times come, as they inevitably do, when I forget a birthday, write but don't mail a thank you note, let my sharpish tongue loose ill-advisedly, I will call up the memory of a day like today. Today we had everything to do and we have done it. Every last line on the list (started by me and Brainaic on Thursday, as is our custom, adding to it right up until we arrive home on Friday evening when the checking-off begins) has been struck and I am considering framing the the result, one slightly worn and very much scribbled-upon piece of repurposed memo.
From remembering the scarves for the Seamen's Church Institute as we breezed out the door for church to defrosting the freezer to changing my car's oil to five loads of laundry washed and dried/hung, I am full of the warm glow of achievement. Food has been made and packed for the upcoming week of football practice, scout meetings, committee meetings, school events and preschool lunch bunch, and broth has been created from the remains of this evening's chicken. I managed to buy a much-needed purse (on sale! Thank you, Columbus) and Brainiac remembered his promise to take the Boy to the driving range, enjoying the fine weather of a perhaps-early Little Summer. I staged a family story time, painted the Girl's fingernails a lovely soft pink, and cheered Brainiac's latest protoyping project. A more glorious day would be hard for me to imagine for we not only were able to do these things but so very appreciative and a grateful for the privilege of having them to do.
And yet. The sun set several hours ago now and in the quiet night my thoughts turn to wondering what trouble or dismay, personal and not, may meet me tomorrow. The twin specters of private fears and public dread fight to crowd my satisfaction in what I know to have been a wonderfully productive time. Still. Whatever the week brings, in my family or in the world, my essential nature is comforted in knowing that life's lists are never totally scratched complete. We have done much and there is much to do. We will do it.
Not Strange At All
Even as I typed the thing in the last post about French fries I had the thought to stop and delete. It is kind of an odd thing to do, after all. In the end I consoled myself with the conviction that if that's the oddest thing about me then I suppose I'm just fine. A nice, normal, sliding-into-middle-age woman with no terrible neuroses or eccentricities.
That was Tuesday. Flash forward, if you will, to last weekend.
We celebrated the Boy's eighth birthday on Saturday. As part of party preparations, Brainiac was charged with procuring beer (the grade schoolers are much more...pliable with a few beers in 'em*) and salty snacks like chips and pretzels, sold along side the beer at distributors.** Among the other treats he brought home were a package of Necco wafers, one of my favorite sweets. Yay, Brainiac!
So on Sunday after company left and (most of) the cleaning up had been done I sat down to blogsurf and enjoy my Neccos. As I drifted from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books to Angry Chicken to goodness knows what else, probably LOLCats or something similarly invigorating, I happily opened the pack and began to...separate the Neccos into piles by color and eat them two-by-two, green first followed by yellow, then orange, then pink, purple, brown then white. At one point, I think during the oranges, Brainiac came up behind me and I gushed my thanks that he selected such an awesome roll - heavy on the purples, browns and whites. He watched me eat a couple pairs, remarked at what I was doing, shook his head and fled for the relative sanity of the family room.
"If you think this is strange,"I called after him,"You should see what I do with French fries."
* Kidding! Kidding! The beer Brainiac bought was much too expensive to give to kids, what with their uneducated palates.
** Where I live, beer can only be sold at what are essentially beer stores. These stores cannot sell wine or spirits, which can only be sold in "state stores" run by the Liquor Control Board. Strange, but there you are.
That was Tuesday. Flash forward, if you will, to last weekend.
We celebrated the Boy's eighth birthday on Saturday. As part of party preparations, Brainiac was charged with procuring beer (the grade schoolers are much more...pliable with a few beers in 'em*) and salty snacks like chips and pretzels, sold along side the beer at distributors.** Among the other treats he brought home were a package of Necco wafers, one of my favorite sweets. Yay, Brainiac!
So on Sunday after company left and (most of) the cleaning up had been done I sat down to blogsurf and enjoy my Neccos. As I drifted from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books to Angry Chicken to goodness knows what else, probably LOLCats or something similarly invigorating, I happily opened the pack and began to...separate the Neccos into piles by color and eat them two-by-two, green first followed by yellow, then orange, then pink, purple, brown then white. At one point, I think during the oranges, Brainiac came up behind me and I gushed my thanks that he selected such an awesome roll - heavy on the purples, browns and whites. He watched me eat a couple pairs, remarked at what I was doing, shook his head and fled for the relative sanity of the family room.
"If you think this is strange,"I called after him,"You should see what I do with French fries."
* Kidding! Kidding! The beer Brainiac bought was much too expensive to give to kids, what with their uneducated palates.
** Where I live, beer can only be sold at what are essentially beer stores. These stores cannot sell wine or spirits, which can only be sold in "state stores" run by the Liquor Control Board. Strange, but there you are.
Grand Re-Opening or, Not Even Close to 100 Things About Me
I thought I'd do a bit of a Grand Re-Opening here at Hot Water Bath, planned just right to follow my most recent Unannounced Periodic Shut Down wherein I don't post for an unspecified period of time (carefully designed and timed to drive away the couple dozen people who check in faithfully). To kick off the festivities, here is a little bit of information about me and what it is that I'm up to - just to provide a little context for the next time I up and go without so much as a by your leave.
In no particular order:
1) Today is my 13th wedding anniversary. Brainiac's, too.
2) We have two children, a Boy and a Girl. They are delightful.
3) We have two cats, a boy and a girl. They are somewhat, but only somewhat, less so.
4) I work for a hugegantic global corporation that makes products which a) some folks adore and b) some folks revile. Your mileage may vary.
5) We are Episcopalian. Some take this to mean we are too Christian and still others find us not Christian enough. That thing about mileage? Ditto.
6) As I get older I find righteous indignation more difficult to access.
7) My recent reading habits would have appalled the 20 year old me. I'm o.k. with it.
8) My superpowers include always finding good parking and rarely waiting for elevators.
9) I'd like to see new places, but hate the process of traveling to get to them. It's less taxing to stay home.
10) When I eat French fries, I match them up by size and eat them two by two. If there is an unmatched fry left at the end it doesn't get eaten.
11) I don't like ketchup with fries unless there is also malt vinegar.
12) My latest Strongly Held Conviction is that there are only three reasons people do any given thing: they want to, they have to or they *think* they have to. There are probably more of the last than the others. I have no idea if this would be considered true by actual scientific types, but it seems like it might be, yes?
13) Corollary to my latest Strongly Held Conviction: The reasons that people don't do something are: they don't want to, they can't or they don't *think* they can't. There are probably more of the last than the others. That thing about science types? Ditto.
14) I am a terrible housekeeper.
15) This is why I try to have large amounts of company every few months so that I give into a week long cleaning frenzy.
16) I reserve the right to an unlisted phone number for myself but am driven bonkers when other people have them.
17) I haven't been to a movie theater since the first Harry Potter film.
18) My Netflix queue tops 275 items as a result.
19) I love bread pudding.
20) I don't understand pass interference or roughing the passer in football. Unlike baseball's infield fly rule, which is just inexplicably random and something I can therefore ignore, the first two seem to completely oppose the entire point of football - to knock people over and prevent them from doing things that could lead to scoring. Placing limits on that goal, short of actual violent stuff (facemask penalties I totally get) seems counterproductive to the game as I understand it. Which apparently I don't.
21) Not understanding football is putting a damper in my newly begun career as a Football Mom. Who knew that Right Tackle was an actual job description?
In no particular order:
1) Today is my 13th wedding anniversary. Brainiac's, too.
2) We have two children, a Boy and a Girl. They are delightful.
3) We have two cats, a boy and a girl. They are somewhat, but only somewhat, less so.
4) I work for a hugegantic global corporation that makes products which a) some folks adore and b) some folks revile. Your mileage may vary.
5) We are Episcopalian. Some take this to mean we are too Christian and still others find us not Christian enough. That thing about mileage? Ditto.
6) As I get older I find righteous indignation more difficult to access.
7) My recent reading habits would have appalled the 20 year old me. I'm o.k. with it.
8) My superpowers include always finding good parking and rarely waiting for elevators.
9) I'd like to see new places, but hate the process of traveling to get to them. It's less taxing to stay home.
10) When I eat French fries, I match them up by size and eat them two by two. If there is an unmatched fry left at the end it doesn't get eaten.
11) I don't like ketchup with fries unless there is also malt vinegar.
12) My latest Strongly Held Conviction is that there are only three reasons people do any given thing: they want to, they have to or they *think* they have to. There are probably more of the last than the others. I have no idea if this would be considered true by actual scientific types, but it seems like it might be, yes?
13) Corollary to my latest Strongly Held Conviction: The reasons that people don't do something are: they don't want to, they can't or they don't *think* they can't. There are probably more of the last than the others. That thing about science types? Ditto.
14) I am a terrible housekeeper.
15) This is why I try to have large amounts of company every few months so that I give into a week long cleaning frenzy.
16) I reserve the right to an unlisted phone number for myself but am driven bonkers when other people have them.
17) I haven't been to a movie theater since the first Harry Potter film.
18) My Netflix queue tops 275 items as a result.
19) I love bread pudding.
20) I don't understand pass interference or roughing the passer in football. Unlike baseball's infield fly rule, which is just inexplicably random and something I can therefore ignore, the first two seem to completely oppose the entire point of football - to knock people over and prevent them from doing things that could lead to scoring. Placing limits on that goal, short of actual violent stuff (facemask penalties I totally get) seems counterproductive to the game as I understand it. Which apparently I don't.
21) Not understanding football is putting a damper in my newly begun career as a Football Mom. Who knew that Right Tackle was an actual job description?
Smells Like Grown-Up Spirit
When I was a blithe young thing I took to wearing Lancome's Magie Noire as a "good" fragrance. It had been the scent of the most glamourous woman I knew (glamourous women were not thick on the ground in Erie County, New York and it paid to watch them closely) and when I left for college I adopted it as my own, although I understood even then that its power was more Grown Woman and so much less 18 Year Old Playing Dress Up. It was my choice for hundreds of after-dark outings - to fraternity parties as well as dinners with Somewhat Older Boys Also Playing Dress Up - and if I couldn't quite handle the scent's blatant invitation, and I couldn't, I experienced no trouble because neither could those who might have tried had any been more experienced and/or competent in that area than I. While I smelled lovely as I swept through the streets of Powelton Village, Magie Noire's seductive potential was utterly lost on someone so young and also so very young, if you get my meaning.*
By the time I'd grown up enough to really own the scent something had changed and it (or I) was no longer the same. I wanted to love it still, to walk around all sexy and fatale smelling, but no. We're no longer right for each other, Magie Noire and I (pretending for a moment that we ever were), and I have been on the hunt for something to take its place for years.
This is not to say that I don't wear scents, because I do. I've had an extended on-again-off-again flirtation with Shiseido's Saso, and I've dabbled a bit in the whole shower-gel-and-spray thing - although why these things come in fruit scents I will never understand. Who wishes to smell like a buffet luncheon's salad cup? Not I. Let's see...there was a brief enthusiasm for Isabella Rosselini's Manifesto that died as quickly as its own basil notes, as well as a very short fling with something by Laura Ashley that I admired chiefly for its bottle. And then there was some men's scent that was loosely based on lavender which promised to settle down to something only sort-of masculine but never did.
