At this time of year, citrus is rolling all over the Internet. Lately, I’ve seen lemons, blood oranges, and kumquats, kumquats, kumquats. I thought I’d better get my act together and write up this recipe before all the good grapefruits turn into strawberries, as they will before we know it. (You can see from the date in the picture that I’ve been meaning to get to this one for a while.) One of the main reasons I’m keeping this blog, these days, is to document my experiments replacing sugar with honey in preserves, and this one was worth scribbling down.
A couple years ago, I decided to call these mashups of citrus and sweetness “jam,” though some people will definitely say “marmalade” because the whole fruit is used, even the rind. But I still believe marmalade is more intense and takes more time: the carefully sliced rind, the long soaking, the slow chase of the perfect, translucent set. (There’s a very interesting post about how marmalade sets at different temps here, BTW. Great visuals!)
To me, this is jam because it’s just fruit solids, honey, and lemon juice, mixed up and cooked fast. The grapefruit tastes surprisingly fresh. You can also find lovely citrus jams made in a more classic way, without the rind. Food in Jars’ grapefruit jam is a good example. The way I’m doing it here is decidedly rough cut — God, I’m tired of the word “rustic.” Are you?
This recipe is based on one of my all time favorites, Texas Ruby Red Marmalade, by the Cosmic Cowgirl — aka the award-winning Stephanie McClenny of Confituras, from Austin, Texas. I’ve been making her recipe several times a year for four years now, sometimes adding half a cup of champagne and calling it grapefruit mimosa jam. I never wanted to post my own version because who needs to mess with perfection?
But trying it without sugar — using only honey? I had no idea how this would work out. (I’ve successfully made jams with Meyer lemons and honey and Rangpur limes and honey, but this was a first for graperfruit.) Even as it was cooking, I didn’t know. Was it going to thicken enough? (Clearly, it did.) Would the honey taste overcooked? (Thank goodness, it doesn’t, because with three and a half cups of wildflower honey, that would be an expensive mistake.) I’m happy to have another preserve that works without refined sugar.
Do know that you must really and truly love grapefruit to love this preserve — either Stephanie’s version or this one. It’s got a bitter kick cuz it’s good that way.
Grapefruit Honey Jam
makes about 3 pints
3 pounds organic pink or red grapefruit
3 1/2 cups wildflower honey
juice of one lemon
Wash the grapefruits, slice them in half, and place them in a large stock pot. Add enough water to cover the fruit by a couple of inches and then simmer, uncovered, until the grapefruit halves are very soft. This usually takes about an hour and a half. (I test them with a wooden skewer. They’re done when it’s easy to pierce them all the way through.) Add more hot water if needed during the simmering process.
Drain the grapefruit halves and set them aside until you can handle them without burning your hands. Then place a cutting board inside a roasting pan. Cut the grapefruit into chunks, removing the big seeds as you work. (This part is all from Stephanie. I’m so glad she figured out the cutting board in the roasting pan thing. It keeps you from making a huge mess.) Don’t worry about any tiny seeds. After what comes next, you’ll never notice them.
Put the grapefruit chunks into a food processor and process until finely chopped. (You can see a picture of this by following the link to the Cosmic Cowgirl recipe, above.) For this recipe, I think it’s best to chop them quite fine, though you don’t want to turn them into an indistinct mush.
Transfer the chopped grapefruit to your jam pot and add the honey and lemon juice. (Don’t scrimp on the quality of your honey. You will taste it, so it needs to be great.) I found it helpful to warm the honey first. Slowly bring the mixture to a gently boil, then simmer and stir frequently until the jam thickens. There’s really no need to do a fancy test for the set with this one. You’ll see distinct clear tracking (slow to fill) across the bottom of the pan when it’s done and it will already be mounding up on a spoon. (I forgot to write down how long this took. My best guess is 20-25 minutes.)
Ladle or pour the jam into clean, hot jars, leaving 1/4″ headspace. Bubble your jars with a wooden chopstick or other tool of choice. Wipe rims, apply lids, and process 15 minutes in a hot-water bath, adjusting time for your altitude if necessary.
Also, I wanted to quickly follow up on my post about saving citrus trees from freezes and frosts with Christmas lights. It worked fabulously. The Rangpur limes are here to prove it . . .
Yesterday, I made three pounds of buttery, salty roasted almonds. It’s a family thing — if a slightly complicated one. My biological dad’s mom taught my mom how to make them. My mom and dad split up when I was small, but my mom carried on the holiday tradition of making the almonds because, in that short time, members of both sides of the family had become addicted to them.
As a kid, I liked to hang around the kitchen while my mom prepared to roast the nuts. There was one main reason for this. The almonds must be soaked and blanched, and one way to liberate a nut from its skin is to squeeze it so that the slick almond shoots across the room at your mother, with missile-like velocity. What kid wouldn’t hang around for that? Every year, I have to launch a few almonds in this way, for old times’ sake.
Last year was the first year I made these almonds myself. This is the part of the story that’s harder to tell. My dad loved these nuts so much that for years I would send him a batch that my mom had made, but I always let him think I had done it myself. (He thought “I” made them better than anyone else in the family.) Why I perpetuated this white lie is part of the familial complication — basically, I wanted everyone to be happy. But last Christmas, I decided to come clean. I asked my mom for instructions and I made the nuts. I like to think that I also told my dad the truth, that it was really my mom who had been making the almonds for me to give to him all those years. The sad thing is that I don’t remember if I told my dad the truth or not. And now I can’t ask him, because he passed away in October.
