Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Sweat and Cherries


On an impulse I swerved to the roadside, crammed on the brakes, and jumped out of the car. “Won’t be a moment,” I called behind me as I dashed across the street. I had spied a small, makeshift kiosk backed up to a pickup truck. Under the awning, in wobbly red capitals, a banner announced the goods for sale: CHERRIES! My stomach was rumbling and dinner was still far off and so, after sampling a couple varieties, I bought a little bagful of Rainiers to ward off the wolf.

Thanking the seller I grabbed my bag and began sprinting back across the street. Then I stopped, and struck by a thought swiveled around. “Do you ever give discounts?” I asked the man, “like if I wanted to buy lots of cherries for jam.”

“Well,” he mused, “I do have boxes of what we call ‘seconds.’ They’re the less than perfect fruit, but fine for jam.” He rummaged in the back of the pickup and hauled out a large cardboard box. I scrutinized the wine-red orbs. They looked perfectly fine, with nothing more serious than a few cosmetic nicks and bruises to mare an otherwise healthy appearance. “And how much would this crate cost?” I asked, bracing myself. “Well, I’d say that’s about 10 pounds or so . . . How about 10 dollars?” I was sold.

Speeding home with the cherries bumping around in the back of the car, I thought about my purchase. It is eminently satisfying to score such a bargain, and it could not have occurred in a supermarket setting. There, the rigid standard for appearance is absurd, placing cosmetic perfection above taste, nutrition, or any other more holistic measure of goodness. Thus, it is rarely possible for the consumer to get affordable deals on good—if slightly tarnished—local produce. It is yet another reason to praise alternative trade. Long live roadside fruit stands, farmers markets, and all other rebellious, gritty, and refreshingly real marketplaces!

The next day was my birthday, and I could think of nothing more lovely to do on such an auspicious morning than swan about drinking coffee and making jam. First, however, I had to tackle the mountainous task of pitting 10 pounds of cherries. I would like to say it was an unadulterated pleasure but that would constitute a wild fabrication. Truth be told it was pleasant for the first ten minutes but from then on descended into a morass of monotonous plucking, slicing, and twisting. Within 15 minutes my hands were stained burgundy and after half an hour the knife slipped and slit my thumb, not badly but enough to require a plaster, making further pitting slow and unwieldy. But I soldiered on and eventually reached the bottom of the crate. Surveying the heaping bowlful of cherry halves and the dark fissures in my fingers, I thought wistfully about investing in one of those nifty cherry pitting gadgets.

Sometimes it takes a day of backbreaking labor in the sun to appreciate the virtues of mechanized farming equipment. Similarly, it is easier for those who have never pitted ten pounds of cherries to romanticize an apron-clad grandma sitting contentedly on her porch for hour upon cherry stained hour. That poor woman!

Yet after this tedious endeavor, the rest of the jam making process was far more entertaining—the slow softening fruit, the mound of dissolving sugar, rapid darkening boil, and the suspense of waiting, stirring, and watching for that perfect gel point. Cook the fruit too long and it will begin to caramelize, losing its brightness and intensity. Remove the fruit from the stove too soon and it will never thicken, yielding a syrupy concoction that dribbles pathetically off the edges of your buttered toast.


Successful jam requires patience, a watchful eye, and one simple test of doneness. When you start boiling the fruit, place a few saucers or other small dishes in the freezer. Then, as you think the jam may be ready, take a saucer out and spoon a small dollop of jam onto it. Return to the freezer and check it after a minute or so. If the mixture wrinkles slightly when you nudge it with a finger the jam has gelled and is ready for canning.



Taking a hint from my favorite cherry tarts, I added a light swirl of almond extract to the fruit and sugar thickening on the stove. There are some flavor pairs that are soul mates—bringing out the best in each other, it seems that they were always and forever destined to marry. Cherries and almonds are one such couple. Worrying that I had overdone the almond however, I dipped a finger into the jam. Au contraire, I swooned. It was a divine fusion of flavors, the round richness of cherry fruit made ever so slightly mysterious when infused with a whisper of almond.

That afternoon I slathered the first of my jam onto a teatime scone. It was still warm from the stove—a potent elixir of cherry sweetness—worth ever moment of sweat, stained skin, and tedium.

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