I deal with my own prejudices. I will not wear anything celebrity "created" - not Britney, not Mariah, not Jennifer and not (just for consistency's sake because I understand that Lovely is, well, lovely) Sarah Jessica. Will not. I will not wear anything that's too easy to obtain (I know, I know, snob) and do not wish to wear anything that might be described as a blockbuster - if it's commonly acknowledged that women do not wish to dress alike it should not be so hard to extrapolate that we also do not wish to smell alike.
And there's my husband. He has a conflicted relationship with scents - loves them wafting up from, say, a double of Macallan 18 or maybe a particularly rich cigar. He can smell a piece of milk chocolate from a league away and relishes the old roses that grow along our stone wall, but hates anything that reminds him of grass that requires mowing, aged women of his relation (loves the women, doesn't wish me to smell like them), exotic fruits, pine, too many flowers in a too small room or baby powder. The only scent he ever wears is Paco Rabanne Pour Homme and has made one bottle last nearly 15 years (and counting). You could say he's indifferent, I suppose, to the whole notion of fragrance and his rather minimal requirement of me is that I don't make him sneeze (this, I realize, is a very low bar seduction-wise). If he could choose a scent for me, it would probably be something on the order of single-malt/Hershey Kiss/roses/tobacco/leather. (Interestingly, this might actually be possible. Me having a fragrance like that, I mean, not him actually set out to choose one on my behalf.)
Where this leaves me, I don't know. I've haunted the perfume counter at my local Nordstrom's to the point where I may be believed to be a stalker and I've even sprung for a few small bottles of things from Ebay that sounded like they might be right for me, but weren't (Creed's Royal English Leather among them, sigh). I spritzed nearly every Jo Malone fragrance carried by a boutiquey place in Charlottesville until the proprietress got all narrow-eyed and frownish with me and I had to buy some Zoppini charms to calm her. There was even a very short and quite disastrous homebrew attempt with oils bought at a hippy dippy health foods store-cum-homeopathic supply shop.
Am I asking too much? What I want is something that smells like me, but better, that will make my husband lean in for a second welcome home kiss now and will remember me to my children when I'm gone, one that makes me smile and surreptitiously (or not) sniff the inside of my elbow all day, one that whispers come back when I've gone off flirting with something else.
There is a sale at The Perfumed Court. It may be time to get serious.
* This was back in the days of Poison and Knowing, when everyone went around smelling like floozies as a matter of course.
By the time I'd grown up enough to really own the scent something had changed and it (or I) was no longer the same. I wanted to love it still, to walk around all sexy and fatale smelling, but no. We're no longer right for each other, Magie Noire and I (pretending for a moment that we ever were), and I have been on the hunt for something to take its place for years.
This is not to say that I don't wear scents, because I do. I've had an extended on-again-off-again flirtation with Shiseido's Saso, and I've dabbled a bit in the whole shower-gel-and-spray thing - although why these things come in fruit scents I will never understand. Who wishes to smell like a buffet luncheon's salad cup? Not I. Let's see...there was a brief enthusiasm for Isabella Rosselini's Manifesto that died as quickly as its own basil notes, as well as a very short fling with something by Laura Ashley that I admired chiefly for its bottle. And then there was some men's scent that was loosely based on lavender which promised to settle down to something only sort-of masculine but never did.
I deal with my own prejudices. I will not wear anything celebrity "created" - not Britney, not Mariah, not Jennifer and not (just for consistency's sake because I understand that Lovely is, well, lovely) Sarah Jessica. Will not. I will not wear anything that's too easy to obtain (I know, I know, snob) and do not wish to wear anything that might be described as a blockbuster - if it's commonly acknowledged that women do not wish to dress alike it should not be so hard to extrapolate that we also do not wish to smell alike.
And there's my husband. He has a conflicted relationship with scents - loves them wafting up from, say, a double of Macallan 18 or maybe a particularly rich cigar. He can smell a piece of milk chocolate from a league away and relishes the old roses that grow along our stone wall, but hates anything that reminds him of grass that requires mowing, aged women of his relation (loves the women, doesn't wish me to smell like them), exotic fruits, pine, too many flowers in a too small room or baby powder. The only scent he ever wears is Paco Rabanne Pour Homme and has made one bottle last nearly 15 years (and counting). You could say he's indifferent, I suppose, to the whole notion of fragrance and his rather minimal requirement of me is that I don't make him sneeze (this, I realize, is a very low bar seduction-wise). If he could choose a scent for me, it would probably be something on the order of single-malt/Hershey Kiss/roses/tobacco/leather. (Interestingly, this might actually be possible. Me having a fragrance like that, I mean, not him actually set out to choose one on my behalf.)
Where this leaves me, I don't know. I've haunted the perfume counter at my local Nordstrom's to the point where I may be believed to be a stalker and I've even sprung for a few small bottles of things from Ebay that sounded like they might be right for me, but weren't (Creed's Royal English Leather among them, sigh). I spritzed nearly every Jo Malone fragrance carried by a boutiquey place in Charlottesville until the proprietress got all narrow-eyed and frownish with me and I had to buy some Zoppini charms to calm her. There was even a very short and quite disastrous homebrew attempt with oils bought at a hippy dippy health foods store-cum-homeopathic supply shop.
Am I asking too much? What I want is something that smells like me, but better, that will make my husband lean in for a second welcome home kiss now and will remember me to my children when I'm gone, one that makes me smile and surreptitiously (or not) sniff the inside of my elbow all day, one that whispers come back when I've gone off flirting with something else.
There is a sale at The Perfumed Court. It may be time to get serious.
* This was back in the days of Poison and Knowing, when everyone went around smelling like floozies as a matter of course.
Love My Peaches
Canning fruit without the embellishing steps required for saucing, pie filling or jam (or some other concoction where fruit is an ingredient rather than the point) is crazy easy, not to mention fast. Two summers ago I went on a cherry glom. Last year seemed to be the Summer of the Blackberry (in plain water, brandied, in syrup - all fabulous in every way). This year finds me in love with peaches.
Canning peaches is easy-peasy and requires no special equipment or ingredients. In fact, the only thing I don't like is that extra pots and bowl are required, what for the defuzzing and all, but then I remind myself that my houseplants adore the cooled defuzzing water and I snap out of it. Start by getting your canning kettle started so it's ready when you are - with this, you are one step ahead of the process. Next, scrub and sterilize your jars - I use pints - and get your lids and rings to a simmer. Then start another large pot of water boiling. (By now you're thinking, "What? I'm seriously going to use three burners for this business? Peaches suck. I quit." But they don't, not really, and if you quit you won't have peaches in January so stick with it.)
1) When you've got a nice bubbly boil, add the washed peaches a couple at a time (you can cut a small "x" into the bottom of each if you'd like - I don't bother) and transfer into a bowl of chilly water in 30-45 seconds. After they're cooled so that you can touch them, peel and slice off the pit (I do about 1/2 inch slices, but you can do what you like - smaller tends to fall apart on me and I have no interest in peach halves, although some people love them) into another bowl of cool water to which you've added some fresh lemon or lime juice. (You may need to add ice cubes to your bowls of water to keep them cool. Not surprising since you keep putting hot peaches in them, right?)
2) Once the peaches are defuzzed and sliced, set the bowl aside. On the burner that formerly hostes the defuzzing water now put another pot (I know, I know...) with the type of syrup you like - I use very light syrup (6 1/2 cups of water with 1/2 cup of sugar) but you can do a quite sweet heavy syrup (4 cups each sugar and water) if you like, or anything in between. The internet is full of syrup suggestions, most of them fine. Some canning books offer recipes of honey-based syrups and even some sugar substitutes can be used. Do what you like, I won't judge.
3) Pack the drained fruit into your sterilized jars until the fruit is about an inch from the top, and pour in the hot syrup (carefully!) leaving half an inch of headspace. Seal with the sterilized lid and ring.
4) Process in a boiling hot water bath for 15 minutes (starting to count after the water comes to a boil once the jars are lowered).
5) Cool the jars on a tea towel and pat yourself on the back. Listen for that tell-tale ping of a job well done.
6) If you have leftover peaches, make a pie with a crumble crust. Go ahead, you deserve it. If you still leftover peaches, make ice cream. If there remain more peaches, I have to ask: how many did you start with?
I actually took a picture of my big ole' bowl of to-be-jarred salsa. I really did. But, as I'm sitting here very comfortably, sipping a homemade limeade, the odds are increasingly slim that I'll actually stand up, walk to the dining room, take the camera out of its drawer (yes! we keep the camera in the dining room, no where near the computer - this could explain why I never have any pictures), walk back to my desk, connect it, turn it on and...see? It's just not happening. You can picture it, though, right? Big glass bowl? Filled with chopped veggies and looking (mostly) green? Good! That's exactly what it looks like.
I don't actually have a recipe for the salsa, just a list of ingredients with which I mess around until I get something I think tastes good. Even if the result is different from batch to batch I'm able to respond to nuances in the ingredients (some tomatillas are tangier than others, for example, and some onions sharper) and also contrive to use up bits of remainders hanging out in the fridge. It's an approach I like to take with many things, come to think of it.
This bowl has about four pounds of tomatillas (minced), half of a large yellow onion (chopped), half of a large red onion (chopped), a head of garlic (minced), salt and pepper, a chopped hot pepper, a fist full of cilantro (chopped) and a splash or two of cider vinegar. Good stuff.
Processing the salsa tonight (15 minutes in a boiling hot water bath) took care of one of my weekend projects. The other, my sister's birthday tote, is marked but as yet uncut and oh-so-far from completion. I've been in canning and knitting world lately but really need to get back to sewing for a while - too many things started but not completed and wanted before the summer is out (like, sundresses for the girl and a linen skirt for myself - can't imagine wanting them in, say, November which is when I'll get to it if I don't shape up). Then again, if I order the Darn Good Yarn I've been scoping, my return to the sewing machine might be delayed further.
Too many hobbies, so little time.
I don't actually have a recipe for the salsa, just a list of ingredients with which I mess around until I get something I think tastes good. Even if the result is different from batch to batch I'm able to respond to nuances in the ingredients (some tomatillas are tangier than others, for example, and some onions sharper) and also contrive to use up bits of remainders hanging out in the fridge. It's an approach I like to take with many things, come to think of it.
This bowl has about four pounds of tomatillas (minced), half of a large yellow onion (chopped), half of a large red onion (chopped), a head of garlic (minced), salt and pepper, a chopped hot pepper, a fist full of cilantro (chopped) and a splash or two of cider vinegar. Good stuff.
