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.