It must of been wonderful in years gone by before the convenience store, working mothers and ASBOS when the kitchens of England produced the wonderful scent of pickling, jamming and preserving. The windows steaming in yorkshire as jam reached dangerous temperatures, the dripping of liquid through dainty muslin in Berkshire and the rattle of empty jars being taken out of a sterilising oven in Broadstairs. Wonderful. All dissapearing now I fear and what a shame. A generation of children who only know the taste of cheap supermarket jam who will never see a huge jam pan bubbling on the stove - no room in the modern kitchen I am sure because of the juicers, cappucino makers and George Forman Grills!
19 August, 2004
This morning I have slipped on a cardy, oh yes I have! Summer is on her back and it's time to lift the gloved fist of Autumn. Due to the cooling nip in the air I polished off a round of toast with extra glee this morning, it was smashing. It had a thick covering of blackcurrant jam on top (my wonderful mother's home made.) I must learn her secret of bottling, last year I tried to make blackberry jam with nature's bounty but it never set , turning instead into some kind of runny fruit compote. She keeps her skills close to her chest which surely must leave a mucky apron.
1 comment:
Oops! I misread that first sentence and thought you'd had a bit of an accident caused by discarded knitwear. Silly me!
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