Was It Really Worth It?

Some things are just more trouble than they're worth. I now put homemade ketchup in that category, along with transplanting houseplants you already hate, arguing with a toddler over green socks versus white ones, and trying to keep the dog hair off the new couch. Is it better than your bottle of Heinz? Hell yeah, but it still isn't worth the expense or the effort.

I blame you, Jamie Oliver. You and your ridiculous enthusiasm for gardening, food, and making sure people eat well. I blame you, Safeway, for having Jamie at Home on sale in the book bin. I blame you, Calgary weather, for making sure I had loads of tomatoes ripening in stages on my kitchen counter in September and defeating my efforts to make a large batch of tomatoe sauce. I even blame the Monster - just a tiny bit - for having the common desire of any toddler to dip everything in ketchup. In that case, I blame you, Hubby, for fueling that desire in her by never growing up yourself.

Ultimately, however, I have to blame Michael Pollan. He and the Slow Food folks are encouraging me to reduce the amount of processed foods coming into the house. We go through a lot of ketchup and I thought I was being a good mom/wife by introducing another homemade staple.

The recipe* itself was time-consuming, but not difficult. The toughest part was reading through the Jamie Oliver style of recipe writing. And there were a ridiculous number of ingredients! Who knew?

So I spent an afternoon chopping, simmering, reducing, and pureeing. The house smelled wonderful. Two pounds of tomatoes and I got little more than 1 bottle of ketchup. Then the Monster decided that she liked mustard better. Seriously, every time I tried to serve it to her she cried for mustard instead.

Now the ketchup sits in the fridge. This is good stuff. I can't wait to try it on Hubby's famous hamburgers. For now, and post root canal, I will savour it on some scrambly eggs. But next time I'm just making tomatoe sauce.

*Let me know if you want the recipe and don't have the book. I followed it exactly so I won't repeat it here.

Mine! Mine! Mine!

There is that moment in time that every parent dreads in the development of their toddler - the Mine! stage. When the fork you are using, when the book you are reading, when the toy the other little girl is playing with, or when the quilt on the bed is always "Mine!" to your kid. It's exhausting to chase them arround attempting to extol the virtues of sharing or explaining that other people need those things to eat, mow their lawn, or move. It's infuriating when they can't grasp it, even though we should know better and realize an 18 month old doesn't necessarily know any better themself. So we follow behind them, chastising them as much as we can and apologizing profusely to the man whose cane she tried to steal or the little boy whose cookie she took.

I will not, however, apologize for my upcoming bit of selfishness. You see, I am painfully addicted to my cherry jam. Rather, to cherry jam with ricotta on toast. I could eat this every day, two or three times a day. The only thing that stops me from doing this is supply.

Sure, you can get cherry jam in the store. Most of it is imported from Europe and is quite chunky and thick. I find it all rather cloying, but it will work in a pinch. This summer I was inspired and decided to make my own. So far I've made three batches and I still worry whether there will be enough to get me to the next cherry season.

Making the jam, while time-consuming - was actually quite easy. I even decided to try it without using the pre-made pectin. I thought I was rather brave, having used Certo my entire life. With a little bit of searching I came across a post by the ice cream guru David Lebovitz. It was all coming together.

Following his basic directions I pitted all my cherries (with my paring knife), cooked them down a little, measured, then added sugar and boiled away. Then I put them in my specially bought jars. (Smart me bought new jars of a different shape for all my cherry jam. That way there can be no mistake between the cherry I love and the strawberry for the Monster and raspberry for Hubby.) A half hour later I realized that the jam was not going to set. So I emptied the jars back into the La Creuset, quartered an apple for some added pectin, and boiled again. Success this time. So I tried again with cherries and peaches. Yesterday I decided that I didn't have enough in the pantry and made another batch of plain cherry.

Instead of rationing my supply, I will enjoy it all. The Monster and Hubby will not. They are not allowed to touch my cherry jam. And yes, I will have a temper tantrum if I see their fingers or spoons even in the vicinity of my cherry jam. Maybe the Monster will shake her finger at me and tell me to share, and maybe I will. Likely I won't. It is all mine, mine mine.

Taste Adventure - Capers and Artichokes

I have to make a confession. As much as I'd like to think I am a foodie, there are still a lot of foods I've never cooked for myself: Foie gras, creme brulee, gnochhi, and artichokes. When I saw the artichokes sitting amongst the organic imports at the market on Sunday I decided to do my own taste adventure. Sure, I've eaten my share of jarred artichoke hearts on pizza and pasta but I've never taken on the home cooking challenge of a fresh artichoke.

Artichokes are not at the peak of their season, and I knew that going in. But if I'd seen these California beauties in May I'm sure I would have had the courage then. I was already in line, keeping an eye on the Monster while Hubby bounced E in the Bjorn. I called to him across the stall, "Grab me a couple of those artichokes."
"A couple of the whosawhatzits?"
"The artichokes."
"What do they look like?" he asked
It seems Hubby should also be considered a backseat gourmet. After a verbal map ("To the left of the peppers") he grabbed a couple, we paid and we were on our way.

After a few days delay due to birthday parties and swing set erecting I got down to tackling the artichokes. Unfortunately, none of the recipes in my cookbook collection appealed to me. That meant stealing the laptop from the Monster to do some research. This is not a good idea when you are trying to make dinner because You Tube is the best invention ever. Daddy searches for videos of baby belugas, dolphins, and killer whales while I start dinner. That lasts until Mama starts chopping and she has to help. And help she did.

I found a recipe for grilled artichokes with a mint caper vinaigrette. Sounded yummy to me. As a plus, the barbeque was already on for the bison flank steak we were also having. I squeezed my lemon, chopped my garlic, picked my mint, and found the capers in the fridge. I pulled a couple of the capers out to start chopping.

"Beans!" The Monster exclaimed. I tried to explain to her that they weren't beans, but she insisted they were. Okay then, try one. Who would expect that these 'beans' would prove so tasty to a 2 year old? If only her fingers were long enough to reach into the jar.

Back to dinner. I trimmed the artichokes, set them to cook in lemon water, and hoped I was doing it right. When the steak went on the grill I also put on the artichokes. Meanwhile I boiled some potatoes and tossed them with cream and fresh dill. When everything was done grilling I tossed some greens with the mint caper vinaigrette and topped the artichokes with the same. At least I knew The Monster would like the vinaigrette.

After savagely working her way through all her steak and a good chunk of Daddy's she decided to try some of her artichoke. Before that it sat forelornly on her plate, a pale green chunk with a few pieces of garlic clinging to it. It was a good thing I still had some of mine left because she wanted more, and more.

Lessons learned - salty foods in brine should all be assumed as good; you need to either trim more off the artichoke before cooking or cook it longer so as not to waste as many leaves or buy it closer to the peak season; and buy more artichokes next time.

Mint Caper Vinaigrette

1 lemon, juiced

1 garlic clove, finely chopped

3-4 leaves mint, finely chopped

1 tsp chopped capers

1/2 cup olive oil

Get your toddler to shake together all ingredients in a sealed jar. Stand close in case she decides she is done with her task mid-shake. Season to taste.

Sources:

California Artichoke Advisory Board

Grilled Baby Artichokes with Caper-Mint Sauce