Sweet

There are a few tips that really help to make baking projects successful, and most of them are all about precision--the exact measuring, the perfect oven temperature, mixing things just so. As I've said before, these parts of baking appeal to my Martha-like tendencies. But I have to say, a girl can't operate like that all the time. There has to be a little wiggle room, a risk-free way to add some pizazz to a recipe without throwing everything off. When I want to add a little oomph to my recipes without drastically changing the formula, vanilla sugar is where it's at.


I used to think that making vanilla sugar was the epitome of having way too much time on one's hands, but it really takes no effort at all. The creation of a certain cake lead to the ownership of a few more vanilla beans than I knew what to do with. Rather than tossing the seedless pods into the trash, I threw them into a jar of granulated sugar, and after a few days, began using the fantastically fragrant and flavorful results in everything from my morning coffee to iced tea (in moderation, of course) to cakes, cookies and candymaking. Just about anywhere you would use granulated sugar in sweets, vanilla sugar adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the finished product. It's not as assertive as extract, which makes it great for things like pumpkin pie or citrus-based desserts that wouldn't list extract as an ingredient. And all you have to do is just keep topping the jar off with more sugar--the infusing power of the vanilla beans lasts for years. Seriously!

It's the perfect time to get a jar of vanilla sugar going, just in time for all those holiday baking projects. Plus, it makes a cheery little hostess gift--just pack sugar and a few vanilla bean halves into a quart-sized jar, tie a sweet little ribbon around the lid and label the jar with a small card.


Vanilla Sugar

2 whole vanilla beans
Granulated sugar
a large jar or other airtight container

Split the vanilla beans, and scrape out the seeds if desired. Place the pods into the container, and fill the jar with granulated sugar, leaving a bit room at the top. Give the jar a good shake, and set it in a cool, dry place to rest for a few days, shaking every so often to help the vanilla essence permeate the sugar. Use in place of granulated sugar for a little extra something special.

Meringue Days

After being in the grip of an intense Southern California heatwave for the better part of a week, the hellish beast has released us from his gnarly fists into the kind of weather that Santa Monicans usually take for granted: a high of 71 degrees, 65% humidity, ultramarine skies that kiss the horizon of a glittering navy ocean with the mountains of Malibu in the distance. Sound dramatic? It is. That's how bad the heat was, people. It makes it tragically hard to bake, for one thing. Not that it stopped me. Anyway, with this recent return to the lovely weather that makes life worth living out here, I decided to celebrate by making meringue.


Meringue in all its forms has fascinated me for as long as I can remember. I grew up in a family of chocoholics, but occasionally, usually during the holidays, these delicious and unusual treats would appear among the goodies on my Gramma's kitchen table. Small and light in color, crisp sweet domes of I didn't know what, sometimes with tiny chocolate chips mixed in, sometimes flavored with peppermint. They were a sweet mystery, and I gobbled them up. I also remember begging for a towering slice of a lofty lemon meringue pie from a rotating case at a Greek restaurant, neglecting the shimmying yellow curd altogether and devouring only the sugary pillow on top. I had no idea that what I was in love with was called meringue, and would probably have abandoned it forever if I had been told what it was made of (my lifelong egg phobia is a thing of legend in my family--now it's mostly the yolks that freak me out, and just in certain circumstances. I'm all growed up!).

Meringue, in short, is egg whites whipped with sugar. How the whites and sugar are whipped together determines the kind of meringue it is and how it can be used. There's Swiss meringue, a "cooked" meringue, made by dissolving sugar in egg whites in a double boiler, then whipping them. Italian meringue is made by streaming hot sugar syrup into the whites while they are being whipped, and is also considered to be a cooked meringue. French (aka "classic") meringue, which I make most often, is uncooked, just egg whites and sugar whipped together (I take granulated sugar for a spin in my clean coffee grinder first for a smoother texture). The more sugar added to any meringue, the stiffer the end result will be. These meringues are the base for thousands of recipes, everything from buttercream frostings to the aforementioned lofty pie toppings, dessert shells, macaroons, macarons, and more. And let's not forget meringue cookies.