Processing the salsa tonight (15 minutes in a boiling hot water bath) took care of one of my weekend projects. The other, my sister's birthday tote, is marked but as yet uncut and oh-so-far from completion. I've been in canning and knitting world lately but really need to get back to sewing for a while - too many things started but not completed and wanted before the summer is out (like, sundresses for the girl and a linen skirt for myself - can't imagine wanting them in, say, November which is when I'll get to it if I don't shape up). Then again, if I order the Darn Good Yarn I've been scoping, my return to the sewing machine might be delayed further.
Too many hobbies, so little time.
I write this while in the next room a pile of ingredients for tomatilla salsa lay (lie?) waiting for my attention. It's not so terribly late but I am very tired and I just don't know if I have it in me tonight. If I bucked up, poured an iced tea and got to business I know I'd be glad for it later so perhaps I'll have to let that thought carry me through since Brainiac's installation of air conditioning in the kitchen has nearly completely removed my former favorite excuse for procrastination - the heat and humidity of a Philadelphia summer - from use. Ah, well.
Tomatilla salsa is one of those things that I make about once and year and really love having around. Not only is it great plain on tortilla chips, but it's a good ingredient to glam up otherwise workaday dishes. It's wonderful over grilled steak, for example, or as a spread on a wrap (mixed with mayo and a bit of lime is even better). It can be part of a salad dressing or folded into a crepe batter and is a little piece of heaven inside an omelet along with a bit of chevre.
Hey, look what I did...talked myself right into it. At the very least I'll get everything diced and minced tonight and will likely do the actually canning tomorrow night. That's always a good compromise.
My other big project for the weekend is to complete the tote I've started for my sister. I gave one of these to my youngest sis for Christmas and had so much fun making it that I've added it to my gift-giving repertoire. This one is made from the directions in Christina Strutt's Romantic Home Sewing in a sort of wheat colored canvas. My plan is to embroider an initial or perhaps a flower or something on one side. Whatever I decide, I need to get it done because her birthday is in a little under two weeks and the tote must be mailed. I need to step on it, in other words. The only hold up I see is making the handles, a task that involves turning little fabric tubes right-side out and which is my least favorite sewing task. Like the salsa, I suppose, I will just have to buck up.
Tomatilla salsa is one of those things that I make about once and year and really love having around. Not only is it great plain on tortilla chips, but it's a good ingredient to glam up otherwise workaday dishes. It's wonderful over grilled steak, for example, or as a spread on a wrap (mixed with mayo and a bit of lime is even better). It can be part of a salad dressing or folded into a crepe batter and is a little piece of heaven inside an omelet along with a bit of chevre.
Hey, look what I did...talked myself right into it. At the very least I'll get everything diced and minced tonight and will likely do the actually canning tomorrow night. That's always a good compromise.
My other big project for the weekend is to complete the tote I've started for my sister. I gave one of these to my youngest sis for Christmas and had so much fun making it that I've added it to my gift-giving repertoire. This one is made from the directions in Christina Strutt's Romantic Home Sewing in a sort of wheat colored canvas. My plan is to embroider an initial or perhaps a flower or something on one side. Whatever I decide, I need to get it done because her birthday is in a little under two weeks and the tote must be mailed. I need to step on it, in other words. The only hold up I see is making the handles, a task that involves turning little fabric tubes right-side out and which is my least favorite sewing task. Like the salsa, I suppose, I will just have to buck up.
I bet you're all just aflutter wondering who won the copy of The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving. I'm right, yes? I can see you afluttering from here.
But! This is the moment for which you've been waiting, ducks. The lucky winner is Rachel (of blackberry jam fame). Rachel, if you would e-mail me your snail mail address at hotwaterbath AT gmail DOT com I'll get the tome out to you right away. Congratulations and happy canning!
I hope all who hoped to win will stick around through the summer and experience a little canning company. We'll pickle, we'll jam, we'll dice and slice...fun for all, but especially those who want to make something.
A bit of clean-up before tackling our next adventures:
1) It occurs to me that my current blog layout looks horrible. I liked it for a while then we got a new computer with one of those big ole' screens and it didn't work so I tweaked and now it doesn't look nice on any screen. I'll work on that.
2) Melissa asked if I'd been reading Stephanie Meyer's paranormal romance. No, but thanks for the tip. I've been cuddling up with Kresley Cole, J.R. Ward, Charlaine Harris and Michelle Rowen and will now happily add Ms. Meyer to the list. Between these and my alarmingly large Regency habit, I may never get to real cult-chah again. Oh, don't look at me like that. I've also been reading a lot about Abigail Adams and white holes, so it's not like I've totally chucked serious reading. Just mostly.
3) I have a little tradition of assigning myself summer projects. One year I read nothing but E.M. Forster (those days are apparently over; see also point number two, above), another year I needle pointed wildflowers on cocktail napkins. Then there was the summer that I drank only G&Ts, each made with a different brand of gin (not all my projects are of a self-improvement nature). This year I've decided to put my Netflix subscription to good use and watch as many movie and/or television adaptations of the works of Jane Austen as I can find. Brainiac is afeared for his movie watching life, groaning every time one of the red envelopes arrives in the mail (although I believe that he secretly enjoys the spectacle, entreating this or that character by yelling at the screen the way he might in reaction to an ill-conceived football play. Gives me a giggle, actually) but I think that movies are an excellent project for the Now in which I find myself. It's possible to knit, pit cherries, snap beans, needlepoint, play Battleship, write letters, coo over block towers and, yes, blog all while comparing and contrasting the various approaches in Austenolatry.
So, busy as a bee. You?
But! This is the moment for which you've been waiting, ducks. The lucky winner is Rachel (of blackberry jam fame). Rachel, if you would e-mail me your snail mail address at hotwaterbath AT gmail DOT com I'll get the tome out to you right away. Congratulations and happy canning!
I hope all who hoped to win will stick around through the summer and experience a little canning company. We'll pickle, we'll jam, we'll dice and slice...fun for all, but especially those who want to make something.
A bit of clean-up before tackling our next adventures:
1) It occurs to me that my current blog layout looks horrible. I liked it for a while then we got a new computer with one of those big ole' screens and it didn't work so I tweaked and now it doesn't look nice on any screen. I'll work on that.
2) Melissa asked if I'd been reading Stephanie Meyer's paranormal romance. No, but thanks for the tip. I've been cuddling up with Kresley Cole, J.R. Ward, Charlaine Harris and Michelle Rowen and will now happily add Ms. Meyer to the list. Between these and my alarmingly large Regency habit, I may never get to real cult-chah again. Oh, don't look at me like that. I've also been reading a lot about Abigail Adams and white holes, so it's not like I've totally chucked serious reading. Just mostly.
3) I have a little tradition of assigning myself summer projects. One year I read nothing but E.M. Forster (those days are apparently over; see also point number two, above), another year I needle pointed wildflowers on cocktail napkins. Then there was the summer that I drank only G&Ts, each made with a different brand of gin (not all my projects are of a self-improvement nature). This year I've decided to put my Netflix subscription to good use and watch as many movie and/or television adaptations of the works of Jane Austen as I can find. Brainiac is afeared for his movie watching life, groaning every time one of the red envelopes arrives in the mail (although I believe that he secretly enjoys the spectacle, entreating this or that character by yelling at the screen the way he might in reaction to an ill-conceived football play. Gives me a giggle, actually) but I think that movies are an excellent project for the Now in which I find myself. It's possible to knit, pit cherries, snap beans, needlepoint, play Battleship, write letters, coo over block towers and, yes, blog all while comparing and contrasting the various approaches in Austenolatry.
So, busy as a bee. You?
So you may have heard that I spoke recently with Lauren Devine, Community Marketing Manager for Ball Corporation and the company's public face of home food preservation. Among her many responsibilities are the running of Ball's Fresh Preserving website, recipe testing, and educating salespeople and retailers about home preservation methods. She started her career as an intern and has seen her role expand to it's current very broad scope. She is, basically, the canning world's go-to girl.
I started our conversation by asking her thoughts on what I see as the myth that home canning is too time intense to be useful to the average family (confession: I may have prejudiced her response by using the words "nonsense idea" or possibly even "ridiculous poppycock"). Turns out, Lauren agrees with me that canning needn't be an overwhelming time commitment. "Do your prep the night before," she explains, "And pack and process the next night. Oh, and start heating the canner before doing anything else on processing night so it will be ready when you are."
Moreover, Lauren recommends rethinking the time issue by remembering that home canned products are essentially convenience foods. "When you can food at home you're trading one night of 'babysitting' your food for many individual nights. If you're canning a sauce you're only standing over the stove doing that once, instead of a dozen times throughout the year," she reminded me.
I asked about safety education. Lauren said that she's seeing a greater understanding of the "whys" of home canning safety measures and more of a willingness on behalf of new canners to employ modern techniques. "People who have been canning a long time may not be aware of the latest methods because they don't need to seek out education," she said and recommended that even experienced canners consult with their local extension services or with the members of the Fresh Preserving forums. "There's a wealth of knowledge on the forums, "Lauren said, "And the members are very free with their support and advice." She also recommends that new and experienced canners alike double check the pH of old favorite recipes to make sure they're appropriate for the preservation method. Extension services or university agriculture programs might be of some help for this.
I wondered what Lauren's opinions of the resurgence of home canning. I have my own theories, of course (I have my own theories about everything), about why my inbox sees ever-increasing numbers of questions, but I wondered if my thoughts would be borne out by the experts. Lauren responded, "We think there are several factors causing home canning to be a re-emerging practice. The "locavore" trend is probably one factor. People are trying to eat locally and support their local communities. We see this happening in several ways, one of which is the increasing number and popularity of farmers' markets while another is CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) Programs, where people can work with a local farmer to get seasonal produce in exchange for a fee and/or by helping on the farm. Whichever way you get your produce, to eat local during the winter months is more of a challenge so people are preserving their locally purchased food during spring and summer to enjoy out of season."
I mentioned the current inflationary economy, too, echoing some my correspondents' questions about whether home canning is really a money-saver. "Yes, that's part of it, too. We have seen a 30% increase in sales in the last year of large glass Ball® jars which are often used for food storage of rice, flour and sugar," she told me, "With rising food prices, more people are turning to home canning and food storage as a way to save money." I told Lauren that I don't believe that home canning necessarily results in the most rock-bottom cheap food but rather it's in bringing other values into the equation that makes it such an attractive proposition - values, at my house, that include family, environment, community and a certain DIY-ethos. "Yes," Lauren agreed, "Today, we have access to produce in several different ways throughout the year, so we don't necessary home can to survive through winter. We home can for a sense of accomplishment, to create something new or different not available at the grocery store, to create special gifts for others and to control the food which you consume. Home canning allows you to have control over what goes into your food. There are more and more people with food allergies and special diet needs such as low sodium or lower sugar options. With this control, you know you are providing your family the healthiest and safest food possible."
