My neighbor Joanne got three new hens: Cairo, Dubai, and Pauline. Joanne is getting ready to move and had sworn off new chickens, but when she saw these three babies getting trampled in an enclosure of bigger pullets, she scooped them right up. They’re curious about everything, especially Dubai, pictured above: What’s in [...]]]>

My neighbor Joanne got three new hens: Cairo, Dubai, and Pauline. Joanne is getting ready to move and had sworn off new chickens, but when she saw these three babies getting trampled in an enclosure of bigger pullets, she scooped them right up. They’re curious about everything, especially Dubai, pictured above: What’s in that basket? Can I eat it?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately: Can I eat that? Now that we’re heading into the fullness of fruit season and I’m having to refrain from making traditional jam, I’m more aware than ever of the ways in which giving up sugar (not to mention gluten, lactose, and caffeine) is changing my life. Mostly, the changes are good. I’m extra aware of this because, after more than three months of going without refined sugar, I recently experimented with adding a bit of it back into my diet. That turned out to be a big, flailing fail.

I discovered that sugar sets me off on mood swings from elation to irritation. It makes me whirly, and not in a good way. My heart pounds, I don’t sleep well, and I’m lethargic the next day. After all that, I wouldn’t expect to want any more sugar, but the kicker is that eating sugar clearly causes me to crave more sugar. In the past, I’d read plenty of reports and articles pointing to these and other sugar-induced problems, but it seems that until I was forced to give it up, I’d had such a steady infusion of the stuff that I never noticed what a potent drug it is. I thought I was immune. Guess not.

Do you think Dubai looks a little suspicious in that photo? Maybe she doesn’t quite trust me to take home all those lemons and not use ten pounds of sugar to make marmalade out of them. (Those links go to five different Meyer lemon marmalade recipes on this blog.) I need to find another way.

I’ll juice some of the lemons for the freezer and probably try a Meyer lemon aigre-doux with honey — and then there’s this tiny batch of improvised jam with honey and mint.

When I make jam with citrus, the whole fruit goes into it, rind and all. I do cut away the pithy core and discard the seeds, but the rest of the fruit goes into the pot. (For me what makes it a jam is the method of preparation; it’s not rind suspended in jelly, like a marmalade.) It’s a simple technique: simmer the fruit until it’s soft enough to pierce with a skewer, strain it, break it down in a food processor, and add sweetener — sugar if you like or, in this case, honey. The details are explained below, but sometimes I think the details make things seem more complicated than they really are. This is easy. It would be great on a scone or with a lot of other baked goods that I’m not eating right now. I’ll enjoy it on my almond-flour pancakes in the morning or as a mix-in with yogurt for dessert.

Meyer Lemon Jam with Mint and Honey

Makes about 2 cups

1 1/2 pounds Meyer lemons
1 bunch fresh spearmint
filtered water
1 cup wildflower honey

1. Wash the lemons, then prep as follows: Slice each lemon lengthwise along the stem. Notch out the pith from the centers of the fruit, retaining those pithy cores so you can squeeze juice from them later. Then, using a small bowl with a strainer suspended over it, run your thumbs along the insides of the notched fruit to remove any seeds while collecting the juice in the bowl. Squeeze the lemon cores over the strainer also. The goal is to collect as much juice as you can at the same time as you are preparing the lemon halves for cooking. Set the bowl of juice aside. (There’s a photo in my post on Rangpur Lime Jam that illustrates these steps, if you want a visual guide.)

2. Place the prepared lemon halves in a large, nonreactive pot or skillet, and cover with cold water so they float freely. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer until the lemons are soft, about 20 minutes. (When they are ready, it should be easy to pierce them with a skewer or fork.)

3. While the lemons are cooking, prepare a mint infusion. To do this, I loosely packed a pint jar with muddled spearmint leaves and covered the leaves with boiling water. I intended to let the leaves steep for 10 minutes but they went for about 30. No problem. After steeping, strain out the leaves and set aside 1/2 cup of the mint tea. (You’ll have extra tea. I mixed mine with some honey and lemon juice to make a bonus lemonade.)

4. Drain the lemons and combine them with the set-aside lemon juice and 1/2 cup mint tea in a food processor or VitaMix. Pulse the mixture until it is coarse; don’t liquify it. You’ll want chunks of rind in the mixture so your jam doesn’t have the look and texture of baby food.