Because they are so neutral in flavor, meringue cookies can be flavored with just about any extract or powdered flavoring imaginable, and little jaunty bits of chocolate or nuts or somesuch can be nice too. But I like them in traditional vanilla (with the best extract, please), maybe with a bit of cocoa, with tea on a nice, breezy, sunny day like today. When I mentioned that it's perfect meringue cookie-making weather here in Santa Monica, that mainly has to do with the relatively low humidity. Making baked meringue in humid or wet weather is a guaranteed failure--the meringue will flatten and burn and generally just be very sad.

But not today! Today we make meringues.

Meringue Cookies
Makes about 20, depending on size

4 large egg whites, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
pinch of salt
3/4 teaspoon good vanilla extract
1 cup superfine sugar

Preheat oven to 225 degrees and set the rack to the lower-middle position. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In an immaculately clean metal or glass bowl (any trace of grease will ruin your efforts), begin whipping the egg whites in standing mixer fitted with the whip attachment, or with an electric mixer, on medium speed until foamy. Add the cream of tartar and the salt, and whip at high speed until the whites are voluminous, glossy and sexy-looking, with the look and consistency of shaving cream.



With the mixer running, begin raining in the sugar, taking a short break about halfway to insure the sugar is well incorporated. When all the sugar has been added, add the vanilla.

At this point, you can add other flavorings or accoutrements (like finely chopped nuts or chips) as well. I opted to make half the meringue cookies vanilla, and gently folded in a tablespoon of Valrhona cocoa to the remaining batter to make chocolate meringues. These added elements will make the whites deflate ever-so-slightly, but they will still be delicious.




Shape the batter into cookies by using two spoons, dropping them onto the parchment-lined cookie sheets. Bake at 225 for 1 1/2 hours, until the exteriors are firm and dry. If they begin to brown, turn the oven down to 200 degrees. Turn off the oven and let the meringues dry out overnight. These can be stored in an airtight container, but are best eaten ASAP, as they will start to become soft and tackier over time. But that's not all bad either, really.

No Knead to Freak Out--Part One

I have a confession that may put my baking prowess in question: Bread Scares Me. Not in the carb-phobic L.A. kind of way (Sister, please! I blog about baking!), but in a "I-am-just-so-very-frightened-that-I'll-never-
get-it-to-turn-out-right" kind of way. All the kneading, the rising, the importance of gluten--it's all just been too much. Up until this point, I was so happy to leave the art of bread making to the pros and purchase crusty artisanal loaves from my favorite boulangeries. And then my latest kitchen purchase came along:
After barely justifying the hefty (literally and financially) purchase to myself and the husband, I had no other choice but to work my new Le Creuset 5 1/2 quart dutch oven. And going off of the sales pitch from my friendly Williams-Sonoma clerk ("You can roast in it, braise in it! Soups! Stews! It slices, it dices!") I decided to research what kinds of recipes I could bake in my new buddy. A simple Google search later, and I was met with roughly one bazillion websites and blogs discussing a phenomenon known as No Knead Bread, which, as legend would have it, gets the best results when baked in a Le Creuset dutch oven. Hooray!

"Wait, what do you mean Southern California has been in the grip of a treacherous heat wave? I'm baking BREAD, everyone!" I cried.

Nothing was going to hold me back. Not even the fact that I am nearly a year late on the No Knead trend. I've been called many lovely things in my lifetime--avant-garde is not one of them.



The pioneer in this case is Jim Leahy, owner of Sullivan Street Bakery in New York City. He developed this recipe and has lost a bit of the credit for it, because it was a New York Times article by Mark Bittman that really threw the recipe into the mainstream. Bittman, I salute you, you are a fine writer. But Jim Leahy, you sir deserve the Noble Prize for Carb Support for coming up with this one, and helping even yeast-skeered little old me make a loaf of gorgeous crusty bread that I believe made my husband forget the $200 Williams-Sonoma charge on the credit card. Well done, Mr. Leahy.

