I wasn’t sure how I’d feel as the college graduations of my friend’s daughters started trickling into my Instagram feed. Just a couple of short years ago, our families were all on parallel paths. Then in the summer of 2023 a new journey began to unfold.

Isabella’s decision to take a permanent break from college is one I whole-heartedly agreed with, and still do. We’ll never know if Bennington was the wrong fit, or if college just wasn’t the right choice for her at that moment in time. Why the academic world insists on this rigid path for our children is a question for another day. What I do know is that the person she is today is so much stronger and confident, both emotionally and mentally, than the person who graduated high school 4 years ago.

I’m embarrassed to admit how blinded I was to how much she was masking and holding things together while living at home. Freshman year was when the grief she’d been carrying came barging through the front door. Her grief has many layers beyond the obvious ones. I can relate in some ways to the responsibilities she carried as the oldest sibling in a single parent household. She was expected to carry her weight more than her younger sister.

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originally published August 4, 2011

As I sat down to share this recipe with all of you, a pang of anxiety took hold. Good heavens, I've built this up big time, and there's always the fear of disappointment. This isn't to say these slushies won't leave you looking like Martha Stewart with all your friends, not to mention kids will now worship you, even if you didn't give birth to them.

The problem is in my mind, this recipe is so easy, it almost seems like a non-recipe. I mean, it's really just adding cherry conserves and ice to a blender.

Are you deflated? Wondering why I kept you in suspense for so long?

Well, I had a good reason, and it's this—to prove why your time is worth investing in preserving and canning. If you're a seasoned homecook, then this is a no-brainer for you. The people I wanted to tap into with this slushie are the novices. The ones lurking, waiting to try one of my recipes. You know who you are, and it's okay. I promise I won't hold a grudge (this isn't to say I don't hold grudges—I'm just more forgiving in the kitchen).

See, all you need is a jar of this in your pantry and you'll be ready to whip up a dessert sure to conjur oohs and ahhs. Once you experience those accolades, not to mention slurp up a bit of it yourself, you will be one step closer to becoming addicted to cooking from scratch.

I really do believe that. It's like that proverb "give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, teach a man to fish and you'll feed him for a lifetime". I'm not trying to get all biblical here, but I am reaching into my gospel of good cooking to encourage you to try something new that will seriously change your life forever.

When I first started canning, about four years ago, all I made was strawbery jam. The next year I added pickles and tomato jam. Last year I pickled green beans and tried my hand at roasted rhubarb jam. This year, I seem to be pickling anything that doesn't move faster than me.

If you've done your homework, then you should have a jar of cherry conserves waiting in your fridge or pantry. Now go get your blender—it's time to reward yourself.

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originally published August 3, 2011

I promise you we're getting closer to that cherry slushy I keep promising you. I must confess, this whole idea of posting a series on cherries seemed like a good idea when I first started out. The problem is I get easily distracted by all the new finds at the farmers' market each week. I'm also a little distracted after the past weekend's festivities. Those of you who made it to Big Summer Potluck this weekend know what I'm talking about, and if you didn't, then I've got some lovely people to introduce you to soon.

But back to the cherries, before the season ends.

This week's theme for Summer Fest 2011 is...drum roll please...cherries! So not only do you get the joy of making this conserve, but you get a whole list of links for more cherry recipes too. It's a win-win, when you think about it.

Oh, what is a conserve a few of you are asking, right? Don't worry I had no clear idea either until I came across this recipe for strawberry conserve from the Canal House Cooking folks in the June issue of Bon Appetit—you know, the one with Gwyneth on the cover (and while I know there are naysayers, I for one, really love the direction Bon Appetit is going in editorially).

Again, though, back to the beloved cherries.

I've been playing a lot with this method of making conserves. In fact, I haven't made a single jar of real jam since the start of strawberry season. The idea of simply slicing fruit, sprinkling it with sugar and letting it take a time out while the sugar slowly coaxes out the fruit's natural juices is just too easy for words. 

Okay, maybe I haven't abandoned my microwave jam method for good. Perhaps this is just a phase, and I just need to get this obsession with making conserves out of my system. For now, there is no end in sight. I've put up jars of apricot-lemon thyme conserves, blueberry conserves, strawberry-rosemary conserves—and peaches are next in my path of conservation. Get it? Oh, nevermind. Just go buy some cherries, and make this conserve—slushies are in our future.

I promise.

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I lost my maraschino virginity about seven years ago.