I asked Lauren what she would recommend as a good project for a first-time canner. "For someone just getting started, I would recommend making a freezer jam with Ball® Simple Creations® Freezer Jam Pectin. There is no cooking involved and you only need 2 other ingredients. This recipe can be made in less than 30 minutes and you preserve by freezing up to 1 year or refrigerating for up to 3 weeks. After that, I would recommend moving up to a cooked jam or jelly using one of our three pectin products. Each pectin has an insert that contains tips for making homemade jam and jelly, an equipment listing, and full recipe and home canning instructions. Plus, there are many recipes to choose from within the insert. These recipes are mainly home canned and can be stored up to 1 year in the pantry."
And for someone more experienced? "A more seasoned canner would probably like to try their hand in one of our newer, trendy recipes they have never tried before. Or, they may like to try fermented pickles like our grandmothers used to do. This process can take up to 6 weeks - so this may be more challenging for them!" (For my part, I'm planning on a bit of Lemon Sage Wine Mustard - a bit of that on my shelf would make a long winter much spicier, indeed.)
After 45 minutes of bending her ear, I allowed Lauren to escape both me and her phone. I really appreciated her time - it's not often I get to talk about canning as much as I want - and all of the effort she puts into the recipes in Ball's books and on the Fresh Preserving website. (More than that, she laughed when I said how little esteem I hold for piccalilli - not to be underestimated.) I'd been getting into a bit of a rut, recipe-wise (mango jam again) but with her hard work and encouragement I see so much more inspiration. Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce! Bruschetta in a Jar! Ya'll know what I'll be doing this summer, right? Join me?
I started our conversation by asking her thoughts on what I see as the myth that home canning is too time intense to be useful to the average family (confession: I may have prejudiced her response by using the words "nonsense idea" or possibly even "ridiculous poppycock"). Turns out, Lauren agrees with me that canning needn't be an overwhelming time commitment. "Do your prep the night before," she explains, "And pack and process the next night. Oh, and start heating the canner before doing anything else on processing night so it will be ready when you are."
Moreover, Lauren recommends rethinking the time issue by remembering that home canned products are essentially convenience foods. "When you can food at home you're trading one night of 'babysitting' your food for many individual nights. If you're canning a sauce you're only standing over the stove doing that once, instead of a dozen times throughout the year," she reminded me.
I asked about safety education. Lauren said that she's seeing a greater understanding of the "whys" of home canning safety measures and more of a willingness on behalf of new canners to employ modern techniques. "People who have been canning a long time may not be aware of the latest methods because they don't need to seek out education," she said and recommended that even experienced canners consult with their local extension services or with the members of the Fresh Preserving forums. "There's a wealth of knowledge on the forums, "Lauren said, "And the members are very free with their support and advice." She also recommends that new and experienced canners alike double check the pH of old favorite recipes to make sure they're appropriate for the preservation method. Extension services or university agriculture programs might be of some help for this.
I wondered what Lauren's opinions of the resurgence of home canning. I have my own theories, of course (I have my own theories about everything), about why my inbox sees ever-increasing numbers of questions, but I wondered if my thoughts would be borne out by the experts. Lauren responded, "We think there are several factors causing home canning to be a re-emerging practice. The "locavore" trend is probably one factor. People are trying to eat locally and support their local communities. We see this happening in several ways, one of which is the increasing number and popularity of farmers' markets while another is CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) Programs, where people can work with a local farmer to get seasonal produce in exchange for a fee and/or by helping on the farm. Whichever way you get your produce, to eat local during the winter months is more of a challenge so people are preserving their locally purchased food during spring and summer to enjoy out of season."
I mentioned the current inflationary economy, too, echoing some my correspondents' questions about whether home canning is really a money-saver. "Yes, that's part of it, too. We have seen a 30% increase in sales in the last year of large glass Ball® jars which are often used for food storage of rice, flour and sugar," she told me, "With rising food prices, more people are turning to home canning and food storage as a way to save money." I told Lauren that I don't believe that home canning necessarily results in the most rock-bottom cheap food but rather it's in bringing other values into the equation that makes it such an attractive proposition - values, at my house, that include family, environment, community and a certain DIY-ethos. "Yes," Lauren agreed, "Today, we have access to produce in several different ways throughout the year, so we don't necessary home can to survive through winter. We home can for a sense of accomplishment, to create something new or different not available at the grocery store, to create special gifts for others and to control the food which you consume. Home canning allows you to have control over what goes into your food. There are more and more people with food allergies and special diet needs such as low sodium or lower sugar options. With this control, you know you are providing your family the healthiest and safest food possible."
I asked Lauren what she would recommend as a good project for a first-time canner. "For someone just getting started, I would recommend making a freezer jam with Ball® Simple Creations® Freezer Jam Pectin. There is no cooking involved and you only need 2 other ingredients. This recipe can be made in less than 30 minutes and you preserve by freezing up to 1 year or refrigerating for up to 3 weeks. After that, I would recommend moving up to a cooked jam or jelly using one of our three pectin products. Each pectin has an insert that contains tips for making homemade jam and jelly, an equipment listing, and full recipe and home canning instructions. Plus, there are many recipes to choose from within the insert. These recipes are mainly home canned and can be stored up to 1 year in the pantry."
And for someone more experienced? "A more seasoned canner would probably like to try their hand in one of our newer, trendy recipes they have never tried before. Or, they may like to try fermented pickles like our grandmothers used to do. This process can take up to 6 weeks - so this may be more challenging for them!" (For my part, I'm planning on a bit of Lemon Sage Wine Mustard - a bit of that on my shelf would make a long winter much spicier, indeed.)
After 45 minutes of bending her ear, I allowed Lauren to escape both me and her phone. I really appreciated her time - it's not often I get to talk about canning as much as I want - and all of the effort she puts into the recipes in Ball's books and on the Fresh Preserving website. (More than that, she laughed when I said how little esteem I hold for piccalilli - not to be underestimated.) I'd been getting into a bit of a rut, recipe-wise (mango jam again) but with her hard work and encouragement I see so much more inspiration. Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce! Bruschetta in a Jar! Ya'll know what I'll be doing this summer, right? Join me?
Well. Let' see. I responded to some comments, but don't see those answers. I also posted my interview with Lauren Devine of Fresh Preserving but don't see that post.
This is going even more splendidly than I dreamed it would! My first little drawing thing.
O.K., here's what we'll do. This isn't the Oscars(tm) and we're not audited by those nice men in dark suits who come on to tell everyone the rules. This is my blog and, unorthodox as it may be, I'm going to change the rules midstream to try an impose some kind of order on this business. Plus, I've had a deadline move up from next week to this (again! why does this happen?!) and, well, there it is.
So. Anyone who comments in a post that happens to include Lauren Devine's name in it (I think this is the third, the repost of the interview will be the fourth) will have an entry in the contest. Comments in two such posts will result in two entries, and so forth. The drawing will be the close of business, my time, Friday.
This works, yes? I am sorry for this bloggy change-up but it's my first time and I feel that I'll take for myself a bit of forbearance (one of my all-time favorite words). We're still friends, right?
This is going even more splendidly than I dreamed it would! My first little drawing thing.
O.K., here's what we'll do. This isn't the Oscars(tm) and we're not audited by those nice men in dark suits who come on to tell everyone the rules. This is my blog and, unorthodox as it may be, I'm going to change the rules midstream to try an impose some kind of order on this business. Plus, I've had a deadline move up from next week to this (again! why does this happen?!) and, well, there it is.
So. Anyone who comments in a post that happens to include Lauren Devine's name in it (I think this is the third, the repost of the interview will be the fourth) will have an entry in the contest. Comments in two such posts will result in two entries, and so forth. The drawing will be the close of business, my time, Friday.
This works, yes? I am sorry for this bloggy change-up but it's my first time and I feel that I'll take for myself a bit of forbearance (one of my all-time favorite words). We're still friends, right?
So I mentioned a bit ago how I'd had this lovely discussion with a woman named Lauren Devine of Fresh Preserving, the Ball Corporation's public face of home food preserving. We had a delightful chat that veered, in my very unjournalistic fashion, from recipe testing and development to getting started with canning to risk management and (my) whispered confessions on that point. Lauren stared with Ball as an intern and is now the company's official canning professional/cheerleader.
At the conclusion of our talk (the results of which I'll be posting in the next day or so) Lauren offered to send me a copy of The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving. What a dear, I thought, and accepted on behalf of my legions of fans, adding that if she didn't mind too terribly much I might just have a little contest to pass it along. The next day two copies arrived in the mail, one inscribed to little old me. After reading the inscription I turned back to cover and noticed that Ms. Devine is a co-author of this encyclopedic home canning reference. And I hadn't known.
To those of you who don't know, this is kind of like meeting Jerry Garcia and, not realizing it, figuring him to be a lonely man away from home on business and inviting him to dinner (no, wait, I actually did this...finding out after the fact who he was and that his little band was in fact playing in town that night). Maybe it's more like unknowingly stumbling upon Martha Stewart in the local craft store and engaging in a bit of a chat over which glue gun is better for making, I don't know, whatever. Or sort of like bumping into Condoleeza Rice unawares and blasting those out of touch, inside-the-beltway folks in D.C.
Embarrassing, in other words.
I won't dwell, though, as I am not generally a dweller. Instead I think we should press on with all good intentions on this little drawing scheme. Agreed?
Here's the deal: leave a comment on this point and the post in which I relate the details of my discussion with Ms. Devine. Of all the folks who comment in both posts, I will draw one name and that person will receive a copy of The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving delivered straight to his or her door. I'll do the drawing this coming Wednesday.
What do you think? Good? This is a lovely book, filled with all kinds of neato things that can be made and enjoyed by beginners and experienced canners alike. Good luck to all!
At the conclusion of our talk (the results of which I'll be posting in the next day or so) Lauren offered to send me a copy of The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving. What a dear, I thought, and accepted on behalf of my legions of fans, adding that if she didn't mind too terribly much I might just have a little contest to pass it along. The next day two copies arrived in the mail, one inscribed to little old me. After reading the inscription I turned back to cover and noticed that Ms. Devine is a co-author of this encyclopedic home canning reference. And I hadn't known.
To those of you who don't know, this is kind of like meeting Jerry Garcia and, not realizing it, figuring him to be a lonely man away from home on business and inviting him to dinner (no, wait, I actually did this...finding out after the fact who he was and that his little band was in fact playing in town that night). Maybe it's more like unknowingly stumbling upon Martha Stewart in the local craft store and engaging in a bit of a chat over which glue gun is better for making, I don't know, whatever. Or sort of like bumping into Condoleeza Rice unawares and blasting those out of touch, inside-the-beltway folks in D.C.
Embarrassing, in other words.
I won't dwell, though, as I am not generally a dweller. Instead I think we should press on with all good intentions on this little drawing scheme. Agreed?
Here's the deal: leave a comment on this point and the post in which I relate the details of my discussion with Ms. Devine. Of all the folks who comment in both posts, I will draw one name and that person will receive a copy of The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving delivered straight to his or her door. I'll do the drawing this coming Wednesday.
What do you think? Good? This is a lovely book, filled with all kinds of neato things that can be made and enjoyed by beginners and experienced canners alike. Good luck to all!
