Velvet apricots are here, and so, jam.

Each and every year, when velvet apricots find their way to our local markets, I fall back in love with their simple, sensual beauty. Red velvets emerge first, and then their black velvet kin, at least in my area.

I am a stone fruit fanatic, but truth be told, I rarely enjoy eating fresh apricots. Too often they are mealy, mushy, and/or flavorless. But dried, stewed, or preserved? Yes. Now we're talking. 

A few years back, in the thick of my jam-inventing heyday, I happened on a combination of velvet apricots, pluots (a plum-apricot hybrid), sugar, cognac, and a touch of black pepper. It is both basic and decadent, its taste as divine as its jewel-tone hue. 

This year's red velvet apricot crop has beaten plums and pluots to market shelves, and so I had to tinker a bit with my recipe, to optimize for the basket of apricots I'd recently brought home. I suspected that a just-ripe nectarine would do the trick, and it did. I love being forced to come up with alternative ingredients- necessity breeding creativity, and all that.

It's been a while since I had (made) a few hours to make a batch of jam at my own pace. To take time to chop and taste and photograph and stir. The serenity that results from crafting something delicious and pretty, from start to finish, is something that's always drawn me to my kitchen.

This past Friday, as I ladled hot jam into sterile glass jars, screwed on lids and bands, and set the sealed parcels into their boiling bath, I thought about how much I thrive on focused creation. Whether it's working in my garden, writing an essay, or turning a few pounds of fruit into preserves that we'll enjoy throughout the next year, I need to regularly remind myself, especially during harried times like the end of school, that making time for productive, inventive pursuits is never time wasted. 

Hope all of my domestic friends are enjoying this long weekend, and to those around the globe, cheers!

Velvet apricot and pluot (or nectarine) jam with black pepper and cognac

Old-school Em-i-lis

The past couple days have found me yearning for leisurely hours in the kitchen. It's been a long while, too long, since I've felt I had any significant amount of time to relax in there and play around. I miss it, and have noticed that when rushed, dinners become more chore than pleasure, and I cut culinary corners in ways I don't like. 

Our spring has, so far, been an awfully wet and chilly one. There have been glorious days of warmth -heat even!- and sunshine, promises of lemonade stands and relaxed evenings on the deck with a cold glass of wine. But by and large, those times have been elusive, and most days are still "pants and long-sleeve T's, boys" rather than shorts and sunblock ones.

That said, it's spring somewhere, and the produce of the glorious season is starting to roll our way. It's the right time for rhubarb, and those beautiful pink and green stalks are showing themselves at our local farmers markets as are greenhouse tomatoes and herbs and the earliest strawberries. Asparagus is in its prime.

At the grocery, fava bean pods glow green and swollen, and plums, peaches and apricots are finally being trucked in from places north of Chile!

Perhaps I should thank the mostly-gloomy days of the recent past, for they have offered me quick moments in which to steal to the markets and have then shooed me back inside when the rains return. During the latter periods, the beautiful beans and fruits and tomatoes and greens beckon to me, and I have gone to them.

Shelling beans is an always-pleasant task, meditative, productive and grounding. Favas and borlottis are my favorites to hull, because my reward is a bowl of vibrant green or cranberry-speckled beans that only nature could conjure. Favas beg to be smashed with mint and pecorino and olive oil and a squeeze of lemon, slathered atop grilled bread slicked with more oil. Nothing this beautiful can be anything but healthful or a pleasure to eat.

fava bean and mint crostini

The smell of tomatoes alone is thrilling, but then the juicy pop of each orb's taut skin is the happiest salvo. The crisp crack of each asparagus spear's end breaking off at just the point that woody and fibrous gives way to silky and tender. 

the freshest pizza 

All of these ingredients make such delicious dishes but without much effort; that is the gift of real, fresh, seasonal food.

velvet apricots

Today, I made my black velvet apricot and Cognac jam. It is as delectable as it is pretty; looks rather like a jewel, really. I love recipes that freeze an ephemeral ingredient in time for later enjoyment. It's why I make mango butter even though straight-up mango, peeled and sliced, is our favorite way to enjoy them, especially the Ataulfo, or champagne, variety that comes out in late April each year.

