Jammin'

Before I get started, the verification word of the day was 'someraca' which I believe is a small percussion instrument in the style of a tambourine filled with dried lentils for the adding of rhythm to a sad song.

So, this morning, Andy performed a dawn raid on the damson trees in the park and returned with a colander full of damsons. Whether this fruit theft will result in a visit from the damson police remains to be seen but there is a frisson of tension in the air as we await the knock on the door.

'I'm going to make jam,' he announced after I'd shown suitable admiration for his subterfugal fruit gathering prowess.

'Okay,' said I.

'Only this year I am going to de-pit the damsons before they go into the jam pan, because last year it was a complete faff skimming the pits off after the jam had cooked,' said Andy.

'And if I remember rightly,' I said,' there were some rogue pits who refused to be skimmed and remained in the jam to be discovered later in a gruesome teeth-crunching fashion.'

'Yes,' said Andy.

'And finding a stray stone in your jam by biting down on it is second only to finding a piece of gunshot pellet in your pheasant,' I said.

'Which wouldn't bother you now as you are a vegetarian,' said Andy.

'Quite so,' said I. 'And it would be nice for my teeth not to have to worry about jam either.'

So Andy set about the de-pitting of teeny tiny stones from teeny-tiny damsons and it was a bit painful to watch because even though his is a surgeon, a damson 'n' veg knife combination is a slightly different ball game to say, a scalpel 'n' Great Dane combination.

So I joined in, being marginally more nimble of finger and messy of technique. And it only took us an hour. Sheesh!

'The recipe doesn't mention exact sugar quantities,' said Andy.

'What do you mean?' I said. 'Of course it does. What sort of recipe doesn't mention exact quantities of sugar?'

'The one in this book,' said Andy, waving the jam-making book at me.

He was right. It merely said, 'Add sugar.'

'How about I use the quantities mentioned in the recipe for plum jam?' said Andy. 'Would that make a difference?'

I shrugged. 'Plum schmum, damson schmanson,' I said. 'It's all the same to me. But why would the book be specific on sugar quantities for plum jam and not damson jam?'

'I don't know,' said Andy. 'P'raps it's a charming quirk of the author.'

'There is no room for charming quirks in the making of jam,' I said. 'It's an exacting process. You're a scientist. You should know these things. I can't believe you are being so lacksidaisical about sugar quantities.'

'Calm down, dear,' said Andy, 'it's only jam.'

Well, I thought, for someone who was very insistent about removing all the pits before cooking, I find the whole lack of sugar precision thing most strange.

But the jam is made. We were woefully inadequate in the spare jam jar department, because of honey harvest, so there is a large jug of jam in the fridge along with seven jars of random sizes.

And yesterday, when we were on our way back from bee-checking our apiary, we popped into a farm yard that was selling large quantities of apples, plums and pears for very little money, so I suspect there may be some more jam-making in the offing. And possibly some wine-making, too.

Pens and grease and bread and jem

Pandora has three favourite things. Until last night, she had only two (and I am leaving aside all food related items as they would be far too many to list - she has very eclectic tastes for a cat.)
Her first favourite things are:-

1) Pens. Pandora is quite kleptomanic when it comes to pens. I reckon she must have a collection of at least two dozen under the fridge already. She likes hunting pens, juggling with pens, killing pens, rolling around on the floor with pens and chewing pens. In fact, should you ever come to Much Malarkey Manor and ask to borrow a pen, I should advise you VERY strongly to avoid chewing the pen top as you think about what you are writing (if you are wont to indulge in this habit.) I know where all those pen tops have been and unless you are partial to kitten spit, you should keep your mouth tightly clamped.

2) Wrestling with Tybalt. This is how it goes. Pandora meets Tybalt in the hall (they like wrestling on the hall rug for some reason). Tybalt will adopt a superior stance and try and ignore the presence of irritating kitten. Pandora will, very slowly, reach out a paw and place it carefully slap bang in the middle of Tybalt's forehead, like she is bestowing some kind of kitten blessing. Tybalt will stare at Pandora and then wrap both his paws around her neck, whence Pandora will tip herself upside down and attach herself via her teeth to Tybalt's neck. Tybalt will then engage Pandora's head in a half-Nelson and body slam her onto the rug where Pandora will paddle her back feet against Tybalt, bashing his head with quick little kicks until they both fall onto the rug in a big cat/kitten ball. All achieved in perfect silence and without an unsheathed claw.

