On Not Learning to Can

It turns out that if you only have a pound and a half of fruit to work with, today is not the day you must learn how to can. I was kind of excited at the prospect of learning a new skill, which is really a very old skill. I was all set to go to Rainbow and pick up some fresh lids for the growing stash of Ball jars I have in my cabinets (thanks to friends & family who give me wonderful presents like apricot pie filling, pickled jalapenos, and pear butter). I even bought myself a book at the Strand, one of those old Time Life series titles about canning & preserving. But it turns out all I needed was Joy. And fruit, and sugar, and lemon juice.

First the fruit.

My share for the week had included a pound and a half (roughly) of white nectarines. Lovely things, but I don’t get excited about nectarines the way I do about peaches. And, contrary to my usual tastes about heirlooms and less common varieties, I prefer standard yellow to white. So I wasn’t gung-ho about eating these as is, as a simple dessert, or sliced over yogurt. Which led me to the conclusion: jam. Or, really, preserves, because once I figured out I didn’t have to buy new lids for cans, I was not about to create an extra errand for myself and go buy pectin. I already had lemons and sugar, and I do not like to go shopping unless I have at LEAST two things on my list. This rule sometimes causes me to invent needs for myself when I’m out of toilet paper.

In any case, the fruit must be pitted, peeled, and sliced. If it’s very ripe, the peeling part ought to be easy–the skins slip right off–but if not, cut a shallow X in the bottom of each nectarine and dunk them in boiling water for about 30 seconds. And THEN they’ll slip right off. Put thinnish slices (or maybe smallish chunks? I don’t know–I’m new at this) in a large-ish, heavy pot with lemon juice and sugar. Toss together, cover, and refrigerate for a couple of hours.

After which time they’ll look something like this:

and you can listen to your girlfriend giggle when you tell her that you have macerated fruit in a pot.

Bring it to a simmer and cook the crap out of it. This is where it becomes very important to use a heavy-bottomed pot, because things will burn and stick and caramelize otherwise. Caramelized preserves aren’t actually a terrible thing it turns out, but the pot might be a pain to clean. It will take an hour or so to get to the right stage. The standard method of testing for the sugar/water ratio is to put a small plate in the freezer, and drop a little spoonful of the jam/preserves on it just as you take it out. If it’s cooked enough, it will firm up. If not, keep going and try again in 5 minutes.

At the end, you will have preserves!

1 pound makes about 1 cup, or so it seems to me. It is excellent on English muffins, or stirred into yogurt, or on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or on a fancy cheese plate. Don’t worry about the whole canning thing just yet–a cup and a half of homemade preserves won’t last long enough to go bad.