Bottling Summer's Bounty: a Tale of Three Jars

 When I have the time, I will go on a frenzy of cooking. This especially true in summer, when I desperately try to make ever meal as light, local, and seasonal as possible. I freely admit that I have a farmer's market fetish, and can never leave the Journal or Union Square Market without a bagful of produce, baked goods, or cheese. I justify it like my concert obsession--I don't have cable, or car insurance, or any of those normal kinds of expenses. So, please, let me have my pursuit of good meals and quality ingredients.

The other night, inspired by my kimchi triumph (see below), I created three concoctions either derived from fresh local ingredients, or destined to complement them: blueberry jam, basil pesto, and ricotta cheese. Each of recipe is rather simple on its own, but attempted all at once late at night ... It's possible to accomplish, but I don't recommend it; my ambitions sometimes get the better of me, but the results are almost always worth it.

The blueberry jam recipe comes courtesy of Mark Bittman at the Times, whose Minimalist column I've been following and cooking from for years. This recipe is incredibly simple, and only requires blueberries, a little sugar, and about 20 minutes of simmering until they've broken down into a syrupy mess. Actually, this warm blue goo would probably be fantastic over pancakes or waffles--and can be used to supplement the whole blueberries in blueberry muffins (before baking, of course.) Instead, I let it cool and congeal in some jars, and will use it with toast over the next week or two. And maybe I'll even save some for Mandy; a notorious blueberry fanatic, she once ate a pint of berries every day for a whole month ... or at least tired to.

While the blubes simmered, I boiled three cups whole milk and a cup of heavy cream until it reached 190-degrees Fahrenheit (having figured out how to actually use the kitchen thermometer helped immensely.) When the milk reached this point, I added some fresh lemon juice and let the whole thing curdle--cheese-making being one of the few times when you actually want milk to become a solid (well, ice cream is pretty good too, but I don't make that--that's strictly Tim's department.) Actually, this experience was a good application of everything I'd learned from Harold McGee in his book On Food and Cooking. Milk's unique molecular and chemical structure were fully demonstrated before my eyes in a novel way (rather than as the foam on my cappuccino, or as poured over my cereal).

curdling

draining

I dumped the curds into a colander lined with cheesecloth, and waited for the whey to drain. Sprinkled with a little salt, it's as fresh and simple as cheese gets. Besides eating it straight, I planned to use ricotta in linguine with sweet cherry tomatoes, but I also had to whip up a quick pesto.

Naturally, I went down to our front "yard" basil plant and, by flashlight, trimmed two cups of huge green leaves. Then I combined them with the traditional accoutrement: olive oil, garlic, parmigiano-reggiano, and toasted pine nuts (do toast them, it's worth the five minutes for that flavor.) Simple, right? Of course, with a recipe of so few ingredients the emphasis falls on the quality and balance of those ingredients. And, as with most recipes, you can alter pesto to your particular taste. One of the best things about pesto (there are several, but I will not explore them here), is it's ability to be frozen, sans cheese. Then come winter, you can thaw some pesto, add a dash of parm and a drizzle of oil and have yourself a taste of summer despite the snow and lack of fresh local vegetables. (If you have a home as well heated as mine, the effect will be complete since you'll almost certainly be wearing shorts--not that I'm complaining ... ) And with that, I tucked my three jars in the fridge and called it a night. The next morning I awoke eager to sample my home-made concoctions.

Check out this (not so) fresh hotness!

See, I told you it would happen. I pickled and spiced napa cabbages using two different recipes back in June/July to create the famous Korean condiment-of-a-thousand-faces known as kimchi. 

The first attempt ... Well, let's just say I have been to wary to eat it since the day I made it. One, it involved some apple sauce, for a sweet tang to go with the spiciness; this seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm kind of leary of the results nearly two months later. And two, on the first night of pickling, I was cruelly reminded of the necessity of a loosely-lidded jar to allow gasses to gently escape. Curiosity about my first ever attempt at kimchi led me to open the jar I'd been storing in my roommate's pantry cabinet (Shh! Don't tell him!) A few twists of the the lid, then WHOOSH!--and a stream of sweet/spicy/sour cabbage water sprayed across the counter and me. Oh well. So I cleaned myself up, placed the jar in a plastic bag on the floor of our recycling annex (yes, we have a recycling annex--right next to our dumbwaiter, as a matter of fact), and waited a few more days until it was good and funky before refrigerating. And ... I haven't tried it since--and I have a rather wide and unusual palate.* I have suggested two reasons why--the taste and eruption--but it's probably the third reason that's most accurate: the other recipe is just far better.

You see, I brewed up an truly spicy version for the guests at my uncle's annual Fourth of July picnic, since I knew there would both be an abundance of hot dogs and perhaps a few adventurous eaters who might appreciate a fiery Korean condiment. Actually, if no one else but myself had eaten any kimchi, I still would have been pleased. But apparently, people were really into it (not as much as my home-made limoncello or grilled clams, but I digress.) Months later, Mandy and I still use this kimchi to spike our tacos, sandwiches, and take-out Chinese food. It's good'n'pickled and incredibly hot, but I'd like to do it again--with the authentic Korean chili powder. You see, I live near New York City, so when a recipe suggests you go to an Asian grocery store, I can pretty much go any grocery store and find an plethora of ethnic food aisles. But this time, I really wanted to get it right (and I was glad for an excuse to go on a food adventure in Chinatown), so I went to Hong Kong Supermarket. Surely, a place with live frogs, preserved duck eggs, strange freeze-dried fish, and hundreds of Japanese snacks would have Korean chili powder, right? Apparently not. I searched high and low, found two separate aisles of spices and sauces (of the East Asian and South-East Asian variety), picked up a bottle of srihacha for Maggie since Baltimore is a rooster-less desert, and left with a small bottle of additive-free red chili powder. Not the right kind, surely, but I used the whole damn thing and don't regret it.

Uh-oh! Looks like it's time to make more ...

*Just last week, I bought for myself as little snack I saw while shopping at the grocery store: a can of smoked oysters--not your typical impulse-buy treat. (They were delicious, by the way.)

Driving Mr. McDermott VI: Re-starting (again)

For the first time in months, I spent most of my Saturday behind the wheel of a certain green Toyota Tercel, not much unlike this:

Yes, I re-started my driving lessons (again), a process I began nearly one year ago. Why do I think it’s acceptable to function on the scale of geologic time? Regardless, my hiatus is over—though it was not without its consequences: namely, forgetting how to drive. Fortunately, Mandy reminded me as I walked out the door that the gas is on the right, and the brake on the left. Sure, this got me down the block with my stalwart teacher, Walter, but what would happen at the next intersection—let alone, in traffic?

Jersey City on Two Wheels: Weehawken & Hamilton Park

to enjoy this panoramic view, click to enlarge

For this edition of my semi-regular photo-essay on local attractions accessible with a bicycle, I took a trip outside the Jersey City limits. Yes, I know. I understand your outrage (and the vituperative comments I will surely receive), but please hear me out. Don’t consider this a betrayal of my adopted city; the JC will forever have a special place in my heart and on this blog. But a bright Saturday morning is perfect for a ride to the cliff-top Hamilton Park in nearby Weehawken, a trip I’d like to take you on here—even if you’re unwilling to leave your doorstep, or the familiar streets of Jersey City.