That's a Pumpkin (W)Rap: 99 Posts for All You Folks

Why... I hadn't even noticed.  But this post, is my 99th post. 

That's 99 (plus or minus) references to pumpkin.  Approximately 99 cups of pumpkin puree.  At least 99 hours that I've sat hunched over my computer, instead of the television (hey... we take the small victories... we can't all be gym goers).  And 99 times that I laughed... hoping at least 99 times, that I was able to make someone else laugh.  That's 99 times that I wondered what on earth I could possibly make, that might include a cup of pumpkin.  And 99 times that I wondered how long I could keep it up and still claim that I loved the orange stuff!

Well...

Surely, I can't go into my 100th post, with the same ol' schtick.  Besides, I think I'm dreaming a new... old... dream. 

And it's doubtful that it will include much pumpkin.

But I promise it will include much gnashing of teeth, hang wringing, and pearl clutching.  Does that help? Self inflicted poverty, huge risks, and a total vocational life change?  How about I promise that it will include LO-HA-HA-TS (I mean LOTS) of sugar?  Surely that helps!  (Again.  We can't all be gym goers.  I mean, think of the doctors... who would pay their salaries?)

So as I consider which way my life ought to turn... I'll pull up a few of my favorite pumpkin posts...

* I loved the Pumpkin Bread Pudding and it just really smacked of Fall.  You know, if you're in to that sort of thing...

* I could eat a Pumpkin Waffle everyday of my life, and be pretty happy about it. (If I've said it once, I'll say it 99 more times... having a gym membership, makes you cool?  Using it, does not.)

* The Pumpkin Toaster Strudels?  Why yes.  I will have another. And maybe just one for the road.

* And I really loved the Pumpkin Tiramisu.

* A fan favorite (Hi Dad!) was the Pumpkin Butter. GREAT on fresh biscuits, poured on ice cream, used with your waffles and pancakes... or you could do the conventional thing... and make toast.  Whatever.

* And if you're tired of the sugar crashes that come with knowing me...try the Pumpkin Focaccia Bread.  This was probably the most original recipe in the bunch and if I do say so myself, one of the best.

But quite possibly, my shining moment... that time when I really stood up and taught you all a little something about myself and the art of the pumpkin puree... was the Pumpkin Puree Rap.  I know.  It brings a tear to my eye as well.... I'll wait while you get a tissue.  Of course, I am still waiting for JayZ to give me some credit on that one... look for it on his album coming out this Fall... him and Beyonce do a duet, that is just to die for.

And really... I'm grateful for the Pumpkin Patch in Scottsdale, Arizona (back in 2003)... that started it all.  And a sweet, curious, puppy-Wyatt to warm any cold hearts out there. 

Here's to 99 more moments of curiosity, 99 opportunities filled with hope, and 99 new dreams...

Summer Moments: I'm Not Dead Yet!

Despite my virtual absence... and hem-hawyness concerning this blog...I've actually been out and about.

A retrospective: 


Aunt D and Me at the Komen's Survivors Luncheon!
Not once, did they play "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gynor,
but it was a fantastic experience.  Breathtaking...to be
in a room of so many survivors.
"At first I was afraid, I was petrified..."
Bops head, walks away.



Meeting Josh Groban. Backstage passes!  Giddy like a
school girl! 




I considered briefly, leaving Brett for little Joshy-poo.
But I figured with all his traveling and stuff,
we'd never get to see each other.  And really,
that's no way to build a relationship.




So instead, I hung out with Brett that night and enjoyed
a free concert (luckiest boy in the world, won tickets).




Is it opera?  Is it rock and roll?  You JUST CAN'T TELL!
Josh Groban has a new fan. 

  

The rarely seen Dikdik.  Too. Many. Jokes...

 


The East African Crowned Crane....head.




Girl Cheetah.  You can't see it, but I'm curled up
behind her.  Just chillin'.



Baby Rhino and Mama Rhino.
I can actually hear the collective... "Awwwwww."



Fourth of July. Weird eye follows me everywhere.





"I wanna be, where the people are..."
Name that sad-sack tune, and I'll send you a
five dollar bill in the mail.




Mammy and Pappy at the ol' watering hole for a
Birthday celebration!




The two Birthday Gals! Aunt D turning 60 and
my Mother turning... ouch! That hurt.




I'm so artsy and stuff.  Dude.




The Thompson siblings...
Aunt D, Uncle D, Dad D, & Aunt D.
Really, I'm not kidding... they're related.




But of course...

Canned some pickled peppers.
Like seventeen, 1/2 pint jars worth.

