Setting.

I've waited for jam to set, marmalade to gel, and liquor to infuse... waiting and preparing and the joyful anticipation of what will happen; this seems like such a theme in my life right now. Right now, it's runny jelly, but I think all the ingredients are there and things will come together and set up beautifully after proper care. Oh, and not touching, poking, shaking, tilting, or otherwise disturbing it.

In other news, nettles + endive + cheese = yummy!

Marmalade days

Today my trusty chopping assistant and I tackled this recipe:

http://www.foodinjars.com/2009/04/09/honey-lemon-marmalade/

It didn't even take an hour to chop, thanks to helping hands AND new knives. I have never made this kind of jam or jelly before, only freezer jams, and I don't totally know how the water bath process should look. Of course I went to 3 different stores looking for a canner with a jar rack to no avail but at least I got the new knives. I reprocessed some of the jars because I got paranoid about the jar lids moving, though now that they are cooling the lids seem to be depressed and not popping/moving, so I suppose that's a good sign. It's super dark from the buckwheat honey (Eugene, Oregon!) speckled with bright cheery yellow lemon chunks (Mission SF!) and only a little translucent.

Okay, RR is on TV making a comfort-food dinner. I'm intrigued, except I know I won't be eating any of it.

I've been reading so much Michael Pollan, watched Food, Inc. last night, and right now for me food is kind of ruined. I don't eat lots of processed food, or so I thought, but now even my purchased granola bars and packaged health-nut brown flakes-and-nuts cereals and cartons of almond milk are all seeming suspect as I read the labels. I was starving today and stopped to get coffee, and was looking at all the snacks and to-go lunches and trying to find some real food in the food, something that wasn't government-subsidized to keep farmers depressed, or manufactured to use up excess cheap corn products, or full of sugars. And so, I ate nothing until I got home and shoveled down blueberries and my (organic, humane-association-approved, locally-produced) cottage cheese but then, oh no, there are additives in it... ergh.

What's a girl to eat? And what the heck am I going to spread this marmalade on?

Sweetening the sour, continued.

This week's mental health project: marmalade.

It seems like so much work to make preserves, so why not enlist a friend and knock out two different kinds at once? And if the friend in question is also a lady, well, as my friend Jack points out, we will be making lady marmalade. Har. Har. Har.

Lady marmalade recipes are both courtesy of my newfound eye-candy blog, www.foodinjars.com. Marisa McClellan created a tantalizing looking orange-ginger marmalade and also a honey lemon marmalade, made with buckwheat honey, and I'm going to mince and chop and mince and chop and mince and chop and boil up these two. I am really excited to eat these! The photographs on her blog are positively mouth-watering, and the recently featured charoset-inspired jam looks incredible. If I didn't have fifty million pounds of citrus from friends' backyards to process, I'd be making that.

The great folks at Berkeley Bowl West totally just won my heart. Not only does my coworker's awesome partner work there, I just called there looking for liquid pectin. The woman who answered didn't know what it was or if they carried it, but she asked me for my telephone number and said she would call me back in a few minutes. True to her word, my phone rang and she told me not only that they carried it, but exactly what part of which aisle it's in. Aww.

I'd be feeling totally awesome except for just one thing, which I can't set with sugar and some pectin.

In the interim, it's time to listen to the All Girl Summer Fun Band. And watch a movie.

sunshine!

Spring in California always brings a big fat smile to my face, and this year promises to be a banner year. I've been tackling some personal projects and cleaning up muddy messes I made throughout the rainy season, and setting up roots to minimize future erosion. Yes, that's a pretty lame metaphor, but I haven't had coffee in over a week, so bear with me.

Yesterday was glorious. We had doggy company at our house, and after an exhausting (and hot!) walk, a bath and beauty treatment, a productive training session, and then another long walk with his dad, our wee dog visitor was totally exhausted. He and Booker curled up snoring, while the humans watched some Alton Brown and ate some raw blue cheese. So nice.

The limoncello has already turned the same color as the daffodils on my windowsill. I can't wait to see what 35 more days will do. I'm seriously toying with the idea of doing a second batch of something different, either another limoncello recipe or possibly lime or kumquat. It feels so hopeful to be making something, totally hands-off, that I'll get to enjoy in the future when I think my life will be a little different than it is now. I have a bunch of secret hopes, and it would be so awesome to enjoy all the various fruits of my labor at once.

Project eat-at-home has been going fairly well but I can't believe how often I need to eat now. I spent a few days utterly sick and didn't eat anything, and now have come roaring back to life, eating four or five small meals every day. I am about to go celebrate by overindulging in breakfast food. Hint: red flannel hash is on the menu. And coffee. Woooo!

When life hands you lemons...

... make limoncello.

I've had enough sour in my life over the past few weeks and months, and early spring in California means there is also an overload of tart citrus. At work and in stores, there are soft, crumpled brown grocery bags full of lemons and oranges from backyards all over the East Bay, free for the taking. Summertime brings a glut of zucchini (meh), fennel (hmm) and tomatoes (yay!) but right now it's all about the glorious, shiny, cheerful citrus fruits. Their clean and acidic smell is everywhere.

When I was in high school, somehow some essay I wrote was entered in a writing contest sponsored by the local Optimists club. I have no idea how my piece was entered, but when I won a prize, my friends and family found it completely hilarious that I, a well-practiced and utterly devoted pessimist (oh, but I'll tell you I'm just a realist) had won anything from any "optimist" organization. I promptly spent the scholarship money on dressage coaching and other horsey things, and there was nary a smiley-face sticker in sight, but here I am, making literal and figurative limoncello with my load of lemons.

I stopped off at Oak Barrel Winecraft in Berkeley after work. The nice guys there hooked me up with a perfectly sized jar formerly used for pickles, but suggested using a sun tea container with a spigot for future endeavors. In eighty days' time, I'll be getting my bottles and cork stoppers from here and also bring them some pickles.

I then bought more Everclear than anyone over the age of 22 should ever purchase. California's decided that we aren't able to hold our liquor, so the super high-proof stuff isn't legal here, but somehow I think 150 proof will work out just fine.

At home, I gathered about twenty lemons, scrubbed them thoroughly, and started zesting them. It's easiest if you have a friend that owes you a favor, but if you don't have that, just use a sharp veggie peeler. Make sure you don't get much pith (white) because it's pretty bitter, and after 80 days of steeping, the bitterness will be very strong. It didn't take too long to peel the little bastards lemons and I didn't get too much knuckle skin in the mix, either. I dumped all the pretty, bright pieces into my jar with a bottle of Everclear, sealed it up, and hid it in my cabinet. I'll harass it again in about 40 days for step two, assuming I don't drink the other bottle of Everclear, in which case I won't be doing anything much other than cirrhosing.

It should be done at the beginning of June, which is close enough to the end of May and my birthday, and also the birthday of someone very dear who I hope will share this boozy lemony goodness with me.

Oh, and as for what to do with the 20 naked lemons? Well, if you know someone doing the Master Cleanse, which I like to call "the spicy lemonade diet," they'll take them, because that's the only sustenance they are allowed, poor things. I plan on making lemonade and lemon custards and lemon cookies, all of which I will theoretically give away, because I am allegedly on a diet. Ahem.