La versión español está después de la primera foto.
IN 1986, SAN Geraldo and I moved from Washington, DC, to New Haven, Connecticut. San Geraldo had grown up “canning.” It was unheard of in my family; that’s what country folk did.
Since we were now living close to “the country” and had lots of farm stands nearby, San Geraldo suggested we make strawberry jam. He knew exactly what to do. When the jam was all cooked up and ready to go into the jars for preserving, San Geraldo gave me a taste.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “That tastes just like strawberry jam!”
San Geraldo roared with laughter and said, “What did you think it would taste like?”
I phoned my parents. My Mother The Dowager Duchess (before she was a dowager) answered.
“You won’t believe what we just made,” I bragged.
“What?” she asked.
“Strawberry jam!” I said.
“From what?” she gasped.
“From strawberries!!!”
The next year we moved 15 miles west of New Haven to a more rural location in Guilford, and we got serious about canning. For 150 years, Guilford had been hosting an agricultural fair. We canned peaches, tomatoes, Kosher dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, and a variety of jams. And, every year, we won lots of ribbons and purple rosettes (for best in show).
Even our Kosher dill pickles tasted exactly like Kosher dill pickles. I still can’t believe it.
(You thought there’d be a recipe, didn’t you?)
EN 1986, SAN Geraldo y yo nos mudamos de Washington, DC, a New Haven, Connecticut. San Geraldo había crecido “enlatado”. Era inaudito en mi familia; eso es lo que hizo la gente del campo.
Como ahora vivíamos cerca de “el campo” y teníamos muchos puestos de granja cerca, San Geraldo sugirió que hiciéramos mermelada de fresa. Él sabía exactamente qué hacer. Cuando la mermelada estaba cocida y lista para meterse en los frascos para su conservación, San Geraldo me dio un sabor.
“¡Guau!” yo exclamé. “¡Eso sabe exactamente a mermelada de fresa!”
San Geraldo rió a carcajadas y dijo: “¿A qué crees que sabría?”
Yo telefoneé a mis padres. Mi Madre La Duquesa Viuda (ántes de ella era una viuda) respondió.
“No vais a creer lo que hicimos”, me jacté.
“¿Qué?” ella preguntó.
“¡Mermelada de fresa!” Dije.
“¿¡¿De qué?!?” ella jadeó.
“¡De fresas!” le dije.
El año siguiente nos mudamos 15 millas al oeste de New Haven a una ubicación más rural en Guilford, y nos pusimos serios con respecto al enlatado.
Durante 150 años, Guilford había sido sede de una feria agrícola. Conservamos melocotones, tomates, encurtidos de eneldo kosher, encurtidos “pan y mantequilla”, y una variedad de mermeladas. Y, cada año, ganamos un montón de cintas y rosetones púrpuras (por Mejor de la Exposición).
Incluso nuestros encurtidos de eneldo Kosher sabían exactamente igual que los encurtidos de eneldo Kosher. Todavía no puedo creerlo.
(Pensaste que habría una receta, ¿verdad?)
I grew up helping my grandmother can. My mother did little of it, she was afraid of it. I go through periods of nesting behavior with canning involved.
Haha! Just like strawberry jam! 😁 I’ve done a little canning….cherries in brandy and blueberry jam. It’s such a satisfying project, isn’t it?
Jennifer:
We loved it. We had shelves in the cellar with a huge stock. Great gifts, too. We DO miss doing it, but it WAS a lot of hot, sweaty work!
What?! How did I not know this!? Amazing!
Kathleen:
It’s a relief to know that, although we seem to never shut up, there’s a lot we haven’t bored you with … yet!
DD: “From what?”
Slays me!
Bob:
I hate to admit it but sometimes at least … like mother like son.
for a moment there, I though YOU were the prize human at the fair! best in show, eh? hmmmmmm…
and I second bob.
anne marie:
Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear. Of course, I was the Best in Show!
Hilarious!
A lost ‘art’ in a lot of places now. My sister made ‘pickled beets’ this past fall. And guess what?! They tasted like pickled beets!! Really!!
Aww, that’s too bad! 🙂
Deedles:
Are you saying it’s too bad they tasted like pickled beets? If so, another reason to love you!
Anon:
Do you have a name? Even a pseudonym? I hate writing back to Anonymous. Anyway, pickled beets! That’s something I would never ever do. Beets might just be my least favorite food… even worse than baked beans. They only way I’d enjoy them is if they didn’t taste — or look — like pickled beets!
Mitchell, the only way I’d enjoy a beet is if someone else was eating them! There was this one time when my father accidently (I hope) substituted beets for cranberry sauce. I won’t go into it here 🙂
Deedles:
I would have died .. or gagged… if your father had done that to me. I can’t even tolerate if beets have touched and stained something else on my plate. Everything has to be cleaned off. It’s terrible. My grandmother always had a jar of homemade borscht on an exposed shelf in her kitchen. It looked like human remains!
How to make strawberry jam? Throw on a little Ella Fitzgerald! I made a small jar of grape jam in Junior High. I don’t know how it tasted. I brought it home, put it in the fridge, the next day it was gone with the skeletal remains of the jar left over on the table. My father had a massive sweet tooth.
My best Andy Rooney voice: “Why is it called canning when it’s in a jar?”
Deedles:
I actually didn’t know what canning meant when Jerry first mentioned it. And, yes, my immediate question is “Why isn’t it called jarring?” Your grape jam must have been pretty good!
Who are the hairy young men in the pictures?
Kenosha! I’ve been thinking about you! One of those hairy young men, although no longer so young (everything’s relative), still has hair on the top of his head. The other, not so much. But then YOU know how that goes!
You found the right country boy to rock your city boy world 🙂 I am always shocked when I make jam and it tastes good – it was supposed to be much harder!
Cheapchick:
I never found it easy; it was cooking after all. But I really enjoyed it and never got over my surprise that it tasted just like it was supposed to.
When my aunt gives me homemade jams, there is nothing like them. And you guys are ribbon winners too I see!!!!
Mistress Maddie:
We made up gift baskets for friends every year for Christmas. it was wonderful. We even dipped chocolate dipped pretzels. Also, brought peaches to my aunts and my mother whenever we visited. They returned the empties and expected refills (which they also received). We went through a LOT of peaches!
Thank goodness for family; they keep me employed
Spo:
I could give you business forever!
You are a great storyteller, Mitchell, and that is one funny story.
Wilma:
Thank you so much. You always make me feel so good! Just when I think I’ve run out of stories… I’m reminded of another. And Jerry is not always the punch line!
The lavender (or is that purple) ribbons are my favorites.
Walt the Fourth:
Those are purple rosettes. They went along with the blue ribbon and meant “Best in Show.” We got them over the years for our Kosher Dills, Blueberry Lime Jam, Peaches, and more. Multiple times for the same things, too. Our next door neighbor was so happy when we moved to San Diego. She finally won for her peaches.
My first comment didn’t post, I go through periodic nesting behaviour. Strawberry jam is much better when made from strawberries.
Just look at you two young bucks with all your winning rosettes!
Debra:
We were known as “The Boys” by the two farm women who took in the entries. They apparently talked about us for years after we left. It might have had something to do with the fact we were just about the only proudly and openly gay couple in town!