spring seems so far away now
empty jars stack up
Sugarplum Fairy, Somewhat Late
Some months ago I received a lovely e-mail from a women named Molly who said she wanted very much to send me some POM Wonderful pomegranate juice. Just because. I shrugged my shoulders, thought "why not" and replied that she was certainly welcome to do so - I adore pomegranates and their juice alike - and said that she should not engage in any breath holding regarding posts because 1) am pretty lazy about posting obligations, perceived or actual and 2) I was as likely to make jelly or pour the juice over a turkey or somesuch before I did anything as straightforward as actually drink it. She wrote that she thought that was just fine and several days later I took delivery of a box of these.*
Isn't that just the cutest?
Pomegranate jelly was among the first of my canning experiments way back in the distant mists of 2003. I recall it as successful, although I ended up with way more jelly than I could have used at the time. These days I'm sure that I could make better use of the output and decided to, with the gift of the juice, revisit the project.
Making jelly from juice is really the only method I'm willing to tolerate. I simply do not have time to mess with crushing and draining fruit, worry about clarity, measuring and blah blah blah. Not when it's possible to make a year's worth of jam in less than two hours or go the juice route with similar achievement. There are lots of good, wholesome, natural (and -ish) juices on the market these days and I don't feel any need to drain anything from anywhere into whatever else when it can be successfully avoided with nothing traded in exchange. (I have similar feelings about manual vs. automatic transmissions. There may be benefits to the former, but with the availability of the latter, why would you?)
So, juice is really where it's at, jelly-wise. Not that I actually made the jelly. No, friends, as 2009 wore on and on (and...) and I became enmeshed eight weeks we call The Holiday Season it became clear that no there would be no jelly making. So I looked to glazing the Christmas turkey (please, do not get me started on why there was no roast beef this year - telling the story now can come to no good) and felt little to no guilt about keeping those cute little bottles waiting. I knew the glaze would be great because pomegranate anything is always great and skipped merrily along having absolved myself of any and all jelly-making responsibilities. I started dreaming about POM reductions with shallot and thyme or maybe sparked with Sichuan pepper. There are zillions of possibilities when it comes to these things. Including drinking, as it turns out.
Flash forward to Christmas Eve. Brainiac had just bought an enormous bottle of vodka (and also one of rum, since he could not remember which went into egg nog and there was no way he was going back to the liquor store just as the merriment countdown began so best to stock up on everything possible while the moment was at hand, right?) and my sister-in-law was coming over with her son for our customary Chinese food and Christmas cookie dinner. The day had been a delightful one, full of wrapping and singing and baking. Feeling celebratory, I cast about for a specialish cocktail that we could enjoy together. I remembered the planned glaze. Turkey? What turkey? I had some POM and a tanker truck's worth of vodka. In the face of such festivity there is only one thing a girl can do to make judicious use of such resources.
Behold the official cocktail of 2009-2010 twelve days of Christmas (literally so, having finished up the last bottle sent by my good friend Molly just the 6th, the Feast of the Epiphany**). Each of the sweet little bottles held enough juice for three martini-ish cocktails which, with sugared rims and iced cranberry garnish, kept me and mine in tremendously good spirits right up until the last carols were sung on Epiphany.** Does this cocktail have a name yet? What about the Sugarplum?
Neither I nor the nice folks at POM couldn't have known back when that the contents of that little box would end up being such fun. It just goes to prove that, sometimes, the most obvious thing to do with juice is to just go ahead and drink it.
* See what I did there? Not for nothing do I make my living as a compliance professional in my non-blog life, engaged in keeping my employer aright of various federal laws, regulations, statutes and whims. In keeping with recent handwringing relating to a certain type of blogger (female, mom, etc.) preying on the trusting good natures of innocent Internet-goers everywhere, I have now informed you that I am in receipt of free stuff and you are able to adjust your expectations of my further statements on the juice accordingly. I'm so glad we had this chat.