5. Transfer the fruit mixture to a glass or ceramic bowl and stir in the honey. I covered mine tightly and let it rest in the fridge overnight, but I don’t think that’s strictly necessary. You should be able to go right ahead and cook the mixture if you prefer.

6. When you’re ready to cook the jam, put it into a 6-8 quart pot (not too big) and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium and cook for about ten minutes. Add two sprigs of fresh spearmint and cook about ten minutes more. You’ll know the jam is done when the mixture has thickened and your spoon leaves a clear track across the bottom of the pan. Stir frequently and reduce the heat if necessary to prevent sticking or scorching near the end of the cooking process. When the jam is done, remove the spent spearmint leaves.

7. Process the jam as you like. This is such a small batch that you may want to simply store it in the fridge — or you might water-bath process it in little 4-ounce jars. If you do the latter, leave 1/4-inch head space and process for 1o minutes, adding time for your elevation if necessary.

This week, I got to drive down to the central coast of California to spend a couple of days in Big Sur. That meant passing through some of the best fruit and veggie growing regions in the state. More particularly, it meant bringing home four pounds of early variety Brooks cherries [...]]]>

This week, I got to drive down to the central coast of California to spend a couple of days in Big Sur. That meant passing through some of the best fruit and veggie growing regions in the state. More particularly, it meant bringing home four pounds of early variety Brooks cherries from a roadside stand in Gilroy.

I already had an idea of what I wanted to do with these cherries. A couple months ago, Kate at Snowflake Kitchen had been talking about a cherry ginger jam that I bookmarked in my brain. It’s also time for rhubarb and– gah! — I’m still trying to use up my frozen supply of over-enthusiasm from last year. Because I’m off refined sugar, I wanted to see whether I could put all these things together in a honey-sweetened jam using Pomona’s Pectin.

I’ve used Pomona’s a lot (it was how I first learned to  make jam), but it’s always been with either a small amount of white sugar or with no sugar and concentrated fruit juice for sweetener. (My recipes for blackberry lime jam and cherry blueberry jam are examples of those two methods, respectively.) This is the first time I’ve used only honey as a sweetener with Pomona’s, so I followed the directions pretty close to the letter.

I like this jam a lot. Here’s a quick list of the best things about it, followed by a few things to consider before you try it yourself:

Pros

• Neither the fruit nor the honey are cooked for a long time, so the flavor is fresh.
• It’s nicely tart and plenty sweet enough, and the honey flavor doesn’t overpower.
• It doesn’t require a lot of honey — just one cup — so the cost of using good honey won’t break you.
• The set is good — not too loose, not too firm.
• There’s no refined sugar!

Cons

• Commercial pectin always has a slightly gummy consistency, so there’s a little of that here.
• Because there’s no sugar, this jam will lose color quickly. Rhubarb, especially, tends to brown out. You’ll want to eat it all within a few months.
• There’s no refined sugar!

Finally, I should say that, if you don’t believe in heating honey, this recipe’s not for you. I’ve recently learned that most folks who follow an Ayurvedic diet claim that heated honey becomes toxic. Other sources say that’s a myth with no science to support it. Science does seem to support the idea that heat destroys some of the nutritional benefits of honey. A lot of tested recipes use honey for baking and preserving, however, so I’ll leave it to you to decide what works best in your book.

I’m very happy to have jams like this one on my restricted diet!

Cherry Rhubarb Jam with Ginger and Honey

Makes 5-6 half-pint jars

1 cup stewed, mashed rhubarb (about 1/2 pound)
3 cups pitted, mashed cherries (about 2 1/4 pounds)
2 tablespoons finely minced ginger
2 tablespoons lime juice
1 cup wildflower honey (room temperature)
4 teaspoons calcium water*
3 teaspoons pectin powder

* The calcium is in the Pomona’s box with the pectin powder, along with instructions about how to prepare the calcium water; it’s easy. I mix mine in advance and store it in the fridge for a few months.

1. Prepare your jars and lids. (You’ll process the jars for 10 minutes, so they don’t need to be sterilized but they do need to be clean and hot. I prepare my lids by placing them in a small bowl and pouring boiling water over them. The hot jars and lids can sit until you’re ready to use them.)

2. Wash the rhubarb and chop it into 1″ pieces. Put the rhubarb in a small saucepot with a little bit of water (no more than 1/2 cup) and simmer until just soft enough to pierce with a fork. (If your rhubarb happens to be frozen, like mine was, don’t add any water to the pot. Just place the frozen fruit in a covered pot over very low heat and let it soften.)