And then yesterday afternoon, as I was lolloping on the sofa, succumbing to my inner turmoil and channel hopping, I happened upon the film 'Grease.' A bit of nostalgia is a good way to cure inner turmoil, or at least dull the effect, so I thought I'd watch the rest of the film. At this point, Sandie was letting down the entire female race by singing 'Hopelessly Devoted to You,' and dropping a love letter in a paddling pool and had yet to reach the point where she has to dress as a tart to get her man. (Andy pointed out it seemed unfair that the only compromise Danny makes to get his girl is to don a cardie. I'd never thought of this before, but Andy is quite right! Shame on you, John Travolta!) And then Pandora happened to walk past the telly. And she stopped, stared at the screen and was totally transfixed for the rest of the film! Totally weird! She sat on the table where the telly is and kept patting the screen. She got VERY excited during 'You're the One That I Want,' then wandered off only when Sandy and Danny were flying off in their car a la Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

'It's my favourite film' said Pandora. 'You might have told me it was on.'

This morning I did a big downstairs housework session. And then I made some jem. (Which is the kind of jam the Queen would have). It was blackberry and apple jem. I followed the instructions carefully and after the 10-12 minute rolling boil I tested for set, having placed a saucer in the fridge a couple of hours earlier for that very purpose. However, the jem wasn't setting. Andy was home from work by this point.

'The jam smells great,' he said.
'It's not setting!' I screeched. 'And it's not jam. It's posh. It's jem.'
'It doesn't matter if it doesn't set,' said Andy. 'I'll eat it in a hollowed out bread roll if I have to.'

Well, it mattered to me, so I returned the jem to the boil and let it bubble away to within an inch of its life. And eventually it set.

I also made some bread which had no trouble setting. Like a rock.

Lady Marmalade

No, I'm not prancing around the kitchen, swinging on a pole in a dance to the famous song 'Lady Marmalade.' Although I haven't vacated the kitchen for more than a minute all this morning. I am making marmalade and am watching it like a hawk as it bubbles away on the stove, filling the house with the scent of bitter orange. This is because last year, I had a MARMALADE DISASTER and am determined not to repeat the disaster this year.

I'd never made marmalade or jam of any kind until a couple of years ago. I remember watching my Gran as she made all her own preserves and, in the year we acquired the allotment and started getting heavily involved with all things Hugh F-W, I decided then it was high time to purchase a preserving pan and follow in my gran's footsteps. (My gran also made her own brawn and I would often find a pig's head lying glassy-eyed on the draining board in her outhouse awaiting whatever attention it required to be magicked into something edible - but panic ye not, Andy. I think I'm along way from playing with pig's heads just yet.)

So I got me a preserving pan and other jam accoutrements and had a go at making marmalade. Simple! I couldn't believe it was so easy. It was very well received by the marmalade eating community in the house (i.e Andy) and I thought, I'll make some more next year. So last year I repeated the process, only this time I was blase about the whole process and wandered off at one point to do heaven knows what instead of paying attention to my creation with my wooden spoon. Andy, upstairs in his study, called out in the nicest possible way (remember I was still teaching at this point and had a tendency towards tetchiness) 'Is the marmalade supposed to be smelling like that?' Of course, it wasn't. It was simultaneously burning and welding itself to the bottom of my preserving pan...

...and three weeks later I was still trying to clean the bottom of the pan and didn't even have a blob of marmalade for my toast to ease the annoyance!

So this year I am here, watching it carefully. I have even gone as far as cutting all the oranges up by hand instead of forcing them through my blender. It's been a labour of love, the making of the marmalade this year. The 2 hour simmer is almost done. I am listening to Radio 4's 'The Food Programme' whilst I wait. They are talking about cheese-making and I'm thinking 'Hmmmm, I could give that a go.' Apparently, the trick is in the temperature and humidity. I wouldn't make blue cheese, though. I am very much of the opinion that you shouldn't eat anything that has mould growing in it and tastes like washing up liquid.

And I'm hoping that the rhubarb at the allotment will be plentiful this year. It will be in its third season and will be well-established and plentiful which is good as I want to try a rhubarb and ginger jam. It's starting to appear above the ground. I could sling a bucket over it and force it, but I don't think any fruit or veg should be forced to do anything it doesn't want to before its time. The last thing I want is narky rhubarb.

And now I must go. The jam jars are ready to go in the oven to be sterilised, the sugar is ready to be added to the oranges teaspoon by teaspoon full for the next stage and my juices have reduced by half. The pan needs my full attention. You're on your own now...