What you'll need:
1/2 Pound jalapeno and
banana pepper mix
2 Cups white vinegar
2/3 Cups sugar
1/2 Teaspoon mustard seed
1/2 Teaspoon celery seed

Sterilize jars, warm lids, etc. Bring
vinegar, sugar, and spices to a rolling
boil.  Fill hot jars with peppers.
Pour hot pickling juice over peppers
leaving 1/2 inch head space.
Wipe rim of jar.  Place lids and
screw on band until finger-tip
tight.  Leave untouched for two weeks.



Sunday Morning: Carrot Cake Jam

We don't have children. But we do have two dogs that act like children.

Scratch that.  We have two dogs that are treated like children.

Sunday morning was "Interceptor Day!"  It sounds fancy, doesn't it?  Like there should be fireworks and congressional lapel pins, but really, it's just the day that my dogs get their heartworm medicine.  And I suppose if you'd like to fashion a congressional lapel pin based on heartworms, well, be my guest.  But I prefer to celebrate, by typing the monthly task into my online computer calendar that way...with caps and an exclamation point.  Interceptor Day!  Makes me feel excited about something. (sad face)

We are a bonified pet pharmacy in our house. Boy Dog has quite a few issues... a few of which we medicate for, three times a day, with the helpful use of hotdogs.  You stick the pill in a chunk of cheap hotdog and Boy Dog will swallow it whole.  And even though there's not a single thing wrong with Girl Dog, she of course, must have a hot dog as well.  This is reminiscent of grandparents, who give the older child a gift, "so they don't feel left out," when the younger child has a birthday. (Ugh. I won't get on my soapbox.)

So, back to Sunday morning.  Interceptor Day!

The morning started out as it normally does, with me, groggily standing at the top of the stairs... it's a sight to be seen.  All this 'aint a pretty picture in the morning... but the dogs don't seem to mind, and normally, they eagerly greet me on the stairs for their morning gooby-boooby-boo session.  Uh, yea... that's puppy talk.  Anyway.

This morning, they were mysteriously absent.

Covering the living room and moving towards the coffee pot in record speed, due to the absence of my canine speed bumps, something caught my eye.

It was the wrapper, from a stick of butter, which had been left on the table from dinner the night before.  Just an empty wrapper... which means one of the dogs, had just eaten a stick of butter.

Coffee in hand and still missing the normal company of my dogs... I headed to the basement... to find Boy Dog eating a roll of paper towels.  I suppose you need something to wipe the butter grease off your mouth, right? 

Now, I have to say... up until this point... I've kept my cool. I find the emergency vet's phone number... I calmly explain that one of my dogs has eaten a roll of paper towels for breakfast... and one or the other, has topped it off with a stick of butter.  "Need I be concerned?" I ask.  Friendly Vet-Tech says, "oh no, don't worry about it... you just might have a few rough days ahead of you." Joy.

I hang up the phone.  I give the dogs a dirty look.  I give God thanks that a roll of paper towels and a stick of butter did not cost me a few hundred dollars with aforementioned Friendly Vet-Tech... and I remember that it is Interceptor Day! Yeah!

Grabbing hot dogs and pills, I pop the tiny Interceptor pills into their respective hotdogs, and present our eager, albeit stopped up dogs with their medicated treats.  Boy Dog, per his usual behavior, swallows his whole.  Girl Dog, sensing that there is something amis... something has been SNUCK into her normally "pure" hotdog... must investigate.  Taking it carefully in her mouth, she moves to the living room... well, this is NOT my first time on the ferriswheel, and being the gifted and talented dog-mother that I am, I anticipate this move... so I squarely position myself between Girl Dog, Hot Dog... and Boy Dog.  Sternly, I look the drooling mess of a Boy Dog in the eye and say, "Don't even think about it."

He looks at me... sizes up the opening between my legs... looks back at me... and begins to lunge forward... "NO!"  I have stopped him in his tracks.

Yeah.  That's right.  Who's top dog?

He looks at me again... sizes ME up... thinks it through... refers to his Dog Manual... calls his buddy in Arizona who concurs... and decides that the benefits of having another hotdog, FAR outweigh the repercussions.

Dropping my hand to the floor to retrieve the hotdog... I miss it by seconds... and before I can say "Bad Dog" it had slipped down the proverbial hatch.  Now Boy Dog has had two heartworm pills.

And I sort of lost it. 

WYYYYYAAAAATT!!!!!!!

Mother's grabbed their playing children out of the driveways and ushered them inside.  Birds retreated to the safety of the skies.  Dogs ceased their barking.  And the neighborhood cats... laughed.