3. While the rhubarb is simmering, wash and pit the cherries and smush them well with a potato masher. Add the minced ginger and smush some more. When the rhubarb is soft, add it to the cherries and ginger and do a little more smushing. You want to end up with a total of 4 cups of mashed fruit mixture.

4. Put the fruit in a 6- or 8-quart nonreactive, heavy-bottomed pot. Stir in the lime juice and calcium water.

5. Measure the honey into a small bowl and stir in the pectin powder. Mix well.

6. Bring the fruit mixture to a boil for a couple of minutes, add the honey-pectin mixture, and cook, stirring constantly, for 1-2 minutes more. Bring the mixture back to a boil, then remove it from the heat.

7. Pour the jam into jars, leaving 1/4-inch head space. Wipe the rims clean before adding lids, and process 10 minutes in a boiling water bath. (Add 1 minute to the processing time for every 1,000 feet above sea level.)

Enjoy!

I’m slowly getting better at gardening. Partly, it has to do with simplifying. Instead of trying to grow everything, I’ve been concentrating on what I love most. More than anything else, I seem to love little trees, especially my citrus trees. I haven’t gone so far as to name them, but [...]]]>

I’m slowly getting better at gardening. Partly, it has to do with simplifying. Instead of trying to grow everything, I’ve been concentrating on what I love most. More than anything else, I seem to love little trees, especially my citrus trees. I haven’t gone so far as to name them, but I relate to each one as an individual. I check up on them every day and talk to them more than you might think is normal. That tree above is my pride, a Eureka lemon that I brought back from near death when I inherited it.

This winter, we had a lot of frosts and freezes. That meant covering the citrus trees in the evening and uncovering them in the morning. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I have a whole system for it — each of the seven trees has its own labeled cover — but still it got damned tedious. So I can’t judge my beloved neighbor, who’s had plenty to deal with of late, for letting winter get a grip on her big lemon tree this year. Her hen, Isabella, appears to have some thoughts about it, however . . .

My neighbor Joanne is one of the main reasons this blog amounts to anything at all. She provides me with the best chicken and duck eggs, fresh cut flowers, and beautiful fruits of many kinds — apples, yellow and white peaches, sometimes persimmons. (Never mind that she chases me away from the raspberries with a broom.) She is also the keeper of my best bird friend, Louis Goose. Several generations of Joanne’s family have lived in the big white house down the street, and I almost always come home from my visits inspired to share something about what I’ve seen or learned there. I was truly happy when she took me up on my offer to help out her bedraggled tree.

It turns out that my pruning shears match Louis . . .

How to Prune a Frost- or Freeze-Damaged Citrus Tree

In case you have a tree that needs help, too, here are the basics of pruning and protecting frost- or freeze-damaged citrus:

1. Don’t prune the tree too early. Wait until all danger of frost has passed and new growth starts to appear on the tree. This way you can see the true extent of the damage and cut away only what has died. Also, pruning too early can encourage tender new growth while it’s still too cold to be safe. Late spring is a good time to prune. (Don’t wait too long, either. Pruning citrus in the fall is usually a bad idea; it can encourage new growth just as the cold season comes on, setting up the very cycle of damage you want to avoid.)

2. Disinfect your pruning tools. Sometimes I forget this step and, lucky me, I’ve never had a problem. But it’s safest to disinfect your tools between pruning jobs. A lot of sources recommend using bleach for this job, but I’m convinced by this paper from a Washington state extension professor who says bleach is not the way. I use rubbing alcohol, which is permitted under national organic standards. Clean off any dirt from the pruners, soak them in the alcohol for a full minute, then dry them well with a soft cloth.

3. Cut back damaged limbs into living wood. Before you make a cut, look for new growth on the branch and consider the overall shape of the tree. Then try to make the cut at a crotch, just above a strong new sprout. Make the cut straight across. If you’re cutting a twig or branch back to its base, don’t leave a stump. Finally, prune only as much as you must. (I was tempted to do a much bigger job on Joanne’s tree, taking out crossed or rubbing branches and lifting it up off the ground a bit, but I resisted. Better to let the tree rest and save the less urgent pruning for next year.)

4. If you trim large branches or limbs that face the sun, consider whitewashing them. I’ve never had to do this, because my trees are small. Even the biggest branches I pruned on Joanne’s tree were less than 1″ across. Still, I should say that all the good sources I read stressed the importance of protecting larger cut branches from sunburn by promptly painting them with a 1:1 solution of white interior latex paint and water.