Granting oneself a bit of time off now and again is a wonderful thing. I highly recommend it.
You may (or not) be wondering what I've been doing these months. Me, too. Thinking hard about life since March I come up with...not much. A bit of canning (strawberry jam), a bit of sewing (a skirt of pink linen and little embroidered orange dots), a teensy bit of learning to knit (a few rows of variable stitch numbers, alas),*and a spot of gardening (I'm late with the beans!).
Mixed in with these little bits of domesticana, I gave Brainiac a 40th birthday party, read a ton of books the nature of which I'm only a teensy bit embarrassed to share (ahem, cough, paranormal romance), visited with my parents, chatted with friends, pined for a painting from my neighbors' art show, rediscovered the wonder of the rum gimlet, and finally used the guest soap I believed for years to be too pretty to clean my own tired hands. It's a small life, perhaps, but it's mine and I come by it honestly.
Now that my vacation is over, I have much to which I must attend. I've had the pleasure of interviewing Lauren Devine from Fresh Preserving and will be posting the results of our delightful conversation later this week. I'm looking to try a few new canning recipes, too, and am hoping to push the boundaries of sane zucchini growing (how many does one garden need?). Then there are the small matters of resolving the window mis-treatments I've got about the premises and expanding my reading beyond amorous vampires. I do hope you'll come back to hear about it all and more.
*I am the living embodiment of the term "late adopter". Now that I have gotten around to learning to knit properly, it's only fair to warn all and sundry that knitting as a trend is likely over. Sorry, Jane Brocket. Truly.
You may (or not) be wondering what I've been doing these months. Me, too. Thinking hard about life since March I come up with...not much. A bit of canning (strawberry jam), a bit of sewing (a skirt of pink linen and little embroidered orange dots), a teensy bit of learning to knit (a few rows of variable stitch numbers, alas),*and a spot of gardening (I'm late with the beans!).
Mixed in with these little bits of domesticana, I gave Brainiac a 40th birthday party, read a ton of books the nature of which I'm only a teensy bit embarrassed to share (ahem, cough, paranormal romance), visited with my parents, chatted with friends, pined for a painting from my neighbors' art show, rediscovered the wonder of the rum gimlet, and finally used the guest soap I believed for years to be too pretty to clean my own tired hands. It's a small life, perhaps, but it's mine and I come by it honestly.
Now that my vacation is over, I have much to which I must attend. I've had the pleasure of interviewing Lauren Devine from Fresh Preserving and will be posting the results of our delightful conversation later this week. I'm looking to try a few new canning recipes, too, and am hoping to push the boundaries of sane zucchini growing (how many does one garden need?). Then there are the small matters of resolving the window mis-treatments I've got about the premises and expanding my reading beyond amorous vampires. I do hope you'll come back to hear about it all and more.
*I am the living embodiment of the term "late adopter". Now that I have gotten around to learning to knit properly, it's only fair to warn all and sundry that knitting as a trend is likely over. Sorry, Jane Brocket. Truly.
We have a problem with horizontality around here and have for some time. To wit:
and
The primary symptom is that any given horizontal surface is almost continually covered in an intractable coating of junk consisting of paper, small toys, errant earrings, nuts, bolts, grass seeds (true!), and goodness knows what else. We have it bad in our house and as much as I'd like to blame the 200+ year old domicile's lack of storage I know that the truth lies elsewhere. Namely, with me.
I feel kind of out of my league in this online spring cleaning program I'm following - some of these women really rock the housekeeping thing, whereas I'm kind of the kid in the basement with a dime store guitar singing Jukebox Hero into a floor lamp "microphone" while they're selling out Madison Square Garden (precisely what the song is about, diluting my point somewhat). I am the Cherry Cherry to their Neil Diamond. In keeping with my lack of skill I'm not spring cleaning rooms, turning my attention instead to neglected bits of square footage. Mine are small accomplishments, but they're come upon honestly.
Last night I completely denuded the living room tables, dusted and oiled them. Yes I did! I know homekeeping experts are mixed in their opinions of oiling wood furniture and I (not an expert) come down on the side of pro. The oil smells nice and some of my tables are older than I (remnants from a time when furniture was still make by hands rather than machines and wasn't intended for replacement every 10 years) and have survived oiling all this time so I have no hesitation. A bit of lemon oil and an old cloth diaper go a long way to putting things right.
The oil was just the beginning. All that stuff on the tables? Put away.. Well, mostly. Some of the papers ended up on my desk, which requires a horizontality treatment of its own which is unlikely to happen today. The broken play necklace has been glued, the wallet-size photos put into my new wallet, the flyers about the pre-school rummage sale put into my purse for when we venture out, the library books gathered and placed into two of the coffee table cubbies, etc., etc., etc.. Away.
and
The primary symptom is that any given horizontal surface is almost continually covered in an intractable coating of junk consisting of paper, small toys, errant earrings, nuts, bolts, grass seeds (true!), and goodness knows what else. We have it bad in our house and as much as I'd like to blame the 200+ year old domicile's lack of storage I know that the truth lies elsewhere. Namely, with me.
I feel kind of out of my league in this online spring cleaning program I'm following - some of these women really rock the housekeeping thing, whereas I'm kind of the kid in the basement with a dime store guitar singing Jukebox Hero into a floor lamp "microphone" while they're selling out Madison Square Garden (precisely what the song is about, diluting my point somewhat). I am the Cherry Cherry to their Neil Diamond. In keeping with my lack of skill I'm not spring cleaning rooms, turning my attention instead to neglected bits of square footage. Mine are small accomplishments, but they're come upon honestly.
Last night I completely denuded the living room tables, dusted and oiled them. Yes I did! I know homekeeping experts are mixed in their opinions of oiling wood furniture and I (not an expert) come down on the side of pro. The oil smells nice and some of my tables are older than I (remnants from a time when furniture was still make by hands rather than machines and wasn't intended for replacement every 10 years) and have survived oiling all this time so I have no hesitation. A bit of lemon oil and an old cloth diaper go a long way to putting things right.
The oil was just the beginning. All that stuff on the tables? Put away.. Well, mostly. Some of the papers ended up on my desk, which requires a horizontality treatment of its own which is unlikely to happen today. The broken play necklace has been glued, the wallet-size photos put into my new wallet, the flyers about the pre-school rummage sale put into my purse for when we venture out, the library books gathered and placed into two of the coffee table cubbies, etc., etc., etc.. Away.
I will sum up my quietude of late with seven words: Brainiac's doctor has ordered a chest x-ray.
She is merely being cautious in light of his history and none of us is particularly worried but the directive is indicative of the general state of affairs around here. Between what looks like a mild (but still) secondary infection for him, an on-pins-and-needles situation for me and the general schedule-busting mayhem that comes with spring break we're all a bit spent. As I type this it's nearly a quarter to nine at night - the first night in three that I've been awake to see this time tick-tock past. That I'm still up and energetic enough to start a load of laundry and cruise the blogs a bit, I'd say that things are looking up.
None of this is to say that I haven't managed the odd burst of household productivity. The children's au pair turned 25 years old on Monday night and we celebrated with this:
O.K., you know, that doesn't look so hot all big and blown up on my screen like that. Trust me when I tell you that it was really quite yummy. Yummy makes up for a number of aesthetic issues, yes?
The essential idea came from Clotilde Dusoulier's Chocolate and Zucchini cookbook, after the blog of the same name. Because I can never leave anything alone I made some changes to the core recipe, gilded the lily a bit and ended up with what seemed like the very essence of indulgence.
Instead of Clotilde's pate sable I used a regular old American-style pie crust - I had no time for a learning curve and knew my recipe to be perfectly acceptable. Over the crust which had been baked at 400 degrees for 15 minutes, I poured a caramel of dark brown sugar (the original recipe called for light brown sugar). This was allowed to set for several hours.
Over top the caramel is a bittersweet ganache made with heavy cream and nine ounces of dar-ar-ar-ar-ark chocolate. After that set I topped the whole thing with sweetened whipped cream. The original recipe doesn't call for such tarting (ha!) up, but I don't need heavy cream just sitting about the house begging to take a swim in my coffee.
You can see from the pictures that this tart/pie was strictly amateur hour. Unlike the wildly talented Clotilde I will not be offered a book deal on the basis of my capacity for turning out delicious and beautiful confections. It was wonderful to eat, though, smooth and creamy and just sweet enough between the caramel and whipped cream. The very dark chocolate added a deep note that kept the whole thing from being too cloying. Best of all, the celebrating recipient loved it as I hoped that she would.
She is merely being cautious in light of his history and none of us is particularly worried but the directive is indicative of the general state of affairs around here. Between what looks like a mild (but still) secondary infection for him, an on-pins-and-needles situation for me and the general schedule-busting mayhem that comes with spring break we're all a bit spent. As I type this it's nearly a quarter to nine at night - the first night in three that I've been awake to see this time tick-tock past. That I'm still up and energetic enough to start a load of laundry and cruise the blogs a bit, I'd say that things are looking up.
None of this is to say that I haven't managed the odd burst of household productivity. The children's au pair turned 25 years old on Monday night and we celebrated with this:
O.K., you know, that doesn't look so hot all big and blown up on my screen like that. Trust me when I tell you that it was really quite yummy. Yummy makes up for a number of aesthetic issues, yes?
The essential idea came from Clotilde Dusoulier's Chocolate and Zucchini cookbook, after the blog of the same name. Because I can never leave anything alone I made some changes to the core recipe, gilded the lily a bit and ended up with what seemed like the very essence of indulgence.
Instead of Clotilde's pate sable I used a regular old American-style pie crust - I had no time for a learning curve and knew my recipe to be perfectly acceptable. Over the crust which had been baked at 400 degrees for 15 minutes, I poured a caramel of dark brown sugar (the original recipe called for light brown sugar). This was allowed to set for several hours.
Over top the caramel is a bittersweet ganache made with heavy cream and nine ounces of dar-ar-ar-ar-ark chocolate. After that set I topped the whole thing with sweetened whipped cream. The original recipe doesn't call for such tarting (ha!) up, but I don't need heavy cream just sitting about the house begging to take a swim in my coffee.
You can see from the pictures that this tart/pie was strictly amateur hour. Unlike the wildly talented Clotilde I will not be offered a book deal on the basis of my capacity for turning out delicious and beautiful confections. It was wonderful to eat, though, smooth and creamy and just sweet enough between the caramel and whipped cream. The very dark chocolate added a deep note that kept the whole thing from being too cloying. Best of all, the celebrating recipient loved it as I hoped that she would.
(Note: The date on this post isn't right. It's March 6, not February 29. I'm curious as to how this happened, but not nearly enough to actually figure it out. It is what it is.)
I wish I was making it up when I tell you that Brainiac has me watching, as I type, a television show about runways. Runways! I am so going to retaliate with a show about, I don't know, sewing for dollhouses or balloon sculptures or something. Runways! Honestly.