For maybe the third time in nearly 8 years... Wyatt had made me mad.  And he knew it.  No sooner had I turned around, Boy Dog was making his way out to the garage with his tail tucked and head down.

And I dialed the emergency vet's number... again.

The conversation went something like this:

"Hi!  I called a few minutes ago about the dog that ate the stick of butter and the roll of paper towels.  Yeah... well, I'm pretty sure I just overdosed that same dog.  Please don't call animal control."

By the end of the conversation, Friendly Vet-Tech assured me he would not die, but would merely experience an upset tummy and (my absolute favorite), possibly some "loose stool."

Hanging up the phone, I realized I still needed to get Abby her Interceptor pill. Stuffing it in a hotdog and offering it to her, I was failing miserably... so, I resorted to the ol', crank-her-mouth-open-and-stuff-it-down-her-throat trick.

Two times.  Three times.  Four times... each one, followed by the dramatics of dry heaving and gagging noises.  Trying one more time, I found her jaw... completely locked.  Like Fort Knox.  She was NOT going to take that pill.

Finally, dejected, despondent, and nearly on the verge of tears...and not one to be above theatrics... I crumpled to the floor, barely squeaking out, "Abby.  I just can't do it anymore.  You win.  You all win."  And I sat there, with my arms crossed.  Holding in my hand, a hot dog with the "back up" pill stuffed inside...

Within a few minutes, I watch as Girl Dog belly-crawled over to me... head down, eyes averted... and stuck her sweet nose in to the crook of my elbow.  All but crawling into my lap, she waited... waited for me to forgive her, waited for words of reassurance, waited for a single touch, that showed her that it was all better. 

And after a few minutes... convinced that I wasn't going to throw her out of the pack... she lifted her head, and turned to my other hand, where the hotdog was still clenched.

Nuzzling open my hand, she gently took the hot dog... and with great intentionality, chewed... and swallowed.

Some things just aren't worth the fight.

So on this cool, almost Fall-like day, don't fight it... make this jam.  It'll make me happy... and as you can see... I need a little happiness in my life!

 

What you'll need:
1 1/2 Cups finely grated (and peeled) carrots
1 1/2 Cups finely diced peeled and cored tart apples, such as granny smith
1 3/4 Cups canned crushed pineapple, including juice
3 Tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
3/4 Teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 Teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 Cup raisins
One (1.75-ounce) package powdered fruit pectin

6 1/2 Cups granulated sugar

1/2 Teaspoon butter

1/2 Cup finely chopped walnuts

If you are going to preserve this jam, you'll want to prepare everything as you normally would... boil the jars, warm the lids and rings, etc.

Combine carrots, apples, pineapple, lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves in large, heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to simmer, cover, and cook 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, pulse raisins in food processor until finely chopped. That way, all you raisin haters won't be able to tell they're in there! Whooo-ha-ha-ha.  That was my evil laugh.  Set aside.

After 20 minutes, remove the pot from heat and stir in pectin until dissolved. Stir in raisins, breaking up clumps with back of spoon. Return pot to heat and bring to boil. Add sugar all at once. Die a little bit inside, when you see 6 and 1/2 cups of sugar go into something you will be serving your friends and family, and return to a boil, stirring constantly. Add butter and boil hard for one minute. Remove pot from heat, skim off any foam if you want (though I usually skip this step), and stir in walnuts.

Ladle hot jam into hot sterilized jars, leaving 1/4-inch headspace. Wipe rims of the jars, cover with lids, and screw bands on until just barely tight. Place jars on rack in pot and cover completely with water. Cover pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Boil for 10 minutes. Turn off heat, uncover pot, and allow jars to rest in water for five minutes. Remove jars from pot and allow them to sit undisturbed on the countertop for six hours or overnight.

I wish I had been the one to create this recipe... because it is GENIUS!  But alas, I found it at seriouseats.com days ago... you know, when there was snow on the ground and I was foolishly searching for recipes that would convince me that Spring was on its way...  It's sweet. Sticky.  I sort of wish it had more carrots in it (literally, never thought I would say that).  And has six and half cups of sugar in it.  But it's totally worth a try... and the sugar crash that follows.

Please enjoy and... by the way, Boy Dog and I have made up.

Home: Canning Dreams

So last weekend was a gorgeous, 70 degree, Saturday.

You know the kind...babies laughing, children riding their bikes, gardens being planned with hope and expectation, lunches being made and consumed outdoors...

...neighbors, pulling down their pants and urinating in plain view.

