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 sour cherries (4)

    Friday
    24Jul2009

    Four jams

    Did I promise myself I wouldn't make jam this week? That seems unwise. I should make fewer promises and more jam.

    Monday I cranked out an easy one — green apple jelly, from the unripe apples I picked last week. Full of pectin, this was to be used as a thickener in the other recipes to follow. 

    Today I made two sour cherry jams: Sour cherry with rose petals, and sour cherry with almonds. 

    I don't know how I feel about rose petals as a food, but it was the sort of thing I couldn't not make.

    Like black currant jam.

    If you are lucky enough to find some wild black currants, wash them well and pick off the stems. Chop them, then put them through a coarse sieve, or puree them briefly in a food processor. Measure, then add an equal amount of sugar. Bring quickly to a boil and cook gently for 20 minutes, stirring. Pour into hot, sterilized jars and seal.

    - The Fannie Farmer Cookbook

    I walked up to another stand at Green City Market and picked up some black currants.

    "Hey, you want to do a deal on these black currants?" I was hoping for a professional courtesy rate although — I'll be honest — part of me was also hoping that he would tell me no and I could do something else with my afternoon. Something other than making black currant jam.

    Maybe I shouldn't have taken the phone call in the first place. And when I say the phone call, I mean the phone call a day or so before in which my friend called to tell me that David had made black currant jam — and if we get into who David is, I'll never finish this sentence — and that it was "extraordinary."

    "Extraordinary?"

    "Extraordinary!"

    I need another jam project like I need a hole in my head.

    Also, do you know how hard it is for me to write about making jam now? "Now" meaning now that Jamlady might be looking over my shoulder — well, looking over Bev Alfeld's shoulder looking over my shoulder.

    Before I bought the black currants, I tasted one.

    They were . . . OK. Not as tart as I was expecting, with a more complex flavor than the red currant with which I was familiar, and a slightly medicinal quality to them. I wasn't bowled over.

    I bought three pints. This, apparently, is what I do with fruit I'm not sure I like.

    At home, I cracked open The Fannie Farmer Cookbook.

    It didn't take too long to pick the stems out of the currants, although I did take the extra step of putting them through the food mill to remove the skins and some of the seeds.

    Black currants are naturally high in pectin, a fact I discovered by looking around on the Internet while my black currant jam was on the stove turning into Flubber.

    It tastes great, though.

    Which reminds me: Black raspberry preserves with chocolate and fraises des bois are on the right path, but they need a little less chocolate next time.

    * * *

    Over the next few weeks, I'll be publicly thanking some people for contributing to my Kickstarter project, which helped fund the blog's hosting and purchase a new camera. Thirty people contributed. Can you believe that? I can't.

    Contributions ranged from $2 to $150. I know about a half dozen of the contributors personally. Another half dozen or so I know from the Internet or the markets. The rest were strangers. I can't decide if I'm more grateful to the people who contributed without knowing me, or to the people who knew me and contributed anyway. So let's call it a tie.

    Some contributors signed up to receive a jar of jam. One wanted a print of a photo from the blog. Two will be rewarded with tree-naming rights at the orchard. Some chose to receive nothing in return. A handful requested a shout-out on the web site.

    It's that last group of contributors that I'll be singling out with a few plugs. But please know that all of you have my thanks.

    I have a new camera.

    How cool is that?

    * * * 

    Have you ever watched a Sky Full of Bacon video podcast? Michael Gebert does an incredible job with these things.

    I'm going to suggest two in particular. The most recent one takes us to a fish distributor and explores seafood and sustainability. You can watch that one here. 

    If you dig into the archives just a bit, there's also a fruit episode! You can watch Sky Full of Bacon covering Asian pear grower Oriana Kruszewski here.

    And you should.

    Thanks, Mike.

    Thursday
    16Jul2009

    Cherry vodka

    I was in my kitchen, tying up loose cherry ends — pitting the sour cherries left over from the sour cherry preserves, along with the sweet cherries I had hauled home from the market to snack on. Both were going on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and then into the freezer for an hour. From there, they'd end up in labeled and dated zip-top bags.