We've had a little bit of spring feeling in the past few days - a most welcome development. I know it can't last, of course. Our date of last frost is still some weeks away and anything can happen. Even so I'm definitely feeling springy, with all that such a feeling brings with it. I'm sketching (and re-sketching and) the garden plan, double-checking the supply of canning jars and lids and, most unbelievably to just about everyone who lives with me, doing all these nesty spring cleaning type jobs.
Starting small, of course. I don't want to hurt myself with sudden cleaning moves to which my body is most unaccustomed. I'm gearing up for a major meme-type collaborative effort but, again, have no wish to rush into anything. I'm all about the ramp-up here at Hot Water Bath and the little cleaning-like project that's given me the most satisfaction so far is organizing the living room bookshelf.
I don't actually have a before pic of the bookshelf but trust me when I say that its condition didn't exactly illustrate the message I deep-down wanted to send: that two grown-up people with a teensy amount of au courant taste if not quite a matching budget (hence the prefab faux cherry model bought at a discount from a big box store because the packaging was damaged). We've gone from three shelves crammed with workbooks, scraps of paper festooned with the phone number of long-forgotten need and goodness knows what keeping the bottom doors from closing (possibilities: a large bag with a number of plastic coins mimicking various denominations of U.S. currency, a tin of long since dried markers, a white board with a faded clock face).
But now! Now we have this:
O.K. I can see in this shot that the Girl's little pink bible has fallen in back of the Uncle Sam bank. Whatever. It's so much better than it was and I'm not going to fret about a little imperfection. The important thing is that without all the junk and not-often-used miscellanea we can see that which we truly value - pictures of people important to us, heirlooms and books that see frequent reference (I'm amused to note that The Book of Common Prayer ended up on top of one of Brainiac's books about Scotch).
Like I said, I'm starting small. In this case, though, small seems quite large, indeed.
I wish I was making it up when I tell you that Brainiac has me watching, as I type, a television show about runways. Runways! I am so going to retaliate with a show about, I don't know, sewing for dollhouses or balloon sculptures or something. Runways! Honestly.
We've had a little bit of spring feeling in the past few days - a most welcome development. I know it can't last, of course. Our date of last frost is still some weeks away and anything can happen. Even so I'm definitely feeling springy, with all that such a feeling brings with it. I'm sketching (and re-sketching and) the garden plan, double-checking the supply of canning jars and lids and, most unbelievably to just about everyone who lives with me, doing all these nesty spring cleaning type jobs.
Starting small, of course. I don't want to hurt myself with sudden cleaning moves to which my body is most unaccustomed. I'm gearing up for a major meme-type collaborative effort but, again, have no wish to rush into anything. I'm all about the ramp-up here at Hot Water Bath and the little cleaning-like project that's given me the most satisfaction so far is organizing the living room bookshelf.
I don't actually have a before pic of the bookshelf but trust me when I say that its condition didn't exactly illustrate the message I deep-down wanted to send: that two grown-up people with a teensy amount of au courant taste if not quite a matching budget (hence the prefab faux cherry model bought at a discount from a big box store because the packaging was damaged). We've gone from three shelves crammed with workbooks, scraps of paper festooned with the phone number of long-forgotten need and goodness knows what keeping the bottom doors from closing (possibilities: a large bag with a number of plastic coins mimicking various denominations of U.S. currency, a tin of long since dried markers, a white board with a faded clock face).
But now! Now we have this:
O.K. I can see in this shot that the Girl's little pink bible has fallen in back of the Uncle Sam bank. Whatever. It's so much better than it was and I'm not going to fret about a little imperfection. The important thing is that without all the junk and not-often-used miscellanea we can see that which we truly value - pictures of people important to us, heirlooms and books that see frequent reference (I'm amused to note that The Book of Common Prayer ended up on top of one of Brainiac's books about Scotch).
Like I said, I'm starting small. In this case, though, small seems quite large, indeed.
Did you ever read these weekly Works for Me Wednesday (WFMW) lists? There's nothing I love better than a tip (or two or three) to make my life easier so I've been really attracted to them lately. It's like reading Heloise on steroids and I've learned everything from how to hand sew button holes (good for the button hole challenged me) to ideas for new songs to sing to the kids on long car trips to how to buy a properly fitting bra. Really, it's like having a couple hundred BFFs who can't wait to e-mail or call with their latest great ideas.
I've actually been tossing around a few canning-related WMFW tips but figured I could wait until gardening and canning season are at hand, to keep things topical and all. Then I had an experience driving home from my parents' last week that I've been talking about since then with all the moms I know and it seemed like a pretty good topic. So here goes, my first Works for Me Wednesday tip, from my house to yours.
The kids and I take a few car trips a year without Brainiac. For this reason (and because our cars are always wretchedly old specimens - no in-car movies here!) we've always carried AAA. The expense has proven useful over the years and, whenever I'm tempted to drop the coverage, I'm reminded of being on the Beltway pulled over, pregnant and in the rain, with a flat. Or the time that I drove over some big old construction bolt and lost a tire. And just last week I had my front driver's side tire changed just a couple miles from the Lehigh Tunnel - there was a two-inch bulge in the sidewall that developed after I hit the Mother of All Potholes and immediately knew that I could not drive my babies another mile with that tire. (At this point I'd love to say that my tip is that I learned to change my own tires, but no.)
It's with this backdrop that I make my little WFMW offering to the world: Make sure you have an operational spare tire, and if at all possible keep a full-size spare. If you don't have a working spare, AAA can't help you. So even a "donut" spare is a good idea and I'm a little surprised at how many people I found in a short, totally unscientific survey that don't keep even this minimal solution around.
A full-size spare is helpful because not only can you resume your driving at a normal speed and with normal conditions, but because it buys you some time in having to get a new tire. Since I resent automotive-related expenditures of just about any kind and the need to purchase new tires always seems to come just when I have something more fun I'd like to do, having the full-size tire as a back-up can give us some breathing room to complete the trip without seeing the inside of an tire dealership, shop for price or gather the money from the budget without worry.
In a WFMW nutshell: Keep a full-size spare if you can (or make sure your donut is workable if you can't).
I've actually been tossing around a few canning-related WMFW tips but figured I could wait until gardening and canning season are at hand, to keep things topical and all. Then I had an experience driving home from my parents' last week that I've been talking about since then with all the moms I know and it seemed like a pretty good topic. So here goes, my first Works for Me Wednesday tip, from my house to yours.
The kids and I take a few car trips a year without Brainiac. For this reason (and because our cars are always wretchedly old specimens - no in-car movies here!) we've always carried AAA. The expense has proven useful over the years and, whenever I'm tempted to drop the coverage, I'm reminded of being on the Beltway pulled over, pregnant and in the rain, with a flat. Or the time that I drove over some big old construction bolt and lost a tire. And just last week I had my front driver's side tire changed just a couple miles from the Lehigh Tunnel - there was a two-inch bulge in the sidewall that developed after I hit the Mother of All Potholes and immediately knew that I could not drive my babies another mile with that tire. (At this point I'd love to say that my tip is that I learned to change my own tires, but no.)
It's with this backdrop that I make my little WFMW offering to the world: Make sure you have an operational spare tire, and if at all possible keep a full-size spare. If you don't have a working spare, AAA can't help you. So even a "donut" spare is a good idea and I'm a little surprised at how many people I found in a short, totally unscientific survey that don't keep even this minimal solution around.
A full-size spare is helpful because not only can you resume your driving at a normal speed and with normal conditions, but because it buys you some time in having to get a new tire. Since I resent automotive-related expenditures of just about any kind and the need to purchase new tires always seems to come just when I have something more fun I'd like to do, having the full-size tire as a back-up can give us some breathing room to complete the trip without seeing the inside of an tire dealership, shop for price or gather the money from the budget without worry.
In a WFMW nutshell: Keep a full-size spare if you can (or make sure your donut is workable if you can't).
A week of escapist reading has informed me that I am not alone in my rather low level of enthusiasm for February. To wit:
And then there's this:
This, not from a published work, touched me the most deeply:
But that, as they say, is enough of that. With the last of this wretched month within grasp and March preparing its entrance, I am ready to pack up the entire experience of these last three or so weeks into my Big Box of Denial to be shoved into the top shelf of the closet on the third floor in that room that really creeps me out. In other words, I am done.
I have to confess, things are looking up. I was away with the kids for a few days and arrived home to a package that had come all the way from England. I'd no idea what it could have been and was delighted with a surprise from French Knots.
Isn't that just the most darling thing? I've been all organizey about my laundry lately, so this is right up my alley and just so sweet. Plus, she enclosed a chocolate bar - a chocolate bar which I did not share with anyone. Yippee!
As if that weren't enough cheering, the good folks at Fresh Preserving (the home of Ball canning) read my sad little confession that I don't own a copy of of classic Ball Blue Book and graciously sent me one, accompanied by some freezer jam containers and pectin. Now, I can't say what thrills me more - that these nice folks really are nice or that I can now say I've had my very own bloggy moment of having been noticed. Perhaps it's a little of both. Because I'm never satisfied, I asked if I could maybe interview one of the Fresh Preserving canning experts. With some luck and planning, that'll come in late March or April just as garden planting starts.
With these not-so-little sparks of happiness I'm definitely ready to stow that Big Box of Denial. March may come in like a lion, but you won't hear me complaining.
“February, and all I have ever known it to mean, brings with it a touch of dread to the mornings.”
Sylvia Jorrin. Sylvia's Farm. Bloomsbury, 2004
And then there's this:
"“After a stressful deadline in February – that bleak month when Ann Arbor hibernates and people hurry, hunched over in sky jackets through the dark – I decided to reward myself with a good meal.”
Jenni Ferrari-Adler. Alone in the Kitchen With an Eggplant Riverhead Books, 2007.
This, not from a published work, touched me the most deeply:
“I hate February.”
The pre-school director, a friend and fellow sufferer.
But that, as they say, is enough of that. With the last of this wretched month within grasp and March preparing its entrance, I am ready to pack up the entire experience of these last three or so weeks into my Big Box of Denial to be shoved into the top shelf of the closet on the third floor in that room that really creeps me out. In other words, I am done.
I have to confess, things are looking up. I was away with the kids for a few days and arrived home to a package that had come all the way from England. I'd no idea what it could have been and was delighted with a surprise from French Knots.
Isn't that just the most darling thing? I've been all organizey about my laundry lately, so this is right up my alley and just so sweet. Plus, she enclosed a chocolate bar - a chocolate bar which I did not share with anyone. Yippee!
As if that weren't enough cheering, the good folks at Fresh Preserving (the home of Ball canning) read my sad little confession that I don't own a copy of of classic Ball Blue Book and graciously sent me one, accompanied by some freezer jam containers and pectin. Now, I can't say what thrills me more - that these nice folks really are nice or that I can now say I've had my very own bloggy moment of having been noticed. Perhaps it's a little of both. Because I'm never satisfied, I asked if I could maybe interview one of the Fresh Preserving canning experts. With some luck and planning, that'll come in late March or April just as garden planting starts.