Since this recipe has been all the rage with foodies for quite some time, I was able to do a lot of research before beginning my No Knead adventure. Given the insanely warm weather, how temperamental this recipe can be and and what I already know about measuring ingredients in baking, I decided to seek out a recipe that gave measurements in weight (grams) not volume (cups). A cup of flour can contain up to 20 grams more or less than you think it does, depending on humidity, how you measure it, and how it was stored. Measuring by weight seemed to be the most foolproof method.

I was also careful to seek out photos of what the dough should look like when properly risen after the first rise (doubled in volume and covered in bubbles, indicating prime yeast action) and how long that should take (a broad window of 12-24 hours, depending on who you listen to). As I mentioned before, we were having quite the heat wave here in Southern California, even at the beach, so "room temperature" in my non-air-conditioned apartment was about 80 degrees, more than the recommended room temperature of 70 degrees. For this attempt, I decided to let the first rise go 16 hours, since the recipe I followed suggested 12-18 hours and it would be rising in a slightly warmer space. I also decided to forgo what would surely be a messy second rise in a kitchen towel in exchange for a lightly greased bowl, with no ill effect on the final result.



As for the ingredients, I used King Arthur Bread Flour, to which my current baking Bible, Baking Illustrated, gave rave reviews. I used Brita-filtered water, my favorite fleur de sel, and Fleischmann's Rapid Rise Yeast in the foil packets. and then later saw some No Kneaders warning against using this kind of yeast, and that it's better to use the kind for bread machines that comes in a jar. Well, my first loaf of this bread made with foil-packet instant yeast rose well and had a phenomenal crust, so next time I will try the kind in the jar which I'm assuming will take this bread to some new level none of us can comprehend. Probably.

This loaf of bread was, in short, almost really good. The texture is what was most impressive here: a crackly, thick, substantial crust, an interior littered with delightful holes, and a crumb that is chubby and chewy and simply divine.



So we have a great foundation here. But as for its flavor, ehhhh...well, given its beautiful appearance and the way shards of crisp crust spat about the kitchen upon slicing, I was longing for a more sourdough flavor, and just didn't get it this time. The husband was impressed though. At any rate, it was perfectly lovely with our dinner that night when it accompanied foods with big, bold flavors: a buttery brie, a sharp aged cheddar and a dippably juicy and garlicky tomato, white bean and basil salad over mixed greens.



I am going to play with this recipe a bit more and report back. I am very confident that a few adjustments will really make this bread live up to its grand reputation. Stay tuned...

No Knead to Freak Out--Part Two

Birthday Cake!

I mean, really, that statement requires an exclamation point. Any good cake suddenly becomes even better when it's made and eaten to celebrate someone's birthday. And to me, the classic birthday cake will always be a buttery, fine-textured yellow cake layered and covered with rich, fudgy frosting. It's the kind of cake that my Gramma is known for making for a birthday (you do have to get your request in early, however), and one that I grew up loving. It's the best of both worlds, vanilla and chocolate, light cake and rich frosting, simple enough flavors to pair well with whatever kind of ice cream the birthday girl or boy requests.

In this case the birthday boy was my husband's best friend from college, the best man in our wedding, and the person who indirectly introduced my husband and I to each other (in the way you can indirectly meet someone while dating someone else--it was college, people!). So this person obviously deserves a seriously good birthday cake, and nothing is better than a classic that never gets old, no matter how many times you have it. Kind of like celebrating birthdays themselves.

Before I get to the recipe, cross over with me into the land of culinary geekdom for a moment, won't you? I love experimenting with different mixing methods of cake-making. It never ceases to amaze me just how different textures and flavors can turn out just by mixing the same ingredients in a different order. I'm sure there's an ancient proverb in there somewhere. Anyway, in this case, the mixing method is the two-stage method, wherein softened butter is blended directly into the dry ingredients, and then the wet ingredients are streamed in at the end. This batter isn't quite as glamourous-looking coming together as cakes made via the creaming method, but oh, the texture of the finished cake. A fine and tender crumb, light and velvety, the perfect stage for a rich, dense fudgy frosting.

