September Daring Cook's Challenge: Strawberry Preserves

"Snore," I thought when I read the September Daring Cooks challenge. Canning. Done it.

I don't mean to sound like a snob worldly home cook who deems herself above the rest of the Daring Cooks. I certainly didn’t have to dumb myself down to make strawberry preserves, and I understand that home canning and preserving is a science. I just can't imagine that many people who would consider themselves "daring" home cooks in the first place haven’t already attempted home canning, at least once.

I digress. I guess I was just hoping for something out of my comfort zone, like salmon en croute or crepes or something.

The September 2010 Daring Cooks’ challenge was hosted by John of Eat4Fun. John chose to challenge The Daring Cooks to learn about food preservation, mainly in the form of canning and freezing. He challenged everyone to make a recipe and preserve it. John’s source for food preservation information was from The National Center for Home Food Preservation.

So I made strawberry preserves. For one, strawberry season is almost over. Secondly, I remember my mother canning jelly when I was very small, and I’d never attempted it myself. Equipped with the same materials from our bread and butter pickles, I followed a recipe for strawberry preserves from the Ball book of home canning.

I hulled and mashed some strawberries.

I juiced a lemon.

I measured out 7 cups (yikes!) of sugar, and added powdered pectin.

I boiled the heck out of the whole thing.

The whole process was simple, but I did learn some things.

• I learned that sticky, hot preserves splatter and adhere to skin.
• Perhaps most importantly, I learned that a classic PB&J is stratospherically improved when grape jelly is replaced by strawberry preserves. I had PB&SP sandwich twice for lunch this week, possibly against my better judgment.
• This stuff is nothing like what you find in the grocery store. It's purer and...strawberry-er.
• I will use less pectin next time as they turned out a little thicker and not quite a spreadable than I'd have liked.

The original challenge post
And the recipe I followed

Blackberry Pie

I think I'll just let the pictures speak for themselves.

For the crust, you will need:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup solid vegetable shortening, chilled
5 tablespoons ice water

For the filling, you will need:
 
2 pints blackberries (1 1/2 pounds)
1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes

In a large bowl, whisk the flour, sugar and salt. Add the shortening and, using a pastry blender or 2 knives, cut it into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the ice water and stir with a fork until the dough is moistened. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and gather it into a ball. Knead the dough 2 or 3 times, just until it comes together. Divide in half; flatten each piece into a disk. Wrap each disk in plastic and refrigerate until chilled, at least 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 375°. Let the dough stand at room temperature for 10 minutes. Working on a lightly floured surface, roll out one disk of dough to a 12-inch round. Transfer to a 9-inch glass pie plate. Roll out the remaining dough to an 11-inch round.

Meanwhile, in a bowl, stir the blackberries with the sugar, flour and lemon juice, lightly mashing a few berries; scrape into the prepared pie crust and sprinkle the butter cubes on top.

Brush the overhanging pastry with water and carefully set the top crust over the berry filling. Press the edges of the dough together and trim the overhang to 1 inch. Fold the edge under itself and crimp decoratively. Cut 4 slits in the top crust.

Bake the pie in the center of the oven for 1 hour and 15 minutes, until the bottom crust is golden and the fruit is bubbling. If necessary, cover the edge with foil for the last few minutes of baking. Let the pie cool for at least 4 hours before serving.
 
Adapted from YumSugar.

New Life and a Black Thumb

I am so smitten with these tee-tiny baby eggplants. This one can't be bigger than my thumb, but it's already vibrantly purple. I check up on it every day, thrilled with its progress as it progressively increases in size.

 

Same goes for these - they're called Jellybean Tomatoes. They grow on a chain, like grapes. I'm willing to bet that the majority of these adorable little babies won't even make it into the house.
 

Why did I accept a bag of 21 cucumbers from a co-worker? I don't even LIKE cucumbers - I feel like they make everything else on my plate taste like cucumbers. But I do like pickles...guess this is as good a time as any to learn how to pickle and can.

I accepted 21 cucumbers from a coworker. Even though I don't like them. Even though we have our own growing in the backyard.

I should let you know that this garden is Josh's handiwork, by my request. "I don't want to have anything to do with it," I told him. "I'm a jinx and I'll kill everything." He laughed of course, but I don't think it's far from the truth to call myself a jinx.

My dad has always remarked on my "black thumb," reminding me every summer I tell him that I'm giving gardening yet another shot, of when I was little and so excited about the prospect of food growing in the back yard. One year he offered to put aside a little patch of soil just for me, and I planted strawberries, flowers and string beans. Needless to say, none of the plants yielded, due to my inattention (forgetting to water) or excessive attention (drowning them when I remembered I forgot to water), and as probably anticipated, they all very quickly shriveled up and died in the hot Texas sun. My plant slaughter wasn't exclusive to that one summer, otherwise I might think differently.

Alas, it holds true to this day. Last Saturday while it rained and rained and rained, I found myself desperate for cilantro. Despite having a new rational fear of rain, I ran outside to pluck a few sprigs from the already-fledgling plant. In my haste, I managed to pull the whole damn thing out of the ground, roots and all. I briefly considered re-planting it as I stood there soaked and bewildered, but dejected with the realization that my father was right, I instead returned to the house wet with a fistfull of dirty cilantro, knowing that I'd have stay far away for the rest of the summer, lest I harm any more innocent vegetation.

Is it possible that people really are predestined to have either a green or black thumb? Or am I just clumsy, forgetful and impulsive?

I miss my cilantro.