With these not-so-little sparks of happiness I'm definitely ready to stow that Big Box of Denial. March may come in like a lion, but you won't hear me complaining.
My father often dismissed the entire month of February as too cold, too messy, too bothersome a month (for someone who lives in Buffalo year-round, this is saying something). I've always been a bit amused by his feelings and never quite understood them. Why, February has Valentine's Day, the Super Bowl, Candlemas, Ground Hog Day (fun!) and, more recently, the Girl's birthday. What's not to love? Myself, I'd always pegged April as the cruelest month, teasing bits of spring in between hard frosts and frigid nights and then, of course, J. died in April (and K. and C., all within two weeks of each other), hardening me against the entire month forever.
As I get older, though, I'm coming around to my father's point of view. Looking back over my journals I can see that he may well have been onto something all this time. Most of the truly painful events that I've felt the need to record over the past several years have fallen in February. A baby born still, a job loss, illnesses both severe and mild, dissolution of a marriage, scary tests and scarier results - all in the shortest month of the year. That February brings ice storms in my part of the world suddenly seems very appropriate, our very own Narnian "always winter" in one neat, 28(9)-day package.
It seems right to me this year that Lent covers most of February. Reflecting in this time of repentance I know I have much correct and also much to forgive. Perhaps this year with the reminder of the peace that passeth all understanding I can put the darkness of an unkind month behind me and everyone who has shared my bleak days. Perhaps I will be able to keep the words of a traditional Anglican blessing that I have always found beautiful even closer to my heart. "Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who make this earthly pilgrimage with us. So, be swift to love. Make haste to do kindness. Shower abundant hospitality on friend and stranger. Walk in justice that you might follow the path of truth and love. And may the One who comes to us unbidden who for our lives was broken and who guides us into wholeness and holiness of life be among you and remain with you always."
Perhaps. I may even start liking April again.
As I get older, though, I'm coming around to my father's point of view. Looking back over my journals I can see that he may well have been onto something all this time. Most of the truly painful events that I've felt the need to record over the past several years have fallen in February. A baby born still, a job loss, illnesses both severe and mild, dissolution of a marriage, scary tests and scarier results - all in the shortest month of the year. That February brings ice storms in my part of the world suddenly seems very appropriate, our very own Narnian "always winter" in one neat, 28(9)-day package.
It seems right to me this year that Lent covers most of February. Reflecting in this time of repentance I know I have much correct and also much to forgive. Perhaps this year with the reminder of the peace that passeth all understanding I can put the darkness of an unkind month behind me and everyone who has shared my bleak days. Perhaps I will be able to keep the words of a traditional Anglican blessing that I have always found beautiful even closer to my heart. "Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who make this earthly pilgrimage with us. So, be swift to love. Make haste to do kindness. Shower abundant hospitality on friend and stranger. Walk in justice that you might follow the path of truth and love. And may the One who comes to us unbidden who for our lives was broken and who guides us into wholeness and holiness of life be among you and remain with you always."
Perhaps. I may even start liking April again.
Sue responded to my onomatopoeia post with a note wondering if I had been having a migraine. I don't actually know much about migraine headaches - my own kinda, sorta, we don't really know what's wrong with you diagnosis is that I get cluster headaches. One of the hallmarks of clusters is that one might have several in a given period of time followed by time headache-free. Mine, assuming they are cluster headaches (which seems to be the best guess), are unusual because they include the flashes of light and often nauseate me - two things more characteristic of migraines - and they can last more than 15 hours. I was lucky because from the time I became pregnant with the Boy up until about a year ago I rarely suffered from headaches of any kind. I seem to be in a cluster now and, although it's not the worst I've experienced, it's still kicking my butt. Badly.
With the backdrop of feeling frazzled from a newly dissipated headache (the pain is gone, but the general rattledness associated is the gift that keeps on giving) coupled with arriving home later than expected this afternoon meant that my planned dinner of pasta shells with crab and peas (in cream sauce - yum) wasn't going to happen. So here I was, late, with the kids in smash!boom! mode and no thought what to do about feeding them. I managed to pull it off and after dinner it occurred to me that my own personal methods for dealing with these kinds of situations might be useful to someone else.
Tonight I ended up making a crustless quiche of five eggs, half a small onion, a cup of frozen peas, a few ounces of leftover ham (diced), a chopped carrot, a bit of shredded manchego cheese and half a cup of flour. All of this mixed together and baked at 375 degrees for about 40 minutes did the trick for an entree, served with brown rice simmered in beef broth, mashed sweet potatoes (roasted over the weekend and stored in the fridge against just this kind of need) with cinnamon. My total hands-on time was well under 30 minutes and I felt fairly pleased with myself when all was on the table and with only a slight amount of trauma on my part.
Crustless quiches are a great choice for busy cooks - eggs, a bit of flour and pretty much whatever else you like are all you need. I've used kale, chard, mushrooms, olives, parsnips, broccoli, all kinds of cheeses and even salsa. Not only are crustless quiches delicious, but they have the added virtue of using up bits of leftovers that aren't enough for anything else.
I try not to feed my family too much in the way of pasta, but do rely on two forms for those days when I'm really pressed. Angel hair, orzo and couscous each cook up very quickly and take on all kinds of diced or chopped veggies easily (I like to include a bit of sauteed garlic and onion, too). A light sauce of chicken broth thickened with cream and warmed through makes a nice topping that comes together easily.
One of the chief benefits of doing as much canning as I do is that there are a number of products in my repertoire that amount in reality to nothing more than homemade convenience foods. Having roasted tomato sauce, applesauce, mixed pickles and more on hand means that, when push comes to shove, there is something that can be relied upon to dress up a quickly produced and more humble offering. Scrambled eggs with applesauce isn't an unheard of dinner plate around here and nor is a lightly seasoned roasted chicken breast with mixed pickle and fruit salad. Knowing I have a cupboard full of ready-to-go foods made by me with ingredients that I either grew, picked or purchased in season is the ultimate in dinner planning.
With these simple meal solutions generally at hand I can cope with just about anything come the dinner hour, whether it be a headache, a late meeting or just your standard-issue energetic offspring bouncing around the kitchen demanding to know "is dinner ready yet?"
With the backdrop of feeling frazzled from a newly dissipated headache (the pain is gone, but the general rattledness associated is the gift that keeps on giving) coupled with arriving home later than expected this afternoon meant that my planned dinner of pasta shells with crab and peas (in cream sauce - yum) wasn't going to happen. So here I was, late, with the kids in smash!boom! mode and no thought what to do about feeding them. I managed to pull it off and after dinner it occurred to me that my own personal methods for dealing with these kinds of situations might be useful to someone else.
Tonight I ended up making a crustless quiche of five eggs, half a small onion, a cup of frozen peas, a few ounces of leftover ham (diced), a chopped carrot, a bit of shredded manchego cheese and half a cup of flour. All of this mixed together and baked at 375 degrees for about 40 minutes did the trick for an entree, served with brown rice simmered in beef broth, mashed sweet potatoes (roasted over the weekend and stored in the fridge against just this kind of need) with cinnamon. My total hands-on time was well under 30 minutes and I felt fairly pleased with myself when all was on the table and with only a slight amount of trauma on my part.
Crustless quiches are a great choice for busy cooks - eggs, a bit of flour and pretty much whatever else you like are all you need. I've used kale, chard, mushrooms, olives, parsnips, broccoli, all kinds of cheeses and even salsa. Not only are crustless quiches delicious, but they have the added virtue of using up bits of leftovers that aren't enough for anything else.
I try not to feed my family too much in the way of pasta, but do rely on two forms for those days when I'm really pressed. Angel hair, orzo and couscous each cook up very quickly and take on all kinds of diced or chopped veggies easily (I like to include a bit of sauteed garlic and onion, too). A light sauce of chicken broth thickened with cream and warmed through makes a nice topping that comes together easily.
One of the chief benefits of doing as much canning as I do is that there are a number of products in my repertoire that amount in reality to nothing more than homemade convenience foods. Having roasted tomato sauce, applesauce, mixed pickles and more on hand means that, when push comes to shove, there is something that can be relied upon to dress up a quickly produced and more humble offering. Scrambled eggs with applesauce isn't an unheard of dinner plate around here and nor is a lightly seasoned roasted chicken breast with mixed pickle and fruit salad. Knowing I have a cupboard full of ready-to-go foods made by me with ingredients that I either grew, picked or purchased in season is the ultimate in dinner planning.
With these simple meal solutions generally at hand I can cope with just about anything come the dinner hour, whether it be a headache, a late meeting or just your standard-issue energetic offspring bouncing around the kitchen demanding to know "is dinner ready yet?"
I'm sitting here on our very uncomfortable futon, shivering, with a cup of tangerine-mint tea by my side hoping against hope that I'm not coming down with round 2 of the noro virus that's sweeping through town. The cats are asleep on my feet so at least part of me is toasty. I simply cannot be sick - I've got Sunday school tomorrow (note to self: find bag of feathers for discussion of the Holy Spirit) and all the get-ready-for-the-week stuff that goes on Sunday afternoons. Besides, if I'm going to be sick I insist it be on a work day.
It's precisely these kinds of days - cool gray and feeling unwell - that turn my mind to garden plans. Anyone whose ever bought so much as a ball of twine from a garden supply firm finds themselves buried in catalogs this time of year and I am no exception. Inevitably, I fill out order forms with all kinds of exotic flora - achilliea!, Liatris spicata - and just as inevitably end up doing the same old thing. I have neither the time nor the inclination to coddle a lot of decorative gardens, however much they're appreciated, so the usual purchases of bulkpack impatiens, petunias and alyssum usually suffice while any growing from seed happens in the vegetable patch (beans, zucchini, radishes and so on - all reliable workhorses).
This year I'd like to try something new, something not enabled by the mere completely filled-out order form, something that requires more heart and less cash. But what? I'm tempted in a thousand directions by three books intended to introduce children to the joys of gardening. Turns out they're just as handy for stuck-in-a-rut adults.
Roots, Shoots, Buckets and Boots by Sharon Lovejoy includes some very clever ideas for gardening with children, emphasizing plants that grow quickly and produce some "consumable" result - bathing with an herbal blend, making musical instruments from gourds, and so on. I've made bean pole tee pees before but her sunflower house variation is so sweet and so much of the kind of summer magic I'd like my kids to remember that I literally started hopping up and down in my seat, eager to begin sketching out just how to do it. Lovejoy's directions for growing potatoes in galvanized buckets is nothing short of miraculous - I've read how easy it is to grow potatoes but every direction I've ever ready left me scratching my head, wondering what "magic happens here" was left out. Lovejoy is clear and concise and perfectly understandable.
The Children's Kitchen Garden by Georgeann and Ethel Brennan is a more traditional garden book, less moonbeams-and-magic than Roots. It's charm to me is that it describes an actual garden, grown by actual children - no theory, in other words. The bulk of the text discusses the requirements of a host of vegetables and herbs and the included recipes could be well understood by children older than, say, six or seven (with grown-up help).