I'm not exactly sure why my neighbor couldn't walk five feet into his house to relieve himself...but I'm sure his reply, had I said something, would have been along the lines of "it's my dang property, I can do what I want."

I make that assumption, only because a few hours later on this same delightful, promise-filled day, my husband was outside playing with our dogs... and the neighbor's teenager, hit him with a BB (thankfully, said BB, hit the visor of his hat, and not his eyeball). And the neighbors kid responded along the lines of "it's my dang gun, I can do what I want."  Spoken like any good ol', red blooded, American...

So you know...obviously...summer is in the air.

And it got me thinkin' about retiring the pumpkin for a bit and pulling out the canning supplies again...

So, I thought a little preview might be in order! Here's what I've got planned for Spring and early Summer:

Strawberry Jam; how can I not?

Strawberry and Lavender Jam; home grown lavender is sure to invoke memories of Lyon...

Strawberry Jam with Thai Herbs; think cilantro, ripe berries, sugar, and balsamic vinegar...can't help but drool a little.

Strawberry Butter; hubba hubba

Rhubarb Something or Other; I've been a little fixated on growing rhubarb...but it takes two years to establish and I believe I've mentioned once or twice before, how patience is not my virtue...so this will likely be based on what I can find at the City Market.

Pickled Asparagus; we'll see.

Carrot Pickles; apparently, all the rage in San Francisco. Who knew?

Anyway. That was the dream...until today.

Now the dream has morphed into visions of ice scrapers and earmuffs. But at least I can rest assured that my neighbor will relieve himself indoors...

Dangit.

Telling It Like It Is: Pumpkin Butter

I got back from retreat at our denominations Regional Camp and Conference Center a few days ago. Just me and the woods. And the 50 or so 3rd Graders from a nearby Montessori school that got to spend a long weekend away from home. In a cabin.  Right next to mine.

One morning, as I sat outside enjoying my coffee, thankful for munchkin's eating breakfast, literally watching a family of deer leap through the forest... I heard a rustle. I'm excited. Could it be the groundhog that I ate dinner with, returning to greet me? A squirrel? A turtle? A band of woodland fairies?

Nope.  Just a 3rd Grade boy, running as fast as he could, holding his crotch with both hands and yelling as loudly as his little underdeveloped voice would let him: "A SPIDER BIT MY PENIS!!"

I know I heard it. The folks in the neighboring town heard it. A friend of mine from Indianapolis called and asked me how the boy with the spider was doing. And in Boston, there was a 20-something woman, shuffling to her front door to grab the morning paper, who heard it. Sure it was muffled by then... and it came out sounding like "Fire and light in Venus." But still, the young woman nodded, and after the night she'd had, mumbled, "Tell me about it."

But I digress.

As quickly as the 3rd Grade boy emerged from the forest, he was gone. Hightailing it to his cabin to inspect the damage.  I said a quick prayer for the unsuspecting male teacher, whose break, was about to be cut short.

Then gave the boy props for telling it like it is.

I guess if you're gonna say something, you might as well say exactly what you mean. Right?

In the midst of all the political volleying that is going on out there... the churches that keep functioning but are afraid to say anything... the visionaries that talk to empty rooms because they don't believe in themselves enough to invite others... the everyday people that say "I'm fine," when they really mean, "I'm tired" or "I'm sad" or "I hurt"...

I guess in the midst of all that, a little boy running through the forest holding his crotch and yelling about a spider that bit his penis... well, I guess it's almost refreshing.  There's no second guessing.  No critique.  Or mulling.  And my Mother The Biology Teacher, would be proud that the little guy called it by it's anatomically correct name.

So here's Pumpkin Butter. It doesn't try to be anything other than, what it is. Pumpkin.

What you'll need:

2 Cups pumpkin puree or one can (disappointed look)

3/4 Cup apple juice (but if you use the canned stuff, you might need to add a bit more)

1/2 Teaspoon ground ginger

1 1/2 Cups white sugar

2 Teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 Teaspoon ground nutmeg

Combine pumpkin, apple juice, spices, and sugar in a large saucepan; stir well and bring mixture to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes or until thickened. Stir frequently.

You might be able to can and store this butter... but given the low acidity of pumpkin, I'd be afraid to do so. Someone with canning prowess might be more inclined to give it a try, and if you do, and you don't spend a night or two in the hospital from food poisoning, let me know.

Enjoy it for what it is, and nothing more. Just sweet pumpkin and a few spices, in a jar. And may you find the courage to speak today... speak when it matters and say what you mean. Someone might only hear "A fighter's flying to Paris." But at least you'll know you tried.

