Setting

  • The Markets: Any of the farmers markets in Chicago that I work throughout the week.
  • The Orchard (aka the Farm): 81 acres in Southwest Michigan, about 2.5 hours from Chicago.

 

Cast of characters

  • Peter: My boss and chief fruit slinger.
  • Lupe: Farm foreman. Lives at the orchard and directs the day-to-day agricultural labor.
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    2009 Categories

    Entries in raspberries (5)

    Tuesday
    08Sep2009

    "So . . . tomorrow at 8 o'clock?"

    Rosy-fingered dawn tickles my whiskers and I sigh contentedly. I feel more rested than —

    Wait.

    Yesterday was Monday.

    Today is Tuesday.

    OH FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK I AM LATE FOR THE MARKET.

    I didn't know how late. But the sunlight peaking through my blinds was a very bad sign.

    Really, it's not surprising that one day I should fail to get up at 4.15am. If anything, it's more surprising that this is the first workday in four years that I have failed to do so.

    Of course, there are those days that I don't work when I pop out of bed at 4.15.

    Why couldn't today have been one of those days?

    When I got to the market at 6.30, some of the other vendors gave me good-natured grief.

    At the end of the market, I saw Peter.

    "So . . . tomorrow at 8 o'clock?" I asked him with a smirk.

    He looked at me. "I wasn't going to say anything."

    He didn't have to.

    I felt bad enough.

    Wednesday
    22Jul2009

    "Were these raspberries picked this morning?"

    "Where are these peaches from?"

    "South Haven, Michigan."

    "No, not where. When?"

    "They were picked yesterday."

    "So they're from this year?"

    "This year?"

    "Yeah, they're not from last year?"

    "No . . . these peaches are from this year."

    "OK, good."

    Some people are hard to figure out, but easy to please.

    He bought some peaches.

    * * *

    "Were these raspberries picked this morning?"

    "Are you kidding me? No, we did not pick raspberries in the dark this morning before we came to the market."

    * * *

    Peter: "She was a 'Dan Special.' "

    Me: "Hmm?"

    Peter: "Wasn't that irritible bowel lady?"

    Me: "No."

    Peter: "Well, she still seemed like your type of customer."

    Me: "Thanks, Peter."

    * * *

    We were packing up when a woman with a familiar face came up to me.

    "We chatted the other day about freezing blueberries."

    Uh oh. 

    "Well, I just wanted to let you know, it worked out exactly like you said it would."

    Score! "Oh, I'm so glad to hear that. Thanks for letting me know."

    "Yeah, well, a lot of people around here dispense a lot of advice. But yours actually worked."

    "Well, thanks for saying that. I appreciate it."

    There was that. Plus, only one person walked away in a huff today.

    So it was a good day.

    * * *

    Don't trust any fruit recipe that doesn't include a little bit of salt.

    * * *

    Bring re-sealable containers — old take-out containers, Rubbermaid containers, whatever — to the market and use those to carry your berries home. More and more people are doing this. Even more should.

    * * *

    I couldn't choose between a blueberry or peach crumble, plus I had some red and black raspberries on hand. So I made a mixed-fruit crumble.

    It came out of the oven looking like hell. But it tasted like heaven.

    * * *

    Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it has started again. The poking of the peaches.

    And if you're on your cell phone? And you're just mindlessly poking the peaches while you tell someone that you're totally at the farmers market and they have, like, peaches?

    I am tempted to poke you until you stop.

    Friday
    03Jul2009

    Strawberry-raspberry etc. preserves

    The other day after I made strawberry-rhubarb preserves, I canned whole strawberries.

    Yesterday, I made strawberry preserves. I also made strawberry-raspberry preserves with balsamic vinegar and black pepper. This is ridiculous, but: It was the first time I've combined fruits in a preserve. And the first time I'd added other flavors and spices.

    As you can see, it's really off the hook around here.