Classic Birthday Cake

(aka Yellow Layer Cake with Rich Fudge Frosting)

Adapted from Baking Illustrated

For the Cake:

1 3/4 cups plain cake flour, sifted, plus more for dusting the pans
4 large eggs, at room temperature
1/2 cup whole milk, at room temperature
2 teaspoons great vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
16 tablespoons (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened but still cool, cut into 16 pieces

1. Adjust an oven rack to the lower-middle position, and preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Generously butter two 9-inch cake rounds, line the bottoms with parchment, and butter the parchment. Dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.

2. Beat the eggs, milk and vanilla with a fork in a small bowl. Measure out one cup of this mixture and set aside.

3. Combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in the bowl of standing mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Stir the ingredients on low to combine, about 30 seconds.

4. With the mixture still running at the lowest speed, add the softened butter one piece at a time, mixing until the butter and flour begin the clump together, until it looks pebbly with pieces about the size of peas, 30 to 40 seconds after all the butter is added.

5. Add the reserved one cup of egg mixture and mix at low speed until incorporated, 5 to 10 seconds. Increase the speed to medium high and beat until light and fluffy, about 1 minute. Add the remaining egg mixture in a steady stream with the mixer running, taking about 30 seconds. Stop the mixer and scrape down the bowl and beater. Beat at medium-high speed again until the batter is thoroughly combined and just starts to look curdled, about 15 seconds.

6. Divide the batter equally between the prepared pans, smoothing out the surface. Bake until the cakes are light gold in color and a toothpick comes out clean, about 20 to 25 minutes. Cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes then run a knife along the edges to loosen them from the pans. Release cakes from the pans and let cool completely before icing them.

For the Frosting:

16 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped fine
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/3 cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Place the chocolate in a heatproof bowl. Bring the cream to just a simmer over medium-high heat in a small saucepan, then pour the cream over the chocolate. Add the corn syrup, and let the mixture stand for 3 minutes.

2. Whisk the mixture until smooth, and add the vanilla. Refrigerate for 1 to 1/2 hours, stirring every 15 minutes, until the mixture reaches a spreadable consistency. You can use this frosting as is, or for a lighter texture like I prefer, place the frosting in the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with a whip attachment and whip the frosting until it is fluffy with medium peaks, about 2 minutes.

To assemble the cake, remove the parchment from the cake layers, and place one layer upside down on a cake stand or serving platter. I like to put strips of parchment or wax paper just under the edges of the cake to protect the serving platter from frosting smudges. Put about half a cup of frosting on this layer, and spread it out, leaving about 1/2 inch frosting-free around the edges of the cake--the filling will spread when you add the second layer. Place the second layer on top, and cover the cake with the remaining frosting. This frosting is so smooth and spreadable that you don't need a crumb coat, especially if you decide to whip the frosting. Serve at room temperature with ice cream of the birthday girl or boy's choice.

The Great All-American Sponge Cake

Okay, so maybe the sponge cake isn't literally an American invention (most food historians agree that the sponge cake as we now know it was probably a European recipe created in the early 19th century), but it feels American to me: sturdy, dependable, versatile, basic. An egg-and-sugar canvas for a multitude of flavorings and cultural influences. I also hear that sponge cake opposes the war. But that's another post.

Sponge cake is basically an angel food cake made with whole eggs instead of egg whites. There are a few variations, but sponge cake recipes are always low on ingredients and high on technique. When done right it tastes of fresh, pillowy, just-eggy-enough French toast, and the interior looks delightfully like its namesake:

When done wrong, it looks like flat, day-old French toast and tastes like its namesake. You see what I'm saying here.

Remember that sponge cake batter does best when it's like Santa Monica summer: warm and breezy. With a sponge cake, it's really all about the eggs. They provide the sturdy structure, effervescent interior, and most of the lift in this cake. In general, all baking goes much smoother with room temperature eggs, but in a cake like this, air will find it's way much more swiftly and certainly into both the whites and the yolks when they have had a chance to warm up out of the fridge. Since my baking urges hit suddenly and strongly, and are rarely premeditated, I've discovered that bathing the eggs in warm water while I set everything else up does a nice job of bringing them up to a more batter-friendly temperature quickly.