** This is the day when observant Episcopalians everywhere drain the bottom of their glasses, look about, and say, "Can we please take these decorations down already?"
*** I swear, that cooper tray doesn't look nearly as tarnished in real life as it appears to be in that pic. No, really. I'm a terrible housekeeper in many ways but polish is one thing that I am on top of. I need me some Photoshop skills, it appears.
Isn't that just the cutest?
Pomegranate jelly was among the first of my canning experiments way back in the distant mists of 2003. I recall it as successful, although I ended up with way more jelly than I could have used at the time. These days I'm sure that I could make better use of the output and decided to, with the gift of the juice, revisit the project.
Making jelly from juice is really the only method I'm willing to tolerate. I simply do not have time to mess with crushing and draining fruit, worry about clarity, measuring and blah blah blah. Not when it's possible to make a year's worth of jam in less than two hours or go the juice route with similar achievement. There are lots of good, wholesome, natural (and -ish) juices on the market these days and I don't feel any need to drain anything from anywhere into whatever else when it can be successfully avoided with nothing traded in exchange. (I have similar feelings about manual vs. automatic transmissions. There may be benefits to the former, but with the availability of the latter, why would you?)
So, juice is really where it's at, jelly-wise. Not that I actually made the jelly. No, friends, as 2009 wore on and on (and...) and I became enmeshed eight weeks we call The Holiday Season it became clear that no there would be no jelly making. So I looked to glazing the Christmas turkey (please, do not get me started on why there was no roast beef this year - telling the story now can come to no good) and felt little to no guilt about keeping those cute little bottles waiting. I knew the glaze would be great because pomegranate anything is always great and skipped merrily along having absolved myself of any and all jelly-making responsibilities. I started dreaming about POM reductions with shallot and thyme or maybe sparked with Sichuan pepper. There are zillions of possibilities when it comes to these things. Including drinking, as it turns out.
Flash forward to Christmas Eve. Brainiac had just bought an enormous bottle of vodka (and also one of rum, since he could not remember which went into egg nog and there was no way he was going back to the liquor store just as the merriment countdown began so best to stock up on everything possible while the moment was at hand, right?) and my sister-in-law was coming over with her son for our customary Chinese food and Christmas cookie dinner. The day had been a delightful one, full of wrapping and singing and baking. Feeling celebratory, I cast about for a specialish cocktail that we could enjoy together. I remembered the planned glaze. Turkey? What turkey? I had some POM and a tanker truck's worth of vodka. In the face of such festivity there is only one thing a girl can do to make judicious use of such resources.
Behold the official cocktail of 2009-2010 twelve days of Christmas (literally so, having finished up the last bottle sent by my good friend Molly just the 6th, the Feast of the Epiphany**). Each of the sweet little bottles held enough juice for three martini-ish cocktails which, with sugared rims and iced cranberry garnish, kept me and mine in tremendously good spirits right up until the last carols were sung on Epiphany.** Does this cocktail have a name yet? What about the Sugarplum?
Neither I nor the nice folks at POM couldn't have known back when that the contents of that little box would end up being such fun. It just goes to prove that, sometimes, the most obvious thing to do with juice is to just go ahead and drink it.
* See what I did there? Not for nothing do I make my living as a compliance professional in my non-blog life, engaged in keeping my employer aright of various federal laws, regulations, statutes and whims. In keeping with recent handwringing relating to a certain type of blogger (female, mom, etc.) preying on the trusting good natures of innocent Internet-goers everywhere, I have now informed you that I am in receipt of free stuff and you are able to adjust your expectations of my further statements on the juice accordingly. I'm so glad we had this chat.
** This is the day when observant Episcopalians everywhere drain the bottom of their glasses, look about, and say, "Can we please take these decorations down already?"
*** I swear, that cooper tray doesn't look nearly as tarnished in real life as it appears to be in that pic. No, really. I'm a terrible housekeeper in many ways but polish is one thing that I am on top of. I need me some Photoshop skills, it appears.
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