Summer Memory, Or Lack Thereof

I went to Target today to find a pair of sunglasses. They're cheep, and I'm not careful.

A side story: Many moons ago, I owned the most expensive pair of sunglasses ever. These suckers cost more than any article of clothing, piece of jewelry, or pair of shoes in my closet. Foolishly, I wore them. To the St. Louis Zoo (a delightful, free zoo... if anyone has a need for last minute vacation ideas). Taking in the sites and enjoying my day, I casually leaned over the railing to look at the water feature many, many feet below. And proceeded to watch helplessly, as my sunglasses became part of the exhibit.

Anyway...

Picking out a pair of sunglasses is no easy task. There's much to consider: size, fit, weight, and bling. Not one to stray far from the blacks and browns, I gathered six pairs that struck my fancy, and started the posing and eliminating.

First pair: crooked.

Second pair: too bling-y.

Third pair: oh, I really like you!

Fourth pair: a definite contender.

Fifth pair: too big.

Sixth pair: too tight.

Back on with the Third pair: Yeah, no question... I really like you.

Forth pair: You're good, but I think I have to hand the win, to pair number three.

One by one, the eliminated sunglasses were placed back into their faux-nose sales racks, and in my hand, I had the pair that made me the most happy, that framed my face perfectly, and put a little spring in my step, which hadn't been before. The most perfect pair of sunglasses in the whoooole world.

So, of course it's tag was missing. This is Murphy's Law of shopping.

Several minutes and some pretty frantic spinning of the faux-nose displays... I came up empty handed. It would seem, that today was not the day, for me to purchase my sunglasses. Sadly, I placed the perfect pair of sunglasses back into its faux-nose sales rack and walked away. (Stopping only briefly, to grab a Snickers bar.)

A few minutes later, back in my car, the sun is shining brightly. I'm squinty and for one moment, I lament my lost purchase. Rummaging around in my cavernous bag/suitcase/purse, my hand comes up empty in its search for an alternate pair of sunglasses.

And then it hits me.

The perfect pair of sunglasses... pair number three... without the tag... that sadly, I had to leave behind...

Yep. Those were the sunglasses I walked in with.

Let's just say, I'm glad summer's over. And all reminders of the day I lost my mind, will be safely tucked in a drawer, until next Spring.

So, with the last of the summer harvest coming out of the garden, I give you my final jelly recipe.

Jalapeno Jelly

(Technically, jelly doesn't have bits/chunks... and this has bits. But I've never heard anyone call it Jalapeno Jam... so.)

What you'll need:

12 Jalapenos, seeded and finely chopped in the food processor
1 and 1/2 Cups cranberry juice (full on juice... no diet cranberry or juice mix)
1 Cup white vinegar
5 Cups sugar
1 Package of Ball pectin (I'm being a little specific here... because over the course of the summer, I've found that Certo pectin has not produced the kinds of results that I've wanted. No doubt, this is "chef-error" and for as many Ball devotes that there are out there, I'm sure there are just as many Certo lovers. But for this recipe, I'd suggest using Ball.)

Bring the jalapenos, cranberry juice, and vinegar to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and let it cook, covered, for about 10 minutes. Set aside two cups of the jalapeno/cranberry liquid/bits and pitch the rest. Return the two cups of liquid/bits to the pot and add all five cups of sugar. Stirring constantly, bring to a rolling boil. (You know the kind where you can't "stir it away.") Quickly add your pectin and bring the mess back up to a rolling boil. Boil for one minute.

Ladle into prepared jars and return filled jars to the canner. Boil jars for 10 minutes (starting your timer, once the water is back up to a full boil).

It's no Snickers bar... but VERY yummy! An easy A-/B+. Sweet, with just a hint of hot. Unforgettable! Or so I say...

One Of Those Moments

Do you ever have one of those moments -- as you stand in the kitchen on a Saturday morning, peeling, chopping, stirring, cursing, covering, pureeing, and rue-ing the day the pear was made -- when you wonder why you decided make pear butter?

Do you ever have one of those moments -- as your husband sits outside on a beautiful day, writing his sermon, sipping his coffee, drinking in the delightful morning that God hath made -- when you wonder how he got so darn lucky, to marry a girl like you?

Do you ever have one of those moments -- when you've already spent half your morning on a recipe -- and you realize you're missing one of the ingredients and suddenly, find yourself regretting the bad names you were calling your husband? Names like Pear Man and Cinnamon Boy and... Nut-meg (Oooooh, harsh).

I am having one of those moments, while making Carmeled Pear Butter.