I also opted to turn the following recipe into a hot-milk sponge cake, which was recommended in several recipes I found, and heated the milk in the microwave for one minute (opting to add some good vanilla to it) to keep the Santa Monica summer thing happening in the batter (I haven't been to culinary school, but I'm sure this isn't a technical term).

This recipe calls for baking all of the batter in one glorious, thick layer in a 9-inch springform pan, which I also think makes it so versatile. Among other things, you can tear the finished sponge cake into chunks for a berry trifle, douse it with something delicious to celebrate its literal sponginess (more on that in the coming days), or slice it into two or three layers to fill it (Boston Cream Pie, anyone?). However, you can easily divide the batter into two cake pans--just reduce the cooking time to 16-20 minutes. This cake also freezes beautifully for future endeavors, like when you unexpectedly find yourself with some really good ice cream...or something.

You can avoid the depressing, sinking center that sponge cakes tend to have by working quickly when it comes out of the oven, loosening the edges with a thin knife and immediately turning it out of the hot pan and cooling it right side up on a rack. This one cooled as tall and as proud as it first looked coming out of the oven:

For this sponge cake go around, I opted to simply slice it across, fill it with homemade strawberry jam, and have a hunk out on the porch with a glass of ice-cold milk. I am, of course, an American girl.

Classic Sponge Cake

Serves 8-10

Enjoy plain or with various fruits, glazed, soaked, filled with ice cream, mousse, jam...you have the right to freedom of sponge cake. And that's just straight up American.

1 cup granulated sugar

5 egg yolks

5 egg whites

1/3 cup milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Wrap the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan with parchment then lock it into place, and butter the pan and the parchment.

Heat 1/3 cup milk in the microwave for one minute, stir in vanilla, set aside.

Whisk together flour, baking powder and salt, set aside.

In a stand mixer with a paddle attachment or with an electric hand mixer, beat the egg yolks with 3/4 cup sugar until light in color and doubled in volume. They will be a beautiful, creamy pale yellow color, like the walls of my apartment.

Set the mixer on low and stir in the milk mixture first and then the flour mixture, scraping the bowl as necessary, and then set aside.

In a small, grease-free bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric hand mixer or in a clean stand mixer bowl with a whisk attachment. When soft peaks form, gradually rain in the remaining 1/4 cup sugar. Beat until firm but not dry.

Fold 1/3 of the egg whites into the yolk mixture first, to lighten it up. When mostly combined, add the remaining 2/3 of the whites and continue to fold carefully, through the center of the batter, under it and back over to keep as much air in the mixture as possible. When the egg mixtures are fully incorporated, pour batter into the prepared pan.

Bake at 350 degrees for 45 to 50 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean. It will be a gorgeous, light brown color. Immediately place the cake on a rack, remove the springform ring and remove the cake from the pan bottom by lifting off the parchment paper. Cool the cake completely on a rack, then remove the paper before placing on a serving platter.

It's Two, Two, Two Treats in One!

Who wouldn't love a muffin that tastes like a doughnut? Who doesn't love dessert masquerading as breakfast? Communists, that's who.

The Nutmeg Doughnut Muffin, after it's done blowing your mind, will become one of those great recipes to have on hand whenever you find yourself having to provide something breakfast-y, but you really don't want to be the loser serving a store-bought coffee cake or somesuch (brunch, wedding/baby shower, tea party--hey, why don't people have more of those, anyway??). Fresh nutmeg, snowy powdered sugar (or a mixture of granulated sugar and cinnamon) and a tender but significant crumb give these muffins their shockingly doughnut-like flavor without being fried. This is the kind of thing that makes people think you are fantastically genius and innovative in the kitchen. And then they all try and rip you off by asking for the recipe. The Nutmeg Doughnut Muffin is a double-edged sword that way, and in other ways, too. In addition, it tastes like a muffin--AND A DOUGHNUT. And if we're getting nerdily specific, well....it's not technically a muffin. It's really a cupcake.