    At any rate, normally I'd wait until late autumn before I tried the strawberry-raspberry preserves with balsamic vinegar and black pepper. But this morning I found that a jar hadn't sealed properly. It's not a big deal. It happens occasionally, though I think I went the whole season without it happening last year.

    I could have reprocessed the jar and sealed it. If it were anything but the S-RPWBVABP, probably I would have just done that.

    But I didn't.

    I buttered my cast-iron frying pan and toasted some bread in it. The toasted bread was drizzled with olive oil. Over this went a few dollops of strawberry-raspberry preserves with balsamic vinegar and black pepper.

    The ruby-red berries sat on a golden sheen of olive oil.

    So far this season, I'm up to eight half-pint jars of preserves and three pint jars of whole berries. After breakfast, I labeled the jars.

    I like the strawberry-raspberry preserves with balsamic vinegar and black pepper.

    But if the name were any longer I'd have to write "continued on next jar."

    * * *

    It would make me the happiest fruit blogger in the world if Fruit Slinger inspired someone to make and can preserves for the first time.

    You do need mason jars with sealable lids . You don't need a lot of special equipment. Yes, there are things you can buy that will make your life easier. But if you have the jars and a few pots — one of them large enough to hold the mason jars with an inch or so of boiling water above it — then you are ready to go.

    You'll need a way to lift the hot jars in and out of the water, too, so a jar-grabber is a good idea. But I managed without one for a while. So it can be done.

    Beyond that, you'll need a recipe. The Ball book is a good place to start. It gives you step-by-step instructions.

    My goal is to make you so sick and tired of hearing me talk about canning that you do it yourself in a desperate attempt to shut me up.

    I mean, it won't work. But I'm just saying.

    Thursday
    02Jul2009

    Waffled french toast

    While the espresso machine came to temperature, I warmed some maple syrup in a ramekin on the very lowest flame.

    The bread I had sliced the night before, after I was finished prepping strawberries for jam. It was left to sit out on the counter to get slightly stale.

    In a pie tin, I cracked two eggs. I stirred in some milk, a shot of vanilla, a pinch of salt and a dash of nutmeg. Two slices of bread soaked while I made my americano and preheated the waffle iron.

    This is waffled french toast, which I discovered thanks to this blog, which I discovered thanks to this blog.

    Yesterday I had a long discussion about raspberries with a frequent customer. She had plans to make jam, but wasn't in love with the raspberries.

    "They're still too tart," she said.

    "But don't you want tartness in your jam berries?" I shot back. "You're going to be burying them in sugar. Don't you want something that will stand up to that? Something that will be a little bright after all that sugar?"

    She bought six pints of raspberries.

    The waffled french toast was bathed in maple syrup. The tang of the berries stood up to it well.

    Wednesday
    01Jul2009

    "I'll let you have the final word on that."

    "What are we going to do with all these raspberries?" Peter surveyed the table — so many unsold baskets on yet another gray, rainy market day.

    "Well, I can pay you for some of them," I offered.

    What was this new thing I had with paying for fruit? I had already bought another $10 worth of strawberries off another stand today.

    This was becoming a bad habit.

    Peter looked at me. "I think we're beyond where you need to pay for fruit."

    He caught me a little off guard. "Well, I just meant it's a lot of berries and ..."

    "We are beyond you paying me for fruit," he said, matter-of-factly.

    "I'll let you have the final word on that, Peter."

    I took home three quarts of strawberries, two pints of blueberries, two pints of raspberries and two pints of cherries. I try to be conscientious when I take fruit — if something's left over or abundant, that's one thing. If my taking it deprives the farm of a revenue opportunity, that's another. 

    Today, I deprived the farm of a few small revenue opportunities.

    Oh, maybe yesterday, too: I took home three baskets of fraises des bois.

    But Peter told me to take those home. In fact, it was the first thing he said to me Saturday morning, when we threw open the back of the truck and found the flats of wild strawberries stacked on the edge.

    "Don't you think you should take some of these home and make jam out of them?"

    Yes, Peter. In fact, I do think that.

    Yes, I do.