5. Evaluate whether the tree has reduced needs for water and fertilizer. A freeze damaged tree may need less water than a healthy tree of the same size. Water moderately until the tree has returned to its full size and strength. (Joanne and I had a little discussion about this. She’s been giving her tree more water than usual and it seems to be helping. But only a small percentage of the growth on her tree was actually damaged, and we’ve had a long and unusual spell of dryness and heat. Extra water made sense. You have to feel it out.) The same goes for fertilizer. If you’ve lost many branches and twigs, reduce the amount of fertilizer. Make more frequent, light applications rather than giving the tree a single, heavy dose.

Thats’ it!

In a post about Louis Goose from way back in 2008 (called My Other Boyfriend), I mentioned that Joanne and Louis were going to have to move away. I dreaded that thought five years ago and, now that the “For Sale” sign has finally gone up in front of the house, well, I suppose I’ve had some time to get used to the idea but I still don’t like it one bit. I’m not yet sure where they’re headed, but I’m already planning to visit!

Hollyhock Cookbook Giveaway Winner!

Thanks to everyone who participated in the Hollyhock Garden to Table cookbook giveaway. The winner is Ruth Baldwin, lucky number 49.

Besides diving into this great cookbook, my favorite part of the giveaway was getting to read everyone’s comments about spring. Ruth is celebrating abundance, and now she has a new cookbook to add to that. Congratulations!

I’m excited to share this new cookbook with you. Even if I weren’t personally connected with it, I’d say Hollyhock Garden to Table would be a fine addition to your kitchen resources. What’s fun for me is that I am connected with it, in three small ways:

First, it is written and [...]]]>

I’m excited to share this new cookbook with you. Even if I weren’t personally connected with it, I’d say Hollyhock Garden to Table would be a fine addition to your kitchen resources. What’s fun for me is that I am connected with it, in three small ways:

First, it is written and photographed by two beautiful, creative women whom I know and respect tremendously – Moreka Jolar and Heidi Scheifley. (I wrote about Mo here once before, because she inspires me no end and we happen to share the same birthday.) They regularly write about food and their farm at Ripple Rock Cooks.

Second, this cookbook centers around produce from the organic gardens at the Hollyhock Learning Centre on Cortes Island in British Columbia. I have been there and I have eaten food from Hollyhock’s kitchen, so I can affirm that the adjectives on the back of the book are true. Cortes is stunning. The gardens at Hollyhock are spectacular. The food is imaginative, inspiring, and versatile.

Third, you’ll find two of my recipes in this book: nasturtium pesto and pickled nasturtium pods. (Both are updated versions of the recipes on this blog.) Thank you, Mo and Heidi, for including my work!

Hollyhock Garden to Table is packed with interesting recipes to try. Chapters include everything from salads to mains, from breads to breakfasts — and of course, desserts. I may be most intrigued by their “accompaniments,” which include strawberry salsa, stinging nettle pesto, fig and port compote, and more. I pride myself on never having used the word “yummy” on this blog, but I’m having to restrain myself from employing it now. This cookbook makes me happy because the recipes seem equal parts delicious and enjoyable to prepare.

For inspiration in this moment of full-on-spring, there’s plenty of rhubarb:

• Rhubarb Vinaigrette
• Rhubarb Syrup with Hibiscus or Lemongrass
• Apple Rhubarb Pandowdy
• Gluten Free Rhubarb Streusel Muffins
• Rhubarb Shortcake

And lots of food in jars . . .

And while Hollyhock Garden to Table includes an abundance of recipes featuring good, whole grains, I was excited to find many things I can enjoy on my current grain-free, sugar-free, lactose-free — insert audible sigh here — plan. I decided to start with banana jam, and that’s the recipe I get to share with you below.

Also, Mo and Heidi generously provided me with a copy of Hollyhock Garden to Table to give away to you. For a chance to win, please leave a comment on this post, including one thing you’re really enjoying about this spring so far. I know there have been a lot of tragedies of late. I love to look outside to see that the pink jasmine has burst into bloom as usual. Carl the crow is also doing great. A couple times, he has even brought another crow to share his breakfast.

The giveaway closes on Friday, 5/3 at 8 p.m. PST and I’ll announce the winner soon after. (Sorry, but I have to restrict the contest to residents of the U.S. or Canada.) If you don’t want to wait for the giveaway results, you can click right over and buy a copy of this lovely book direct from the authors.

