Success and failure (in the "Jam Factory")

Ambition has always been my tragic flaw. I am, and have very often been, a victim of my own success. This past weekend, amid a myriad of merry-making activities, I attempted (and actually) succeeded in making a batch of “Chunky Grapefruit, Lemon & Lime Marmalade”. (Thank you, Easy British Cooking!)

It turned out sooooo beautifully, and was in fact quite dee-lish! But, could I rest on my laurels and merely enjoy my sweet success? Oh no. In the afterglow and sugar high, I decided and announced that my preserve-making efforts would become the epicenter of my holiday efforts, and that my resulting output would be packaged beautifully and given as gifts to our family and friends. Famous last words.

My fourth day in, and I’m ready to struggle myself with the strings of my cook’s apron!

Last night, as the D.E.B. was in the living room setting up our stout Nordmann Fir tree (from Thelsford Farm, Charlecote), I fretted in the kitchen over “Chunky Marmalade - Round 2”. I was spurred on by the glowing success of finally, finally (yes, finally!) championing the testy and quintessential “Lemon Curd”. Yes, I did it!! Blood, sweat, tears and two lemons yielded two tiny, jam jars of sunshine. Such great effort for such small output. “I need to maximize my output.” I coached myself in a business-like manner.

So, INSTEAD of tackling the next round of the grapefruit, lime and lemon concoction as directed in the cookbook, I decided to attempt some elaborate math(s), and tackle enough for three batches in one go. Of course, as the evening and my energy waned, I got distracted.

After festive glass of wine or two, looking at our lovely, luscious tree in the living room, I decided that I HAD to make a hand-made, keepsake ornament to be the first ornament on our English Christmas tree. I whizzed round, grabbed my scissors, needles and a bit of calico fabric, and made a sweet, little, red heart with a navy blue satin ribbon hang tie. “You always have my heart.” I said to the D.E.B. as I handed him the ornament. A kiss and a cuddle later, and…Grapefruit? What Grapefruit?

By the time I got back to “the Marmalade project,” I had forgotten just how many bits of grapefruit, lime and lemon I’d used. (Zoinks!) This is important because of the “Fruit to Sugar” ratio. Basically, I didn’t know how much sugar I needed to add. So, I overcompensated… Now, I find myself sitting with sticky fingers, sticky hair, a sticky kitchen, and a giant pot of marmalade the color of Marmite, but with the cloying taste of treacle/syrup. Why, why, why didn’t I just relish my lemon curd success, and take my time and work slowly and patiently, working on one batch of marmalade at a time?

I have tried everything to rescue this project, and to spare our family and friends the need for excessive dental work in 2009! We shall see. If ambition is my downfall, tenacity and creativity are my saving graces.

I have learned much from this great preserve-making adventure. I have learned that I have support and resources that I didn’t even imagine. I’ve learned to take good advice, and to trust my own instincts, at least in the case of the notorious and elusive Lemon Curd. Perhaps the lesson from “The Great Grapefruit Marmalade Saga” is that age-old lesson I refuse to learn: patience is a virtue; and it helps to slow down, and take things one step at a time. 

Curds & ways

Being a “Domestic Goddess” isn’t easy.

I have spent the past week neck-deep in cranberries, oranges and lemons. High from my Thanksgiving successes, I volunteered to make some cranberry relishes and lemon curd for the St. Peter’s Church Christmas Fayre.

“Lemon curd? You’re brave.” said Hilary, the Barford W.I.’s reigning “jam & preserve making” Queen. Hilary is my hero. She can do more things with rhubarb than I can even imagine!

I’d gone round to Hilary’s to collect some spare “jam jars”. In America, we’d call them “canning jars”. Regardless to what you call them, they are virtually impossible to find. (Not even at Sainsbury’s! I was shocked.) Hilary graciously gave me a dozen jam jars to play with. As I ‘clinked’ my way back home, faithful hound in tow, through the Barford allotment gardens, and up passed the playing field, I found myself thinking about the very thin line between bravery and foolishness, and the fact I was undoubtedly about to cross it…

My new favorite cookbook calls ‘Lemon Curd’ the “quintessentially British preserve.” However, that is only part of the reason why I’m utterly smitten with it. Lemon Curd is sunshine in a jar.  It is tart, yet sweet and buttery all at once. It has a texture like velvet. Used as a sweet spread for morning toast, or freshly made scones, it tastes of fresh, English summer days. And, it is also a major feat of British culinary engineering. If I could replicate this divine substance, what could I not do?