By culinary definition, the difference between a muffin and a cupcake is all in the mixing method. Muffins are made by stirring together--usually by hand--sifted dry ingredients (flour, baking powder/soda, salt, dry spices) and the combined liquid ingredients (eggs, oil/melted butter, sugar--yes sugar counts as a liquid with the Muffin Method) in one step. Cakes of the "cup" variety are often made with the Creaming Method, where the recipe preparation begins by creaming butter and sugar together--such is the case with this alleged Nutmeg Doughnut "Muffin". But whatever--bottom line, it just feels so much better to tell yourself you're eating a "muffin" at 10:00 a.m. . I am quite the enabler, aren't I? Bwahahaha.

Nutmeg Doughnut "Muffins"

Adapted from Orangette and Kathleen Stewart

Makes 12

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 � teaspoons baking powder
� teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
� teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg (if you're using, um, not freshly grated, just add a smidge more)

� cup plus 1 tablespoon whole milk
2 tablespoons buttermilk

1 � sticks (12 tablespoons) unsalted butter, room temperature
� cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 large eggs

For the big finish:
4 - 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 � - 2 cups powdered sugar

OR

1 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamonPreheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray a standard-size muffin tin with non-stick cooking spray.

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg, no need to sift. Whisk thoroughly and set aside.

Combine the milk and the buttermilk in a measuring cup, and set this aside, too.

Start by creaming the butter in a standing mixer at medium speed with the paddle attachment, or in a large bowl with an electric mixer, until soft and creamy. Add the sugar in a steady stream and continue beating, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed, until the mixture increases in volume and gets pale, like frosting. Add the eggs one at a time, beating until they are just combined.

With a wooden spoon, mix � of the flour mixture into the butter mixture. Add 1/3 of the milk mixture. Continue to add the dry and wet ingredients alternately, ending with the dry ingredients. Mix until the batter is smooth and well combined, but don't overmix.

Divide the batter between the cups of the muffin tin. A standard ice cream scoop is genius for this task. Bake until they are just turning golden, are firm to the touch and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 25-32 minutes.

When the alleged "muffins" are cool enough to handle, Get the melted butter ready, and pour the powdered sugar into a big food storage bag (less mess than using a bowl). Using a pastry brush, lightly brush the entire outside of each with melted butter, and then immediately roll it in the powdered sugar.

Like most baked goods, these are best on the day that they�re made, but thanks to their protective sugar coating, they are still really good on the second day. If you want to make them ahead, this batter keeps well--covered and chilled, of course, for up to three days.

Pump Up the Jam

So while on a flight from Miami to L.A., I dug into the July issue of Food & Wine magazine with the "Best New Chefs" cover story. Awesome, inspirational read by the by. Anyway, I came across this other great article about canning and making preserves. And here our story begins.

One of the best things about living in Los Angeles is access to all the Farmers' Markets. There's literally one every day of the week around these parts. After finding a recipe for Strawberry Preserves in the aforementioned F&W mag while on that airplane, I decided that I would, upon landing, walk myself directly off that jetway and to my favorite Farmers' Market to stockpile fresh Joo-lah strawberries and get to jam-makin'. Welllll...it took two weeks to get to the market and stops at four different stores with my poor husband in tow to find proper jars (thank you, Sur La Table, when will I ever learn to just go straight to you first??), but the berries were still very much in season and said husband was so bored of my endeavor at that point that he left for the driving range and I got the whole place to myself and my jam making--yippee!