Banana Jam

from Hollyhock Garden to Table, by Moreka Jolar and Heidi Scheifley

Sugar-free and begging to be sandwiched up with some nut butter, this banana jam has some serious citrus and vanilla punch, with just a pinch of clove and cardamom. Easy as 1-2-3.

Makes 1 cup

3 medium bananas
1 orange, juiced
1 lime, zested and juiced
1/4 teaspoon vanilla powder or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of cloves
pinch of cardamom

In a heavy-bottomed skillet, mash the bananas with the remaining ingredients. Cook on medium heat, stirring frequently, for 15 minutes. The jam should get thick and creamy. Allow to cool. Store in a sealed container in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.

My notes: The bananas I used weren’t quite ripe enough. This recipe will work best with sweeter, brown-speckled bananas. Because the bananas were so firm, I gave them a quick whirl in the food processor before cooking the jam. For this tiny batch project, I used my heavy-bottomed 8″ stainless-steel skillet, which worked great. The jam reached the desired thickness after just 8 minutes, perhaps because of its little spin in the food processor. Watch the mixture well and stir it pretty much constantly to keep it the jam from sticking or scorching. I think you’ll be pleased with the results. I was!

Our neighborhood is home to a large community of crows. Sometimes, on summer evenings, dozens of them gather on the roof of our house. We hear them walking around up there and see the shadows of their feet through the skylights. If a person didn’t love birds, it would be easy to go [...]]]>

Our neighborhood is home to a large community of crows. Sometimes, on summer evenings, dozens of them gather on the roof of our house. We hear them walking around up there and see the shadows of their feet through the skylights. If a person didn’t love birds, it would be easy to go all Tippi Hedren about it.

Right now, at the height of spring, the crows don’t hang out in gangs so much. I see them in pairs or in small family groups with talkative youngsters demanding to be fed. I almost never see a crow alone.

Toward the end of March, a mother crow and her fledgling started visiting our bird bath every morning. Mom would bring large pieces of bread — I have no idea from where – and soak them in the bath. The young bird would pace back and forth on the pool railing, calling to her in the unmistakable and completely non-melodious voice of a kid-crow who wants food now. Finally, she’d put some of the softened bread in his beak and they’d fly off, returning to repeat this process two or three times in an hour.

Then the little guy started showing up without his mom. He was quiet and there wasn’t any bread. A young crow normally stays close to its mother for a year or two, so it was clear that something had gone wrong.

I take care of four rescued, domestic pigeons, but I’ve been trained not to foster dependence between me and a creature that can make its own way in the world. It was a torment, though, seeing the crow coming to the pool railing throughout the day, always by himself and without any food.

I called my friend Gina, who is a wildlife-rescue expert, and she helped me devise a crow-support strategy: I started setting out a healthy breakfast first thing every morning. Cracked walnuts (some left in the half shell so he has to work at them), a bit of hardboiled egg, diced apples, maybe some nut butter on little bits of bread. The plan is that eventually, I will taper off — mimicking the way a natural food source might diminish.

There’s Carl with a walnut. He’s shy.

Our hope is that the high-protein meal will give this young bird the start he needs to have a good day. He gets only breakfast from me;  he has to figure out the rest. (It feels like feeding a kid and sending him off to school.) Gina said he may even work out how to share his breakfast, making an offering that could help him gain entry into our local society of crows.

I named the crow Carl. If he turns out to be Carlie or Carlotta, we’ll deal.

It’s clear that Carl is working out the details of his day. He’s very cautious around me, which is fine. (I wonder if, when he sees me taking care of the pigeons, he worries I might try to grab him and put him in a big bird house.) He flies in and out from our property from morning til night, bringing in food from elsewhere or stopping by for a drink. He brings big worms and things that grow on trees. Sometimes he shows up in the evenings with a piece of bread bigger than his head, like his mother taught him before she disappeared. I’m proud of our crow.

Not a crow’s breakfast!

This morning, Carl’s breakfast was a few walnuts, shredded bok choy, and a slightly burnt almond flour pancake from my own breakfast. Carl’s favorite days are when I burn the pancakes, because otherwise I tend to hoard them for myself. The leftovers make a good late-day snack for humans. (I drop them into the toaster for a minute to reheat them.) I love this simple recipe for almond flour pancakes. They come out perfect almost every time. Sometimes I add lemon zest or fruit. Lemon-lingonberry was a great idea.

