We Be Jammin'

Anyone who knows me knows that I really hate summer for the most part. Put a big white girl in the heat and humidity, and boy does she get crabby and out of sorts. Walk outside, and within 20 minutes, I am a lobster. SPF 75 doesn't cut it for me. There is also nothing like trickles of sweat running down my body (in places when I was thin I couldn't even imagine existed) to make a big girl just love the summer. Yes I just said that out loud. Just tryin' to keep it real. Yes I just said that, too. Ok, I'll stop now. I promise.

However, summer does bring with it things that this big girl loves, too. Funnel cakes, for example, and mini donuts, corn on the cob, fried things on a stick (only in MN would we deep fat fry a Snickers bar), pork burgers, sno-cones, homemade ice cream, fairs and town celebrations (ask me about the Polka festival sometime -- yes, I polka. Don't knock it. It's a gift that comes in handy when you're drunk and at weddings. Trust me.), cool night walks, and most importantly, the fresh fruit. For the most part, I really don't like to eat fruit. But summer fruit and I have a special, special relationship. Oh, the berries, the sweet, juicy strawberries. The tiny, soft, lovely raspberries. The ripe, luscious peaches. Oh my. As my friend D. would say, somewhere there is a bottle of Tequila involved and she's likely screaming "inappropriate" at me. Ok, maybe at M. Maybe at both of us. It's worth it, my sweet, sweet berries...

Anyway, I got sidetracked for a second. I'm back. It was hot today, and my neighbors moved out really early this morning. Perhaps I'm delusional. Back to my point -- the berries. Earlier this summer, stubborn as I am, I managed to track down the last of the strawberry crop in a 3 state area (my research skillz are the bomb -- for berries, not for my dissertation). They were, hands down, the sweetest berries I think I've ever had. Minnesota berries are the best, I don't care what anyone else says. I made 28 jars of jam from those strawberries. I will never be the same.

I didn't get a picture of those, but I did catch the jamming bug. Bob Marley would be proud. So, after all my company left today and I cleaned up my kitchen, I decided, at 10 pm, to make some jam. No one ever claimed I was smart or logical, least of all me.

If you look closely at the pictures, yes, I cheated. I bought Driscoll's berries from the store. This was my trial run. If I like the jam, I'll go buy local berries. I found a couple of places to go for berries -- perhaps here or maybe here -- we'll see what happens. But, the test run was tonight. I'll give you the low-down on it in the next couple of days.

Ophelia oversaw the project, as you can see from the picture. She disapproved of my mashing methods, but otherwise I think she thought we did ok. I also think she didn't like me singing country to her, though I thought the Dixie Chicks were appropriate for jam-making. She's an alternative kinda girl, I think. Poor Ophelia.

As you can see, the fruit didn't yield much jam, but that's ok. Ophelia says to stay tuned for a peach pie soon -- Eckert's are in season, so a trip will be coming soon! If you want some jam, drop a line!