Stewart said this jam is the best he’s ever had. He got so excited about it that he ran out the door to buy vanilla ice cream while the mixture was still cooking, so we wouldn’t waste even the foam I skimmed off the top. Myself, I’m a little bit partial to last year’s Blenheim apricot jam (if fate is willing, I’m going to get this year’s Blenheims tomorrow) but I concur — tayberries are something special. [...]
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The day after I met Julia, we joined Kate and Tigress for a Can Jammers’ picnic at Thompson-Finch Farm in Ancramdale, New York. We were quite a strawberry-picking crew: me from California, Julia on her home turf, Kate up from Brooklyn, Tigress from the Berkshires. It was a hot, humid morning, and we were all different shades of pink by the end of it. But between me and Julia, who did an admirable job of juggling a toddler along with her hat full of strawberries (I’d dare any circus performer to pull that off), we managed to pick fifteen pounds for her to take home. I picked for Julia — because what would I do with a flat of strawberries and no kitchen? — and she promised to send me some of whatever delicious thing she makes with them. [...] If it weren’t for golden-hearted Julia at What Julia Ate, I would be home in my kitchen, pink-faced from steam, turning out jar after jar of jam with no one to talk to. Instead, I’m doing the same, but conversing with a whole world of folks who actually care about what happens when [...]  |
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