August 12 2007, 11:16 PM The Unintentional Consequences of Jam

Sometimes, cooking is like art. Fire up a pan, pull this and that from the garden, let it touch heat briskly, then eat with bread. Things are fresh, and things are good, and obviously so. Sometimes, though, cooking comes with instructions, and following them is important. Baking is like that: sometimes doing it a little differently makes for poor bread. The chocolate syrup was like that, too, I suppose: I've managed candy-making with loose tolerances, and chocolate glop is likely going to be a good thing, even if I screw it up. I got the syrup right: I do not think I will ever be able to again justify buying the stuff.

Canning is different. There are tolerances to canning: there is timing to do, and temperatures to maintain, and above all: care. Things need to be sterile, and the things touching the things need to be, too. If one does everything right, there is a jar of summer in the pantry, waiting for winter toast. If it goes wrong, though, things can get grim.

There are three pints of blueberry jam sitting happy on my radiator. I was careful, and I have a positive seal on all three. I think I did everything right. On one hand, I wonder at my skill, having no experience. On the other: people have been doing this stuff for years and years, and I have relied heavy on the collective wisdom. I will put them up on the shelf, and let them look forward to winter in any case.

It still remains that I made blueberry jam. I know exactly what went into those three jars: ingredients, time, technique. This in itself is a whole mess of fun. As an added bonus, I had some leftover unprocessed blueberry muck. I put it over ice cream and sat on the porch. I saw three meteors. I hope to see more.

The tomatoes are next.