I also made some old favorites this week including my farro with golden beets, candied pecans, feta and a sage-chive oil and oven-roasted rosemary salmon, and, perhaps most thrillingly, treated myself to this Meyer lemon tree on Mother's Day. I'm positively over the moon about it, and will feel equal parts Cher (from Clueless; remember when she reaches out of her father's office window to pick a fresh lemon for his tea?) and Martha Stewart when I pluck a fresh lemon from its boughs.

farro with golden beets, candied pecans, feta and chive-sage oil

Now, if only the sun will come out a little bit more and help us all dry and grow and ready ourselves for the next marathon of cooking and growing and rooting, it'd be swell!

JacKwonDo, jam, hermit crab drama continues

Ol climbed into bed with me at 4am; 45 minutes later, I realized just how god-forsakenly early it was and returned him to his room. It was at that point that I heard the narrator's voice emanating from Jack's room, deep in the bowels of the Harry Potter #4 book-on-tape. I tiptoed to Jack's door -eager to catch him in the act; last week he lost these CDs for this very reason and had just regained their presence in his room last night- and flung it open. There he sat, simultaneously entranced and gaga with fatigue. Displeased, I grabbed the CDs, ordered him back to bed, and then returned to my own. Something of this nature always happens when Tom is gone. Maybe they don't pull this shit on him. Hmm... in any case, I've felt a bit peaked all day. Yet there was packing to be done, jam to be made, Tae Kwon Do to attend and so forth and so on. Oliver drew pics of girls while I made apricot-peach-almond jam this morning.

As if all lady knowledge coalesced in his mind at precisely the point at which he came across a large sheet of paper, he sketched a new tableau of Princess Leia (smudges on the sides of her head to represent her "cinnamon bun" hair), Padmé (a pinhead-sized dot atop her head signifies a pony tail), and Wonder Woman (always with a tiara on her forehead and golden lasso at her hip). I liked the fence of strong women that resulted! He said I couldn't tell anyone about it. Oops.

My inner voice then suggested that I really might want to get a start on packing because we leave at such a horrid time tomorrow morning, so I headed to J's room to gather his things. What did I spy in the hermit crab tank? A single leg/claw, a bit of aftermath from last week's cannibal murder. Apparently in the days just after the crime, despite the fact that T bought several new shells for Max to consider, he (Max) slunk around his home in the buff. At one point T became a combo of irritated and concerned with the crab's naked body and shoved him into a shell. Max wore it briefly before going nudist again. Then what does he do? He climbed right back in the damn, too-small shell he's had since last December. It seems he ate Yoda for no good reason as Y's shell just sits there, an empty and forlorn reminder of a kinship that is no longer.

Max is on his own now, folks. We are not buying him a new friend, and when he goes, that's it for our life with hermit crabs. Good lord.

My mother-in-law came over to help while I packed, god love her, so I got that taken care of, ran a few errands and dropped dinner off at the Grands (Nanny's chicken salad; caprese salad; chocolate chip cookies; bread and jam for tomorrow). They are moving into an assisted living facility in two weeks, and I will really miss seeing them. Fortunately, their new home is no farther from mine than their current one, so I can still take the boys to visit which will be lovely. Oliver makes them each a card every day that I cook for them, and I know they adore him as he does them. It's been such a lovely, special "job."

By 5p I was dragging arse, but Jack has blue belt testing coming up at Tae Kwon Do so we really needed to get a class in before leaving. MIL stayed with Oliver (what would I do without my MIL?!), and Jack and I boogied to his class. I love the studio- the instructors are so great with kids, so dedicated to teaching them this craft, and J has come to love it. He needs some coordination so this is good for him. And, while the teachers are always kind, they do ignore random verbiage which is a fabulous lesson for J. For example, in the middle of class today, I heard Jack ask, "does anyone know when my birthday was? I'll tell you! Ok? It was July 4." WHA? Why would that have possibly seemed like an opportune time to share that fact? It wasn't, and no one responded. Thank you Tae Kuk.

When these little guys, cute little pencils all of them, don their sparring gear, I can never help but laugh. There is so, so much gear, like a dozen pieces, and though it's lightweight, it looks heavy. They all end up looking like bobbleheads in boot camp. Jack had his purple belt stuck in his jock cup at one point. Hilarious.

Home, shower, bed, more jam. I've just made a wonderful new one: black velvet apricot + pluots + Cognac (friend and fellow canner, Bevi, had the idea of adding Cognac!) + a bit of black pepper. Deeelishuss.

I'm off to make some dinner and then hit the sack in anticipation of my 3:45am wake-up call. To Louisiana we go, and next Tuesday, I return without my little ones! They are staying with my parents for their annual Big Boy Week which is always awesome for everyone involved. I'll be back with you tomorrow.