What you'll need:

1/4 Cup apple juice
6 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice, divided
7 Pounds ripe pears
3 Cups (packed) golden brown sugar
1 Teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

1/2 Teaspoon cinnamon
3/4 Teaspoon salt

Combine apple juice and 4 tablespoons lemon juice deep pot. Peel, core, and cut pears, 1 at a time, into 1/2- to 3/4-inch pieces; mix pears into juice mixture in pot as soon as pears are cut, to prevent browning. Cook over medium heat until pears release enough juice for mixture to boil, stirring frequently, about 15 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer until pears are very tender, stirring every 3 minutes or so, for about 20 minutes (mixture will splatter). Remove pot from heat. Press pear mixture through fine plate of food mill into large bowl (which I did, but regret... next time I will use my blender). Return pear puree to pot. Add 2 tablespoons lemon juice, brown sugar, nutmeg, and 3/4 teaspoon coarse salt. Bring to boil over medium heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Reduce heat to medium and simmer uncovered until pear butter thickens and is reduced to 8 cups, stirring every 3 minutes to prevent scorching, for about 1 hour (yeah... I know... it's sort of insane).

Ladle pear butter into 8 hot clean 1/2-pint glass canning jars, leaving 1/4-inch space at top of jars. Remove air bubbles. Wipe jar threads and rims with clean damp cloth. Cover with hot lids; apply screw bands. Process jars in pot of boiling water 10 minutes.

Ever wonder why those jars of fruit butter -- in that speciality shop, where everything is overpriced, but you must walk out with something because the whole darn store is so inspiring -- are outrageously expensive? I'll tell you why. Labor.

Whew-wee. This process took, from start to finish, almost four hours. And made our house smell like Fall.

It has a great flavor (though I don't really "get" the hints of carmel) but is a little runnier than I would have liked. My husband gives the Pear Butter a B+ and I'd probably give it a B-, if for no other reason than the consistency.

So, do you ever have one of those moments -- as the end of summer draws near, and you've done your part to can and store the harvest -- when you start to run out of room in your cupboard, and wish ol' Nut-meg would build you a pantry?

Peach Madness

Have you tasted the peaches lately? Oh my goodness! Juicy and yummy and everything that's right with the world!

So we bought two boxes of these delightful specimens... and I decided to ruin them all, by trying to make jam with them.

This was my first real jam-failure, and I didn't take it so well. There was moaning, and tears, and the gnashing of teeth. Dramatic two-fisted-pounding on the countertops and fervent prayers to the jam gods.

And then Brett calmed himself down, and I figured out how to fix things, so that at the very least, the jam was edible.

Here's what you'll need for the recipe found in the Certo Pectin box:

4 Cups chopped peaches (which turns out to be about 10 peaches, pealed and pitted... or pitied, which is what I did when I finished)
1/4 Cup lemon juice
7 1/2 Cups sugar
1 Pouch Certo pectin

Combine all ingredients except the pectin, and bring to a full rolling boil; boil for 1 minute on high, stirring constantly. Add the pectin and return to a full boil, letting boil 1 minute, stirring constantly. Ladle into sterilized jars, leaving 1/8 inch headspace. Boil in the boiling canner for 10 minutes.

If you use this recipe, you'll find a jam so sweet, it'll make your mouth pucker and cause you're arms to flail about uncontrollably, as you work to swallow. It was awful. And the only thing I could think was "perfectly good peaches... sweet, tender, and juicy... and I ruined them."

There was no way I was gonna throw out that many peaches in their prime. So, I dumped all of my canned and sealed jam, back into the stock pot and started adding peaches. I added about 5 more (give or take a bit or two), with their skins still on, as well as another 3 Tablespoons of lemon juice, and brought the whole mess to a rolling boil. I boiled, stirring constantly, for about 15 minutes, to see if it would thicken up a bit (it didn't). Then, I ladled the jam into fresh, sterilized jars, leaving 1/4 inch headspace, and processed as normal.

The end result was a jam that tastes a LOT like the inside of a peach cobbler... which can't be all bad, right?! It's on the runny side (because of all the extra peaches and thus, peach juice that was added) but would be GREAT on top of ice cream. Taste-wise, me and the mister, give this an A.



















Update: My Dad texted me this morning with a thumbs up as well!

Raspberry Hell

I woke up this morning, determined to work out.

I pounded some coffee, threw on a sports bra (casually throwing on a sports bra is no easy task, by the way... there's always quite a bit of wriggling and squirming involved... and if you're a woman, you understand what I'm talking about), bemoaned the fact that I NEVER refill the Brita pitcher when I empty it, and headed for the door with much resolve to end my exercise draught.