I’m so glad I made the almonds for my dad last year. I expect I’ll continue to make them as the years go on. I want to record the method here, not just because you might want to do this yourself, but so our family doesn’t lose the directions – imprecise as they may be. Last December, my mom gave me detailed instructions over the phone, but when I went back to my notes, this is what I found I’d written down:
- boil water
- steep nuts
- drain in colander/skin
- pat dry
- cookie sheet 1/2 stick melt down
- add lawyer nuts (my handwriting can be pretty bad)
- nicely coat with butter/not too close
- space layer paper towels
- dump onto towels
- fine grain salt
- cool before container
That’s totally clear, right?
If it’s not, I can elaborate. What you need for each batch of almonds is:
- 1 pound almonds
- 1/2 stick butter
- plenty of fine grain salt (we’ve found that ordinary Morton’s works best, better quality Kosher or sea salts don’t seem to stick as well)
1. I get a 3 pound bag of almonds from Costco (otherwise this is a very pricey undertaking) and plan for three batches, blanching all the nuts at once. All you need to do is bring a big pot of water to a boil, remove the pot from the heat, then dump in the almonds and let them soak in the hot water until they’ll easily slip their skins. I think this could be as quick as 15 minutes, but today I left them soaking for about an hour. Drain the almonds and remove the skins. I do this sitting on the floor in front of the TV. It takes me exactly the time of a full-length feature film to get the skins off 3 pounds of almonds.
2. If you want to be precise about it, you can weigh out 1 pound of almonds. I measure by eyeballing the 3-pound pile and taking what seems like a third. Pat the almonds dry between paper towels. Turn on your oven’s broiler and place a rack 5-6 inches underneath it. Put the 1/2 stick of butter on a cookie sheet with a lip and melt the butter under the broiler, checking it frequently and sliding it around to be sure the butter doesn’t scorch. Then add a single layer of nuts (they can be “lawyer nuts” if you want, but almonds are probably better) to the pan, coating them well with the butter and making sure they’re not piled on top of each other. Also, at this point you should also lay down a long double layer of paper towels on the counter, so the towels are ready when you bring the almonds out of the oven.
3. Roast the nuts under the broiler, checking and stirring them frequently. Frequently is key. After the first few minutes, you’ll be checking every couple of minutes (every minute toward the end) and “mooshing them around” (says my mom) so they don’t burn. This is where I still have some trouble. I usually don’t moosh often enough and always end up with some burned nuts. Luckily, blackened almonds also have some fans, so you can pull those out and set them aside for the lovers of burned food. The roasting and mooshing process takes about 15 minutes in all.
4. Remove the nuts from the oven and spread them onto the waiting paper towels. While they are still hot, salt them liberally. Use more salt than you think you need, because a lot of it won’t stick.
5. Let the nuts cool completely before you put them into any kind of container. This will keep them crunchy.
I’d like to end with a link to a short post I wrote about my dad back in 2008. I’d forgotten about it until just now. Merry Christmas, Dad. I’ll leave your almonds under the tree.
Last summer a friend gave me frozen plums. Enormous, icy bricks of purple, purple plums. They’d been tucked away in her freezer for quite a while, and she needed to clear them out in anticipation of moving. So this fall, when I haven’t had time to preserve a single thing, I’ve been opening the freezer and thinking, whoa, that’s a lot of plums. Those, in addition to the plums I put away in June when my neighbor’s tree fell down.
Tumbling toward the holidays, I wanted to make something instead of cranberry relish with turkey. My mom makes the best cranberry relish. (I know, everyone’s mom probably does that. But my mom’s is really the best.) I’m still not eating sugar, though — at least not much — so I decided to try for something rich and tart and sweetened with honey. Plums and spices seemed just right, and plums do the fruit butter thing so well. Even though they’d been in the freezer longer than I want to say, the texture of this butter was just perfect and the flavor good enough that the first batch is already gone.
And that’s okay, because I have more plums.
Holiday Plum Butter Sweetened with Honey
6 cups plum pulp
1.5 cups wildflower honey
1 tablespoon Grand Marnier (or other orange liqueur)
2 tablespoons orange zest, finely minced
10 cardamom pods, cracked and ground (husks discarded)
1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
1 vanilla bean, sliced lengthwise
1 bay leaf
1. Break down the plums into pulp. Mine were frozen with the pits still in them, so I let them thaw, washed my hands well, and plunged in, fishing out the pits from the mixture. Then I used a Vitamix (any food processor will do) to make a roughly blended pulp.
2. Add all remaining ingredients except the vanilla bean and bay leaf. I gently warmed a cup of honey and stirred it into the plum pulp, then mixed in the Grand Marnier, finely minced orange zest, cardamom (cracked and ground with mortar and pestle), and lemon juice. I let all of this sit in the fridge overnight, because I wanted to give the mixture a chance to come together so I could taste it before cooking. (Letting a mixture sit for a night or even an hour is a good thing to do if you think you may want to make some adjustments to the flavor.) The plums were very tart so I decided to add a half cup more honey before cooking, for the total of 1.5 cups.
3. Add the vanilla bean and bay leaf, then cook. I brought the mixture to a steady but gentle boil over medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Then I almost immediately turned down the heat to medium low — and then down even further as cooking progressed. Watch for sticking and stir as needed — toward the end, you’ll be stirring often. After cooking for about 30 minutes, I used an immersion blender to turn the mixture buttery smooth, then continued cooking until the mixure was very thick, about 40 minutes. There was a good clear track across the bottom of the pan (the track filled in verrry slowly) to tell me the butter was done.
4. Store in the fridge or process in a hot-water bath. For me, this recipe yielded about two pints of plum butter for the fridge. If I’d canned it, I would have left 1/4″ head space and processed the jars for 10 minutes in a hot-water bath.