I also tried this recipe, which has excellent flavor — coconut milk, anyone? — but a tendency to burn. (Good news for Carl.) I suspect that’s because it includes honey. When I experimented with adding honey to the first recipe, those pancakes wanted to burn, too. I found a post called Substituting Honey for Sugar in Home Canning, Cooking, Making Jams, Jellies and Baking that mentions how honey makes baked goods brown faster, so there’s corroboration. (It’s a post worth reading if you’re interested in replacing sugar with honey in a variety of contexts.) There’s really no reason these pancakes need to include honey. I’ll leave it out — and I’ll probably still share with Carl.

I’ve started collecting recipes for these kinds of grain-free, sugar-free breakfasts, baked good, and treats on a Pinterest board, if you want to follow along.

Yuzu asks, “How come the crow gets all the pancakes?”

A couple weeks ago, I got hold of my very first bergamots. Is it worth noting that spell check wants me to replace “bergamots” with “flabbergasts”?  Bergamots are, in many ways, a flabbergasty citrus fruit. They are astonishingly fragrant. (You probably already know they’re responsible for the unique scent and flavor of Earl [...]]]>

A couple weeks ago, I got hold of my very first bergamots. Is it worth noting that spell check wants me to replace “bergamots” with “flabbergasts”?  Bergamots are, in many ways, a flabbergasty citrus fruit. They are astonishingly fragrant. (You probably already know they’re responsible for the unique scent and flavor of Earl Grey tea.) They also have an eye-opening flavor, very acidic, though the five small fruits given to me were not nearly as bitter as I expected.

The short story of the bergamot is that it’s a variety of sour orange, most commonly grown in Italy. (I’ve met only one person who has a tree here in Northern California. Happily, she is a very generous neighbor.) You can get lots more bergamot story — including links to bergamot recipes and an explanation of how the bergamot name is often given to the “wrong” fruit in France — in David Lebovitz’s post, What Is a Bergamot?

I zested and juiced most of the fruit to make bergamot honey syrup. (I also air dried some peels to use later.) I imagine this syrup could be put to great use in cocktails and baked goods, but I’ve mostly been enjoying it in my homemade ginger tea. And while we’re here, I’d like to show you my tea mug . . .

For a long time, it bugged me, this mug. I am an optimistic person by nature, but the slogan “expect the best” put me on edge. I’m as much perfectionist as optimist and I’ve learned that always having the highest expectations, the most stringent standards, sets me up for needless stress and disappointment. Not what I want from my mug first thing in the morning. Most of the time, I prefer a slogan like “Set your intentions, do your work, and accept what comes” even though I know it’s not really mug appropriate.

I was relieved when I dropped the mug in the sink and the handle snapped off. I thought, “That’s what comes of expecting the best. Now I can get rid of this stupid thing.” But it was such a clean break that it seemed wasteful to throw it out. I asked Stewart to glue the handle back on and he very kindly did so, coming back later to tell me that it hadn’t worked well. The glue swelled so much that, though the handle holds fast, the repair is awkward, anything but seamless. Expect the best, but accept what is. It’s perfect.

Bergamot Honey Syrup

3 cups filtered water
2 cups wildflower honey
2 bergamots, zested and juiced
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Wash, zest, and juice the bergamots. Strain the bergamot juice and set it aside. Combine the water, honey, and bergamot zest in a medium, heavy-bottomed sauce pot. Simmer until thickened, 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally. (Remember that the syrup will continue to thicken as it cools.) Remove from heat, skim any foam, and strain out the zest. Stir in the fresh bergamot and lemon juices. Allow to cool, then transfer to a bottle or jar for storage in the fridge. My yield was slightly less than a quart.

When I walked into the nursery and said I’d come for a strawberry shortcake, they looked at me like I was nuts. It doesn’t really matter that I had meant to say “raspberry shortcake,” because that doesn’t make sense either — unless you know about this new plant. It’s a thornless, dwarf raspberry [...]]]>

When I walked into the nursery and said I’d come for a strawberry shortcake, they looked at me like I was nuts. It doesn’t really matter that I had meant to say “raspberry shortcake,” because that doesn’t make sense either — unless you know about this new plant. It’s a thornless, dwarf raspberry developed especially for container gardeners. It was developed by BrazelBerries, and my local nursery didn’t have any trouble ordering it for me when I asked them about it. (That’s my little Rangpur lime tree showing off in the background. It’s having a good year.)