I opened the door to step out onto our porch... and I died. I also realized that I've apparently, lived a wretched, sinful life. Because it was HOT!!!

So God, if you're reading this... I'm sorry.

I turned around, seared the palm of my hand on the door knob, and returned to the relative comfort of my air conditioned home.

And made Raspberry Jam.

What you'll need:
2 Quarts raspberries (fresh is best, though I've been told you can use frozen berries, if it's all you've got)
1 Package powdered fruit pectin (they're in little 1.75 oz, brown packages)
7 Cups sugar
1 Tablespoon lemon juice

Crush all your berries until you've got five cups; if they're not totally crushed, fear not... raspberries seem to break down easily when they get rolling. Stir in the pectin and heat over high heat until mixture come to a full boil, stirring constantly. Add sugar all at once and return to a full boil. Boil for one minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Ladle into hot, sterilized jars, leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Process filled jars in the boiled water canner for 5 minutes.

I'd give this jam an A- and my husband would give it a solid B+ (he doesn't really like raspberry seeds).

Please the Lord today. Make this jam.

Sneaky Apricot

Drooling yet? It's okay if you wanna come over. My house is clean.

Right this second.

So come now, or not at all. Cause seriously, within the next half hour or so, the place'll be a wreck again.

Yeah. Scratch that. It's already dirty.

Geeze. How do people do it, with children?

Anyway, I had to do SOMETHING with the Apricot Jam, right?!

Though to be fair, this jam would be divine on any sort of pork product you could find... a pulled pork sandwich with a tablespoon or two plopped on top? Used as a grilling sauce for your pork loin? A dip for your pork rinds, perhaps? Possibilities.

But I was craving Peach Cobbler last night. And when the cravings hit, you gotta hit back, right!?

This is a cobbler recipe that's been my Mother's staple for years (she usually uses Blackberries)... but it's not unique. Nope, not unique at all. But it is EASY.

Here's what you'll need:

1/2 Stick of butter (Go ahead and throw this in your large baking dish, pop it in the oven, and begin the preheat process. Set the oven at 375*. The butter will melt while you do the next bit.)

1 Cup ap flour
1 Cup sugar
3 Teaspoons baking powder
1/2 Cup milk
And mix all this together.

5-ish Peaches (Sliced thin with the skins on! I know... but trust me! The texture is wondrous.)
1/2 Cup sugar
1/2 Cup apricot jam (The flavor won't be obvious, but there'll be "something" different. You'll like it!)
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
Dash of cinnamon if it suits your fancy
Throw all this in a pan and bring to a boil.

Pull that baking dish outta the oven and pour the batter mixture in the bottom. Then carefully spoon your peach mixture on top of the batter. Put the whole thing in the oven and cook for about 35 minutes, or until the top is beautifully golden and when you tap the crust, it goes, "thunk." Then it's done.

OF COURSE, you must ignore the 2 cups of sugar and 1/2 a stick of butter... and top it with homemade ice cream. *quiver*

Both of us give this a big, fat A. Cause that's what we're beginning to look like. Big, fat "A's." Must. Stop. Ea... nom, nom, nom.

My Apricot Jam Plan

So one of my favorite lines from Friends, comes after Monica makes loads of jam (her, "Get over my man, jam plan.") and Joey, obviously enjoying his third or fourth jar of jam says, "Remember when your mom used to drop you off at the movies with a jar of jam and a spoon?"

I figure if we had kids, they'd be singing a similar tune.

I made eight more jars of jam today. Dried Apricot Jam.












Here's what you'll need:

1 Pound dried apricots (chopped)
5 1/2 Cups water (divided
1/4 Cup lemon juice
5 Cups sugar

In 4 cups of water, let your chopped apricots soak and plump overnight. It's like a spa day, for your apricots.

In the morning, throw the whole bowl (water and plumped apricots) into your large pot and add the other 1 1/2 cups of water, as well as the lemon juice. Bring to a mighty boil and then lower the temperature to a simmer. Let simmer for 30 minutes stirring once at the 15 minute mark. Add all the sugar in a slow, steady stream while stirring non-stop. Bring it to a boil again, using high heat... and stir, stir, stir. Reduce the heat to medium-high and boil uncovered for 20 minutes, stirring every 3 minutes or so. Take the pot off the heat and mash any large chunks of apricot. I had some pretty big ones, so I threw them into the food processor. Return chunks to pot (Ugh, that just does not conjure up pleasant images... chunks in a pot. Bleah.) and bring the jam to a simmer again, stirring constantly for 10 minutes.

Ladle into sterilized jars with a 1/4 inch rim. Process in the boiled water canner for 10 minutes.