The Enchanted Gardening Book by Alice Herck rounds out my current garden inspirations. The projects are more basic than those in Roots and it includes much less practical information than Kitchen Garden - it's magic is that it seems to call to an older time, when people did such things as make rose petal beads, when they memorized poems at the behest of the governess, and give tea parties using real china for dolls and teddy bears. I'd love to know more about the author and her motivation for producing this lovely, nostalgic book but neither Google nor authorsearch turn up anything.
With these three books by my chairside I am motivated to do things differently at last. I don't need more seeds, I realize. I've already got bean seeds for tee pees and sunflower seeds for a house (with pumpkin - I have those seeds, too - furniture). I've already got seeds for 4 O'clocks and snow peas and Easter Egg radishes and patty pan squash - not to mention everything I need to make sure that the cherry tomatoes grow within reach of snacking kids' hands or that there are ample paths between rows of strawberries. All I needed was to see what I already have in a new light, the garden equivalent of those people who will come rearrange your furniture, showing you the new decorating options you were too hidebound to see (or, my favorite, those fashion experts who come to your house to show you new ways to wear your own clothes).
Like with so many things in life, what I needed was exactly the same as what I already have. Funny how that works out.
It's precisely these kinds of days - cool gray and feeling unwell - that turn my mind to garden plans. Anyone whose ever bought so much as a ball of twine from a garden supply firm finds themselves buried in catalogs this time of year and I am no exception. Inevitably, I fill out order forms with all kinds of exotic flora - achilliea!, Liatris spicata - and just as inevitably end up doing the same old thing. I have neither the time nor the inclination to coddle a lot of decorative gardens, however much they're appreciated, so the usual purchases of bulkpack impatiens, petunias and alyssum usually suffice while any growing from seed happens in the vegetable patch (beans, zucchini, radishes and so on - all reliable workhorses).
This year I'd like to try something new, something not enabled by the mere completely filled-out order form, something that requires more heart and less cash. But what? I'm tempted in a thousand directions by three books intended to introduce children to the joys of gardening. Turns out they're just as handy for stuck-in-a-rut adults.
Roots, Shoots, Buckets and Boots by Sharon Lovejoy includes some very clever ideas for gardening with children, emphasizing plants that grow quickly and produce some "consumable" result - bathing with an herbal blend, making musical instruments from gourds, and so on. I've made bean pole tee pees before but her sunflower house variation is so sweet and so much of the kind of summer magic I'd like my kids to remember that I literally started hopping up and down in my seat, eager to begin sketching out just how to do it. Lovejoy's directions for growing potatoes in galvanized buckets is nothing short of miraculous - I've read how easy it is to grow potatoes but every direction I've ever ready left me scratching my head, wondering what "magic happens here" was left out. Lovejoy is clear and concise and perfectly understandable.
The Children's Kitchen Garden by Georgeann and Ethel Brennan is a more traditional garden book, less moonbeams-and-magic than Roots. It's charm to me is that it describes an actual garden, grown by actual children - no theory, in other words. The bulk of the text discusses the requirements of a host of vegetables and herbs and the included recipes could be well understood by children older than, say, six or seven (with grown-up help).
The Enchanted Gardening Book by Alice Herck rounds out my current garden inspirations. The projects are more basic than those in Roots and it includes much less practical information than Kitchen Garden - it's magic is that it seems to call to an older time, when people did such things as make rose petal beads, when they memorized poems at the behest of the governess, and give tea parties using real china for dolls and teddy bears. I'd love to know more about the author and her motivation for producing this lovely, nostalgic book but neither Google nor authorsearch turn up anything.
With these three books by my chairside I am motivated to do things differently at last. I don't need more seeds, I realize. I've already got bean seeds for tee pees and sunflower seeds for a house (with pumpkin - I have those seeds, too - furniture). I've already got seeds for 4 O'clocks and snow peas and Easter Egg radishes and patty pan squash - not to mention everything I need to make sure that the cherry tomatoes grow within reach of snacking kids' hands or that there are ample paths between rows of strawberries. All I needed was to see what I already have in a new light, the garden equivalent of those people who will come rearrange your furniture, showing you the new decorating options you were too hidebound to see (or, my favorite, those fashion experts who come to your house to show you new ways to wear your own clothes).
Like with so many things in life, what I needed was exactly the same as what I already have. Funny how that works out.
One of the questions I receive most often concerns where I find the recipes I use for jams and pickles. With more and more attention being paid to seasonal enjoyment of locally-grown produce there is also a great interest in preserving whatever excess is available. This makes a great deal of sense to me and I have often declared that my interest in canning and other methods of preservation have less to do with saving money than it does with having better - in every sense - products for the money I do spend. My pickles don't contain artificial food coloring, my jams are free of high-fructose (or any) corn syrup, and my mushrooms aren't processed a world away from my own kitchen. None of these variables guarantee perfect food every time, of course, and that I truly enjoy the time involved is an excellent bonus.
Since I've begun chronicling my canning adventures (way back in 2002), I've seen a marked increase in interest in canning among people who may not have ever before considered it. In exploring that interest, the first question is often what do I need. The second question is what do I make? I insist to all comers that we ain't doin' your Grandma's canning here, but if this is food preservation for a modern cook with modern sensibilities, were are the good recipes?
Very good, basic recipes can be found in every box of pectin and on every carton of jars. These tend to be very straightforward - strawberry jam, dill pickles and so on - and consist of just a few steps. These days I've pretty much left pectin behind in favor of other types of jams (I don't make much jelly of any kind) but I still maintain that a new canner could do worse than to buy a box, read the insert, give it a go and see what happens. Once you've more or less got the hang of the recipes that come with your gear, you can branch out a bit.
The mother of all canning books surely is the Ball Blue Book of Preserving. I don't actually own one myself, but I've had a bash at a read and it really is very comprehensive. The recipes are meticulously prepared and cover just about every type of product one could conceivably produce. It's a little heavy on old-fashioned varieties for my taste (and really heavy on the much-avoided sweet-and-sour stuff) although one could certainly do worse to start out.
I adore Edon Waycott's Preserving the Taste, which is sadly out of print. The blueberry marmalade is a standard in my kitchen, as is her marinated mushrooms. Ms. Waycott specializes in providing jams to restaurants in southern California and so she uses a number of fruits not available to me, but I don't hold this against her because her text very clearly demonstrates how to use what you have to make something truly delicious.
Another out of print gem is Helen Witty's Fancy Pantry. I Google Mrs. Witty from time to time hoping to find that she - or a fellow fan - has put together an omnibus website, but no. Anyway, from jerk sauce to hot sauce to melba sauce, Fancy Pantry offers some kind of nibble or condiment for ever imaginable occasion and scores of little treats to enhance even the plainest, most workaday meals. I can't recommend it enough.
If the abundant creativity of Waycott and Witty don't tempt you, look to the classics Stocking Up and Putting Food By. How the authors of these books manage to keep updating and keeping new editions coming, I'll never know, but they do and I am forever grateful. Beginning with the science of food preservation and ending with recipes for a nice selection of outputs, neither will steer you wrong and both should have a place on a canner's shelf.
Then there are the surprises, the sources you couldn't predict and which in my experience provide the neatest little recipe treasures. Community cookbooks often hold a jam recipe or two and these can often be relied on quite seriously - no one submits a bad recipe to the preschool cookbook committee, do they? And last year my girlfriends and I decided to use the last of the blackberries and peaches to sort of wing a jam, just to minimize waste and leftovers. The result was incredible and something that I only serve very, very special guests. Not all experiments work so well - my flirtation with Orangina jelly never panned out (and, truthfully, the whole idea kind of amazes me - what was I thinking? I can only blame the fact that I was pregnant at the time) but I'm still thinking that beer jelly holds interesting promise.
So you never know. Start somewhere, master the basics and develop a sense of what can be done safely and then...well, just about anything is possible. I hope that when you develop that killer jam or noteworthy pickle you come back to share the news with me.
Since I've begun chronicling my canning adventures (way back in 2002), I've seen a marked increase in interest in canning among people who may not have ever before considered it. In exploring that interest, the first question is often what do I need. The second question is what do I make? I insist to all comers that we ain't doin' your Grandma's canning here, but if this is food preservation for a modern cook with modern sensibilities, were are the good recipes?
Very good, basic recipes can be found in every box of pectin and on every carton of jars. These tend to be very straightforward - strawberry jam, dill pickles and so on - and consist of just a few steps. These days I've pretty much left pectin behind in favor of other types of jams (I don't make much jelly of any kind) but I still maintain that a new canner could do worse than to buy a box, read the insert, give it a go and see what happens. Once you've more or less got the hang of the recipes that come with your gear, you can branch out a bit.
The mother of all canning books surely is the Ball Blue Book of Preserving. I don't actually own one myself, but I've had a bash at a read and it really is very comprehensive. The recipes are meticulously prepared and cover just about every type of product one could conceivably produce. It's a little heavy on old-fashioned varieties for my taste (and really heavy on the much-avoided sweet-and-sour stuff) although one could certainly do worse to start out.
I adore Edon Waycott's Preserving the Taste, which is sadly out of print. The blueberry marmalade is a standard in my kitchen, as is her marinated mushrooms. Ms. Waycott specializes in providing jams to restaurants in southern California and so she uses a number of fruits not available to me, but I don't hold this against her because her text very clearly demonstrates how to use what you have to make something truly delicious.
Another out of print gem is Helen Witty's Fancy Pantry. I Google Mrs. Witty from time to time hoping to find that she - or a fellow fan - has put together an omnibus website, but no. Anyway, from jerk sauce to hot sauce to melba sauce, Fancy Pantry offers some kind of nibble or condiment for ever imaginable occasion and scores of little treats to enhance even the plainest, most workaday meals. I can't recommend it enough.
If the abundant creativity of Waycott and Witty don't tempt you, look to the classics Stocking Up and Putting Food By. How the authors of these books manage to keep updating and keeping new editions coming, I'll never know, but they do and I am forever grateful. Beginning with the science of food preservation and ending with recipes for a nice selection of outputs, neither will steer you wrong and both should have a place on a canner's shelf.
Then there are the surprises, the sources you couldn't predict and which in my experience provide the neatest little recipe treasures. Community cookbooks often hold a jam recipe or two and these can often be relied on quite seriously - no one submits a bad recipe to the preschool cookbook committee, do they? And last year my girlfriends and I decided to use the last of the blackberries and peaches to sort of wing a jam, just to minimize waste and leftovers. The result was incredible and something that I only serve very, very special guests. Not all experiments work so well - my flirtation with Orangina jelly never panned out (and, truthfully, the whole idea kind of amazes me - what was I thinking? I can only blame the fact that I was pregnant at the time) but I'm still thinking that beer jelly holds interesting promise.
So you never know. Start somewhere, master the basics and develop a sense of what can be done safely and then...well, just about anything is possible. I hope that when you develop that killer jam or noteworthy pickle you come back to share the news with me.
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