I was in a jam, but now I’m a Domestic Goddess
Our new garden produced two-and-a-half pounds of blackcurrants. Their sweet, dusty perfume, those beardy little topknots, the luxuriant, light prickle of the leaves, took me back to being a small child lost in a jungle. It was actually our neighbour, Mr Dyer’s, vegetable patch, which bristled with bamboo-cane wigwams. Mr Dyer’s goal was to live to a hundred. “You must only have been two-and-a-half or three,” says my mother. So it’s probably my earliest memory.
I decided to make jam, my very first attempt. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve always been scared of the word pectin. I asked the hive mind of Twitter for tips. Within an hour, I had at least 50 different approaches to blackcurrant jam. “Blackcurrants have masses of pectin so no need to worry about the jam setting,” said Richard, “but soften the fruit before adding sugar.” Pectin was unnecessary, confirmed Caroline. “Don’t need it, they have loads. Mint goes well with blackcurrants, chuck some chopped leaves in.” Preserving sugar had some fans. “Means no need to test the set,” said Kathy, “I also add a good amount of lemon juice.”
Orvis concurred: “Jam sugar is your friend. It has Aradlite in it to make things set.” Others were dead against, preferring the addition of a cooking apple or rhubarb or ferocious boiling.
A few said I should be sure to use a thermometer. Nearly everyone suggested the trick of putting a plate in the freezer. Put the hot jam on it, then push with your finger to check it wrinkles and forms a skin. Kath always adds a knob of unsalted butter to the mix. “Stops it foaming,” she claimed. It does!
I ended up following Lou’s recipe from the 1934 Complete Illustrated Cookery Book. Three-quarters of a pound of sugar to each pound of fruit. Put currants in a deep dish, cover with sugar and leave overnight. Next morning, bring to a fast boil. Just to be on the safe side, I added lemon juice and diced cooking apple. No pectin, no water, no thermometer.
Reader, am Domestic Goddess! I reckon the jam could stand up by itself. But it tastes so richly, redolently blackcurranty. I am absurdly pleased with myself and have plans to make jam on Saturday from the humungous rhubarb. All advice gratefully received.