Husband and I, both give this jam a B+... it's not nearly as sweet as the blueberry jam, a little runny, and not quite as flavorful, but it's still pretty good. Hope you enjoy... and send some with the kids... maybe throw a loaf of bread in their packs on their way out the door. They'll appreciate it and you'll be the best parent ever. Or at least better than we would be.

Visa's Got Nothin' On Me

Canning supplies.
$49.99

Jars, rings, and seals.
$27.99

Six cups of blueberries.
$6.76

Pectin, sugar, and cinnamon.
$5.00

One kitchen towel that did NOT see the blueberry blood bath comin'.
$2.50

Bandaids and Neosporin to cover the unfortunate splatter burns on the tops of my feet.
$2.84

The perfect piece of toast with homemade blueberry jam.
Nauseatingly expensive.













Clippity clop, clip clop. Calculator. Tappity, tap, tap.

Yep. Each jar of jam has cost me $11.89.

Sigh.

Here's the recipe for the jam, found in the book aptly named, You Can Can. I've made a few adaptations, so I'll list it the way I made it, and you can look the original up yourself.

What you'll need to make Blueberry Jam:
6 Cups blueberries
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 Teaspoon cinnamon
7 Cups sugar
2 Foil pouches of liquid fruit pectin

Once the blueberries are clean and dry, do the blueberry mash with a potatoe masher or the back end of a spatula. Mash those suckers until there's about 4 1/2 cups. In a large stock pot combine the crushed berries, lemon juice, cinnamon, and sugar, stirring well. Continue to stir as you heat to a full boil. Stir in pectin then return to a full boil. (Side note: I find it helpful to open both packages of pectin before you begin and stand them up in a coffee mug, for easy access... that way, you never have to stop stirring all that sugar, ensuring that scorching doesn't occur.) Boil hard, for one minute.

Ladle at once, into hot sterilized jam jars, leaving a 1/4 inch headspace. Process filled jars in a boiling water canner for 5 minutes (start the timer, when the water returns to a boil). Remove jars and cool on a towel, on the counter. (Another side note: make sure you use a towel, because the temperature differences between the jar, and some countertops, can make the jars crack.)

This was GREAT jam! That little bit of cinnamon is the perfect addition! We both give it an A!

Sleep Deprived Blueberries

Those blueberry plants I spoke of, produced (to date) twelve berries. They're tired... that little one, is just struggling to survive and the other one is wondering how weeds got to be as tall as he is, where the heck the pruning sheers are, and how come the to'maters get all the glory.


Okay. So we're not exactly Mo and Flo Farmer. We're city folk... we like the smell of exhaust in the morning. We like being able to reach out and touch our neighbors house. We like not knowing where our food comes from, dangit. *sigh*

Not really. We're just lazy and the weeds take over quicker the weed eater can keep up with them. (Yes. Brett took the weed eater to the garden. I know. You don't have to say a word.)

Anyway, I have big dreams for those plants... and their time will come. It will. But as I've said, I'm bound and determined to can, so we made an early morning trek to the the u-pick-it farm here in Northwest Missouri.

And see... this is why I take pictures. I honestly don't remember it looking this beautiful. Between some serious caffeine deprivation and trying to wield my picking-bucket, camera, kleenex, cellphone, and inhalers... I was a mess. Somebody should make something, that can easily carry all your necessities. You know, kind of like a bucket that hangs on your shoulder and thus, frees up ones hands, for other tasks. Huh.

We came home with about six cups of blueberries, ready to go to work!

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I shall can!

And Now We Return To Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

I mentioned several posts back (like, before I got sidetracked with my husband being in another country) that it was my desire, to can. The strawberries didn't exactly pan out, but the one berry that did appear, was freakishly pretty.

We divided it in fourths and each had a sample. And yes, by "we" I mean myself, my husband, and our two dogs. Shuffles (the bunny) doesn't like strawberries.

It was tasteless, and I lose interest pretty quickly.

So I moved on to blueberries.

Months ago we rescued a fledgling blueberry plant out of the belly of WalMart. I can't stand WalMart, so I don't even know why we were there... I think I went in for a musket and some toilet paper. Instead, I walked out, with the first season of Jersey Shore and a dying blueberry plant. Good times.

Then we got crazy and sprung for the high dollar bit, snagging this beauty.

And for my birthday, my dear sweet, ever encouraging husband... bought me this.

He has such faith in me, I can barely stand it. That, and he knows I need a hobby. Unemployment is not my friend, people. Nope. Not even a little bit.

So. Let the canning begin.