Now, I'm a kitchen gadget kind of lady, so I have pretty much everything I actually need when I feel like getting into cahoots with a recipe or culinary idea. There is much justification going on when I spot something new and kitchen-y I really want. So you can imagine how excited I was when jam making came along and there was all this new stuff that I needed to buy to pursue this new passion! Clearly, one cannot make jam without new stuff! And the stuff needed for jam making and/or canning of anything goes like this:

• A huge pot
• A big, deep skillet
• Ladle
• Wooden spoon
• Sturdy tongs (for grabbing the jars out of boiling water)
• Pastry brush
• Candy thermometer (so many uses, it's not even funny)
• Metal rack that fits your huge pot (to keep the jars up off the bottom of it)
• Proper jars (You can use the kind with lids and rings; I got the pretty, patterned Leifheit ones that are one-piece lids because they reminded me of the ones my Grampa had in his kitchen and that was a nice feeling--I say call in your guardian angels for any endeavor involving boiling sugar.)

There are a few things you should know before making preserves or canning, and here is a great overview of Canning 101.

After I wrapped my brain around the process, here's the recipe I used. You'll notice there's no fruit pectin in this recipe, which is commonly used to ensure that the jam sets. Because there's no pectin, you've gotta make sure that the jam hits the temperature indicated in the recipe before you pull it off the heat or it will be no bueno when it cools. You can test the hot jam for "doneness" by putting a few drops on a freezing cold plate. If it sets, it's ready to put it in the prepared jars.

Strawberry Preserves

Courtesy of Chef Linton Hopkins and Food and Wine Magazine:

Makes 3 Pints

• Juice of 2 lemons, strained
• 4 1/2 cups of sugar
• 2 pounds small to medium strawberries, hulled

1. In a large, deep skillet, pour the lemon juice around the sugar. Leave it alone and cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes or until most of the sugar is melted. At this point, you can stir it gently with a wooden spoon until all the the sugar is melted, all the while brushing the sides of the pan with a damp pastry brush to keep sugar crystals from forming (because really, who wants crunchy jam?).
2. Add the strawberries to the melted sugar and kick the heat up to medium high, mashing the berries gently with a good old potato masher until the temperature reaches 220 degrees (or 8 degrees above boiling, depending on altitude). This should take about 10 minutes, but I had to increase the heat at that point for about three additional minutes to get it up to temperature. Once you hit 220, continue to boil until the preserves are thick, about four more minutes. You can test the jam on a plate at this point if you want to.
3. SKIM ANY FOAM OFF OF THE JAM AT THIS POINT! Then spoon the preserves into three hot one-pint jars (a MacGyvered funnel made of aluminum foil saved me here) leaving 1/4 inch of space at the top and close with the lids and rings. I used six, one-cup self-sealing jars instead.
4. To process the jars, boil them for 15 minutes in your huge pot with a metal rack set in the bottom (I actually forgot to buy a rack and again MacGyvered my jar processing by placing a heat-proof plate upside-down in the pot instead. A little extra rattling ensued, but all was well.)
5. Remove the jars with the tongs (this is scary-stuff--be careful!!) and set them aside to cool at room temperature. Serve after two days or store them in a cool, dark place for up to one year if they're around that long (yeah, right, I buckled after 36 hours and opened the first jar--still awesome, though). Refrigerate after opening.

So I'm sure you would've loved some photos taken during the jam making process, and I'm sorry for not taking any--I decided it was a little dangerous balancing scalding hot, liquidy fruit and a digital camera, you understand, right? But here is the delicious finished product:

All in all, a very successful first attempt at making strawberry jam, I would say. It set up perfectly (thank you, candy thermometer) and has gotten rave reviews from taste-testers. You will note that in the recipe above I have screamed at you to skim the foam off of your jam before spooning it into the jars. I may or may not have forgotten to do that since the recipe I used may or may not have FORGOTTEN TO TELL ME TO DO THAT. Jam foam isn't untasty or anything, it's just unattractive on an otherwise perfect jar of jam.

Also, next time, I will definitely make this recipe with less sugar. I was a little afraid to mess with the fruit to sugar ratio even though I thought the recipe called for too much sugar for my taste--I feared it wouldn't set properly or something. But after doing some research, I found out that you can absolutely reduce the sugar without sacrificing the consistency, though I might add some fruit pectin when I make a low-sugar version, just in case. The jars I bought were so cute, and fun to give as gifts. And by fun I mean seeing the shock on people's faces upon learning that city folk can indeed make jam.