I had decided not to have a garden this year. I told myself it’s too much work. Plus, we spend every August in Alaska and it feels like I miss half my harvest. I get back just in time to catch the stragglers and clean up the mess. But this raspberry got me going, and I’ve since started a few new containers for herbs and seeded a little bed of greens.

Now I want to get some new blueberry bushes, too. I already have two different kinds of blueberries in big containers. They’ve blossomed furiously and beautifully this year . . .

BrazelBerries has also developed a new dwarf blueberry for containers. (You’d think they were paying me to say all of this, but they’re not. They don’t even know me.) It’s called Peach Sorbet, which seems like a strange name for a blueberry, but I think it’s because of the color of its spring foliage. I can see using it on my patio, or even creating a compact hedge in the raggedy garden alongside the house. I’m coming to understand that my favorite way to landscape is with edibles. I walk around in gardens saying, “That’s gorgeous. Can you eat it?”

Here’s another edible in the making . . .

Our dwarf Blenheim apricot tree is doing so well this spring. It has been worth all the effort of caring for it since a couple years ago when it was just a stick in a pot. We’ve pruned it, fertilized it, and built an enormous new box for it. Now we’ve been able to watch it go from blossom to leaf . . .

And from leaf to its first baby apricots! (That took three years.) I just counted them yesterday and there are more than fifty. It’s a small tree, so we’ll have to see what it can bear. I’m wondering if it will drop any fruit, or if some of it will need to be culled.

Finally, here’s a last daphne blossom. Not edible, but so sweet.

Are you growing anything new in your garden this spring?

Come July, when our too-short Blenheim apricot season arrives, I’m going to make an entire case of honeyed apricots from Marisa’s Food in Jars cookbook. Last summer, I made only four pints. I didn’t know then that I was going to give up sugar and that these apricots could serve as the base [...]]]>

Come July, when our too-short Blenheim apricot season arrives, I’m going to make an entire case of honeyed apricots from Marisa’s Food in Jars cookbook. Last summer, I made only four pints. I didn’t know then that I was going to give up sugar and that these apricots could serve as the base for a year’s worth of easy, surprisingly good micro-batch jams. They could and they will.

I’ve been eyeing my last pint of apricots since this no-refined-sugar thing started in January. When I caved and bought a clamshell of un-local organic blueberries — because they looked so good and they were on sale and, damn, it’s still March — I knew it was what the apricots were waiting for. I turned the apricots and their good, honeyed juices into a bowl and I added just one cup of blueberries. I let the mixture rest for an hour or so, then I put it in a pot and cooked it low and slow until it thickened — about half an hour — stirring as needed to prevent scorching or sticking. The result is by far the best of the honey-jam experiments I’ve yet tried, though they’ve all been good.

I’m sure part of what makes the magic is that these apricots lingered and softened in the honey syrup for so many months. I could see popping open a pint of honey-soaked apricots to greet a cup of almost every fruit that comes along, preferably in season: rhubarb, strawberries, cherries, blackberries, plums. The method is simple and the results are great; it’s a perfect way to make a pint of refined-sugar-free jam for the fridge.

Oh, and that’s the same grain-free bread I linked to a couple of weeks ago. I’ll try another one eventually. Right now I’m finding it soothing to repeat what works.

The Rangpur limes are here. My mother’s tree was not as productive as last year, yielding 40 pounds of fruit instead of 100. But that’s still a lot of Rangpur limes. I kept ten pounds for myself; the rest went to other good homes. Kaela came to San Francisco to visit and packed [...]]]>

The Rangpur limes are here. My mother’s tree was not as productive as last year, yielding 40 pounds of fruit instead of 100. But that’s still a lot of Rangpur limes. I kept ten pounds for myself; the rest went to other good homes. Kaela came to San Francisco to visit and packed some home in her luggage. I was thrilled that she used them to invent a honey-sweetened Rangpur lime preserve — very much like a marmalade — for those of us who want or need to avoid refined sugar. It contains hot peppers, too, cuz that girl is an unstoppable chile head!

I also delivered a great big box of Rangpurs to my friend Merrilee Olson at PRESERVE Sonoma, who used them to teach a citrus preserves class yesterday. I can only hope that today there are happy little jars of Rangpur jam all over Sonoma County. (PRESERVE Sonoma is Merrilee’s beautiful baby, the new incarnation of CAM FoodWorks. She helps local farmers make good use of surplus produce by turning it into unique preserves. I just set up PRESERVE Sonoma’s new Facebook page, and I think what Merrilee’s doing is well worth following.)