Here’s the recipe:

Lemon curd

Ingredients:

2 large unwaxed lemons

125 g unsalted butter, cut into cubes

180 g caster sugar

3 eggs, beaten

Finely grate the zest from the lemons into a heatproof bowl. Squeeze the juice and add that to the bowl with the butter and sugar.

(Now the tricky part) Place the bowl over a pan of just-simmering water, making sure the water doesn’t touch the base of the bowl. Stir until the butter melts, add the eggs and, using a wooden spoon, stir for 10-15 minutes until the mixture thickens noticeably and takes on a translucent look.

Well, try I did, and fail, I did.

Thankfully, I had much more success with my Cranberry relishes. I made a sweet one – and got creative and used tangerine juice, instead of regular orange juice, and added orange zest to finish. I also did a traditional, British, savoury cranberry relish, made with cider vinegar.

The poor D.E.B. suffered patiently through countless taste testing as my official taster. Given time, I’m sure he will have the strength to face a cranberry again. I had to make a second batch of my savoury variety, after the D.E.B. said gently (and with watering eyes): “You might want to tone down the vinegar in this one, sweetie.”  Well, I’ve never been good with math(s), and Metric is hard.

I did finally get the balance right, I think. Then, I boiled my jam jars dutifully, cut and pasted cute, little labels, and then, on Thursday night, before W.I. meeting, I delivered my wares to the Christmas Fayre drop off point. “No Lemon Curd?” organizer Alan smiled at me. I admitted my defeat reluctantly, and Alan kindly cooed over my beautifully packaged cranberry relishes to make me feel better.

The D.E.B. was and still is quite proud of my “Christmas Fayre project” and my little cranberry relishes. He was as excited as I to see them on display at the Christmas Fayre on Saturday afternoon.  I was also more than a little nervous that my wares would not sale at all, and that they would be left, poor darlings, to languish unwanted, unsold on the “Jams & Preserves” stall. Hoping to avoid this potential personal horror, I’d urged the D.E.B. that we get there early and not stay long.  (Basically, see them and run.)

Our plans were thwarted by a surprise visit from our wonderful friends, A&D. Another fantastic couple that enrich our lives immensely. To say that A&D are “foodies” would be an understatement. I think that I shall dub them “King & Queen of Cuisine.”  K&Q offered solid advice and encouragement on the Lemon Curd saga.

Then - on to the Christmas Fayre! I donned my Fool/Jester’s hat (yes, I have one, and yes, it does have bells) and feigned a holly-jolly aspect. As we left the house, I turned to the D.E.B. and said, “I’m not embarrassing you, am I?” He just smiled and said, “Never.”

When we arrived, the School Hall was a hive of activity and holiday cheer. I tried to appear calm and casual -- well as relaxed as one can be wearing a fool’s hat -- as I scanned the room for my tiny bits of treasure on the various stalls. “There she is,” the familiar, smiling voice of the Barford W.I. president called out to me from behind the W.I. stall.

I shyly inquired about my relishes, and asked if I could take a picture of them on display. “No, can’t do that.” Madam President chirped and smiled broad. I felt myself blush suddenly and redder than the silly fool’s hat I was wearing. “They are long gone!” she beamed. Another W.I. member working the stall added: “They went straightaway, they did.” I was stunned and relieved. And then very disappointed that I hadn’t thought to take a picture of them beforehand.

My W.I., and soon-to-be-formed Barford Writers’ Group chum, Diane, had heard about my Lemon Curd attempt, (news travels fast in these parts), and caught me at the mince pie stall, eager to offer me a bit of encouragement: “Never you mind, it’s a very tricky thing,” she soothed in her rolling, Scottish accent. 

I haven’t given up, and I shall have “another go.” I’m just glad I tried. Just by making the attempt, I allowed myself to be part of something new. To contribute something to this wonderful community.

After a few more mince pies, some delicious mulled wine, and a visit to Father Christmas/Santa (and yes, I did sit on his knee!), the D.E.B. and I wandered home in the crisp, late afternoon air.

When we opened our door, we found a small parcel waiting for me.  It was a copy of Mary Norwalk’s book: Jams, Marmalades and Sweet Preserves (1973). Page 99, “Curds & Honeys,” was bookmarked with a tiny note card. The note card said: “You Can Do It! A mistake may slow you – but don’t let it stop you!”