    But then I stopped halfway through my pitting and reached for two pint jars from the cabinet. One, I filled with sour cherries. The other I filled with sweet cherries. Both I filled with vodka.

    And that's it.

    The jars are stashed in the cabinet. In a week or so I'll check on them. If the vodka is tasty, I'll strain out the fruit and put the jars of vodka in the freezer.

    Last year, I made four infused vodkas: blueberry, melon, blackberry, and raspberry. Blackberry was the winner, with blueberry a strong second .

    The muskmelon vodka was disappointing. It had a striking melon flavor, but the unpleasant muskiness came too quickly forward. I'm not even sure we finished the bottle.

    I don't expect that problem with the cherry vodkas.

    Monday
    13Jul2009

    "Why so early?"

    Saturday morning Peter was unloading the truck and setting up during a storm. It was pouring. Water collected on top of the tents. Then the tents collapsed — all six of them — brought down by the weight of the water on top of them.

    Peter is fine. The tents are mangled. (Lupe says maybe he can fix one of them.)

    Eventually, we set up anyway. Another vendor was kind enough to lend us a few tents. The day was going well enough — until it was time to leave and we found that the battery in the van had died.

    This was probably my fault.

    On Sunday, I woke up at 3.30am, well before my alarm was set to go off. I couldn't go back to sleep. I went into the kitchen, checked my email, had a coffee, and then went to get the truck.

    I almost gave Peter a heart attack.

    As I was pulling up to the market, he called: "Um.... I just went outside to put some stuff on the truck and it's not there..."

    "Yeah, I have the truck. It's OK, Peter. I'm pulling up at the market now."

    "You are?! Why so early?"

    I gave him a few reasons: It's hard to find parking. I was up already. I dropped the f-bomb a few times. It was too early to be classy.

    "Yeah... but why so early?"

    Some people get in early to work to impress their bosses. Mine tells me I should have stayed in bed.

    Nothing I didn't already know.

    Today, I did not wake up before my alarm. Rather, I woke up to my alarm. It was blaring at 4.30am — on my day off.

    I couldn't fall back asleep.

    I made some coffee and ate half a cherry cobbler.

    * * *

    I grabbed some sweet cherries Sunday but when I got home, it was the sour cherries I went for first.

    We sell buckets of pitted sour cherries, but I'm always a little curious about the retail customers who buy them. Cherry season comes once a year and lasts maybe three weeks. You can't pit some cherries?

    I sat at the table and pitted a quart of cherries while the oven came to temperature.

    I almost didn't make a cobbler topping at all. Really, I only cared about the filling — the tangy sweetness of the cherries, the bright pink juices turned viscous and ever so slightly chewy from the cornstarch.

    But I can't say I was disappointed when the topping came out of the oven, golden brown from the buttermilk wash and the dusting of sugar.

    Tuesday
    07Jul2009

    Sour cherry clafouti

    "Are these the sour cherries?"

    "Yes."

    "OK, good. Because I brandied some cherries last year and they were too sweet. They tasted almost medicinal."

    "You know what? I did, too. And I had the same reaction."

    (I mean, don't get me wrong. We found a way to go through a jar and a half of them, all the same.)

    She continued: "Yeah, I found this recipe in Saveur magazine and so I decided to go ahead and do it."

    "That's the recipe I used!"

    This was all starting to sound very familiar. I took another look at her.

    "You're the person who told me to brandy them last year in the first place!"

    "I am?"

    "Yes, I'm positive. It was you."

    "Well, they weren't very good."

    I confessed: "I still have half a jar of those cherries in my fridge."

    This year we're going to try brandying sour cherries.

    * * * 

    Generally speaking, you should avoid eating cherry pits. But nothing says you must remove the pits before baking with cherries. In fact, some would maintain you shouldn't; cherry pits are reputed to contribute a subtle almond flavor to the dishes in which they cook. Do I buy that? I do. But even if I didn't, I would be too lazy to pit the cherries.

    So it works on two levels.

    This sour cherry clafouti contains both cherries and pits. It is very lightly sweet.

    It's my breakfast tomorrow.