My challenge this year is to preserve my part of the super-sour Rangpur haul without sugar. Certainly I’ll make a batch of Kaela’s preserves. I’m also going to preserve some in salt, as Autumn Made and Did did last year.  But I found something  new to try, too.

Merrilee introduced me to a lovely book called The Preservation Kitchen, by Paul Virant. The book includes a section on aigre-doux — “sour and sweet” or bittersweet preserves. They’re made with wine, vinegar, spices, and something sweet. Virant sometimes uses honey instead of sugar, so that’s what I did here. And aigre-doux is not just for citrus. There’s blueberry, cranberry, pear, grape, you name it — a whole new world!

Still, I really have no idea what I’m doing, using Rangpurs for this — we won’t know for another month or so how well it turns out. If you want something tried and true, you can use Meyer lemon wedges, mandarin orange segments, or other types of oranges. (You’ll have an easier time putting your paws on those fruits, anyway.) I’m sure using Rangpurs will make this preserve much more sour than sweet, but I had to try it anyway.

One peeve about the mandarin aigre-doux recipe in Virant’s book: It calls for peeled, segmented mandarins, but the photo shows sliced rounds including the peel. Don’t cookbook editors think we rely on the photos that accompany a recipe? It’s confusing! Still, it was that mixed-up photo that led me to slice my Rangpurs this way, so I can’t complain too loudly. For what it’s worth, his Meyer lemon aigre-doux uses lemon wedges, including the peels. There are lots of ways to do this.

I also experimented with spices. For Meyer lemons, Virant uses bay and thyme. To mandarins, he adds black peppercorns. (Here’s an interview with Virant that contains his mandarin aigre-doux recipe and a video of him making the preserve. He seems like a nice guy!) For these Rangpurs, I put a bay leaf in every jar, but after that I let my nose guide me. (Truly, I took a Rangpur slice in one hand, opened my spice cabinet with the other, and started sniffing.) I ended up with juniper berries in a couple of jars, cracked cardamom pods in another, a fourth with coriander and black peppercorns, and the final jar with cinnamon and clove. You can also change up the type of wine, depending on the fruit.

There’s a lot you can do with a preserve like this. Some suggestions I liked were pureeing the citrus with the liquid to add to salad dressings or sauces, or dicing the fruit to add to a relish. Because Rangpurs are traditionally used to garnish meat dishes in some cultures, it’s no stretch to imagine combining pureed aigre-doux with reduced wine or butter to dress up a simple supper. Even I could do that!

Rangpur Lime Aigre-Doux

3 1/2 pounds Rangpur limes
2 3/4 cups Merlot
1 1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon Champagne vinegar
1 cup honey
1 teaspoon kosher salt
bay leaf
juniper berries or other spices as inspired

1. Put 5 regular-mouth pint jars in your water-bath canner and bring the water to a boil. (You can use wide-mouth jars, but regular-mouth jars will help to hold the fruit under the brine.) Turn off the heat and let them sit until you’re ready to use them. Place the jar lids in a small bowl, cover them with simmering water, and let them sit, too.

2. Wash the limes and slice them into rounds of uniform thickness, removing and discarding the seeds as you go. Mine were 1/4-inch thick, more or less. (I composted the butts.) One of the advantages to slicing the Rangpurs into rounds like this is that it’s fairly easy to pop out the seeds.

3. In a medium-sized saucepan, combine the wine, vinegar, honey, and salt. Bring the brine to a gentle boil and keep it hot. (I had to skim some foam off the liquid before using it.)

4. Removing one jar at a time from the hot water, pack it tight with fruit slices, a bay leaf, and your spices of choice. (I used about 8 juniper berries per jar, but as I said, the spices are an experiment.) Cover the fruit with brine, leaving 1/2-inch headspace. (Rather than fussing with a funnel, it’s easiest to do this by pouring the brine into a measuring cup or other easy-pour pitcher.) Use a chopstick to release any air bubbles, add more brine as needed, wipe the jar rim, and secure the lid. Repeat for each jar.

5. Process 15 minutes in a water-bath canner.

Yields 5 pint jars.

Put a bird on it!

P.S. I used an organic Merlot from Bonterra Vineyards for this recipe. Dry red or white wines are allowed on GAPS and the SCD! And I’ve always had an easier time with organic wines than conventional. Organic doesn’t make my face hot, red, and itchy. Whew.