Fuel for Future Feasting

Last weekend slipped by and I awoke on Monday morning, dazed and annoyed—I had failed to feast. The cause of this abysmal situation was a combination of too much work and too little planning. I am finding that the most challenging aspect of this project is not the cooking itself, but the logistical arrangements it takes to bring people together for a meal in these frenetic times.

Furthermore, for the first time in my life I have something approaching a full time job; a fact that is imprinting on my mind a deep and abiding sympathy for anyone who tries to do anything in addition to this marvelous feat. As for people who somehow manage to work and, I don’t know, raise a family or something—without going completely mad—I am simply awestruck by the epic magnitude of such an accomplishment. Count me out of ever pursuing the fashionable superwoman track (you know the one: high-powered job and healthy children, a good marriage and the figure of a goddess). I have enough trouble simply balancing on my own, let alone walking a tightrope with dozens of quivering juggling balls. Hah!

So when I finally found some free time, not having invited anyone over to eat, I decided to ban further procrastination and get down to some serious preserving. One could even say, from a very creative angle, that I was cooking—stocking away food for future feasts.

I had a bowl of plums in urgent need to being turned into jam, an apple tree positively groaning with fruit, and I had somehow wandered far from my rhythm of weekly bread baking. Furthermore, I am becoming very slightly bored of the delicious paninis from the café where I work. And, after a good three months of gulping them down on a regular basis, I have decided that my lunches are in need of a little inspiration.

Tuesday afternoon, therefore, was spent fogging up the windows of my little studio: While a ball of whole wheat bread rose on the counter, I peeled, chopped, simmered, and whizzed a massive batch of lemon-laced carrot soup. As this was bubbling I sliced up a mountain of plums and mixed them with sugar and cardamom pods for jam. Next a couple dozen apples from our tree were picked, peeled, cored, quartered and strewed. I wanted to try an intriguing recipe from The Encyclopedia of Country Living, a delightful book chock full of do-it-yourself living, from growing veggies to slaughtering chickens, making soap, and preserving fruit. This recipe was for “apple ketchup,” and called for stewed apples, vinegar, onions, sugar, and a bundle of different spices.

The only problem is that I got over zealous and prepared way too many apples. Now I have jars and jars of this odd yet delicious condiment; certainly enough to last for a good two or three years. Oh well, I think it will be ideal as an accompaniment to pork loin or sausages, as part of a chicken sandwich or to glaze a shoulder of ham.

Anyway, here’s the recipe which I have adapted from The Encyclopedia of Country Living.

Peel, core, and quarter about a dozen apples. Stew these in a tiny bit of water (just enough so that they don’t stick to the pan). When soft, remove from the heat and mash roughly. Measure out the mixture and dump it into a blender or food processor. For every quart of apples, add 1 teaspoon each of ground pepper, cloves, mustard, cinnamon, a cautious pinch of cayenne and 2 chopped onions. Finish with 2/3 cup sugar, 1 tablespoon salt, and about 1 – 1 ½ cups apple cider vinegar. Whiz all this together until silky smooth, then taste and adjust seasoning as necessary.

Now fully engaged in earth maiden mode (bread baking in the oven, jam bubbling away on the stove) I even saved the apple peelings from my ketchup and am now attempting a batch of vinegar. It is a long process and apparently a rather tricky one so I don’t have soaring expectations. However, I promise to report the results—suave success or acidic failure—within the next six months or so.