I remember the day, as any girl would one that changes her life forever. I'd been browsing through Barnes & Noble when I saw a new cocktail book, and immediately recognized the name. It was by Nick Mautone, the guy who gave me my break in the New York City restaurant scene. I saw an ad in the New York Times back in 1999 for a hostess and reservationist opening at Gramercy Tavern. I'd been personal cheffing for a year, and decided it would be a good idea to learn some front of house skills to round out my knowledge of what it takes to feed people.

Restaurant experiences are about so much more than the meal. I appreciate this now even more when a sitter is on the hook for $15 an hour.

But I digress.

Gramercy Tavern, GT as everyone who works there comes to call it, holds so many special memories for me. I've worked with some of the best chefs and restaurateurs the world has to offer, and no other restaurant has replicated the feeling of being part of that team.

It was there that I also came to appreciate the art of cocktail making. Back then Nick was the General Manager and always had an amazing twist to add. The Ginger Tonic started with a homemade base of ginger-steeped simple syrup. Bloody Mary's—Mikey's favorite brunch drink, was reinvented as a Pickle Mary with housemade bread and butter pickles chopped up, and swirled in.

By time Nick's book came out, I was onto working with Drew Nieporent for a brief stint running his now-shuttered bakery in Tribeca. But those cocktails left a lasting impression, and I bought the book so I could start making them at home.

As I flipped through the pages, his recipe for maraschino cherries stopped me in my tracks. In all the years I'd been going to GT, even after I stopped working there, I never remembered ordering a cocktail with those cherries.There was clearly a lot of lost time to make up for here.

I've pretty much stuck with his recipe as written, with a tweak here and there. I nixed the star anise, wanting to keep my flavors a little less exotic. Recently, I came across pure black cherry juice at my local supermarket, and decided to swap it in for the grape juice in Nick's recipe for a more intense cherry flavor.

Although Nick calls for frozen bing cherries, I've been using this recipe to preserve the fresh bing one's coming in from the Pacific Northwest right now. If you planned ahead and already pitted and froze some cherries like I mentioned in my last post, then just add 2 to 3 more minutes to the cooking time.

Speaking of cooking time, if you're planning to can these using a hot water bath, then I suspect you should undercook the cherries since the boiling water will cook them a bit inside the glass jars.

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Originally published June 2016

I love honey mustard dipping sauce. In researching recipes, though, it seems mayonnaise is a key ingredient. I’ll willingly eat something already made at a restaurant, but my relationship with mayo at home is a complicated one. I can’t quite wrap my head around how something with eggs in it can be shelf stable, requiring no refrigeration until open. This is why there are so many stabilizers and extra added ingredients in jarred mayonnaise.

Offering up a science lesson will do you no good. Mayonnaise and I have had this rocky relationship for decades now, and it won’t be changing any time soon. So, you can understand the quandary I found myself in when I wanted to make a honey mustard sauce for my fried chicken bites, but didn’t feel like adding the extra step of making my own mayonnaise.

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When it comes to gardening, hardy perennials are my strength. Plants that don’t need too much attention, and can thrive under even the harshest conditions. It took me more than a decade of owning this house to accept the truth that I don’t enjoy, or have the time it takes, to tend a vegetable garden.

Perhaps if I had more mouths to feed, or had proper animal proofing, I’d feel differently. I love the initial planting part of it all but after that, you become a servant to the garden. Going away, even for just the weekend, means needing someone to water if you don’t have an irrigation system. Our weather here the last few summers has either been too wet, or too dry, almost drought-like. 

There’s also the wildlife factor, coming at me from all directions above and underground—rabbits, deer, bears, moles, groundhogs, to name just a few. I’ve even had to dispose of a few birds that met a disastrous ending in the protective netting I put over my blueberry bushes.

Gardening is a humbling activity, and gives you an appreciation for just how much effort is involved in producing the food we eat. I strongly believe this should be a required curriculum in school. It would serve our children, and the future of our world better, than some of the subjects currently taught. In the end it’s more cost effective, both financially and from a time perspective, for me to support local farm stands.

Except in the case of those hardy perennials, like the little rhubarb patch I planted about five years ago. Every spring, just as the temperatures begin to warm and the days grow longer, it pops up, reminding me of its resiliency, and my own.

Rhubarb is often paired with strawberries, which is a shame because it’s a lovely vegetable on its own. Yes, botanically speaking, rhubarb is a vegetable though we use it more like a fruit in cooking. Too often the sour flavor of rhubarb is masked with copious amounts of sugar. A perfect rhubarb recipe should highlight the sourness while also taming it.

This is why roasting is my favorite way to cook rhubarb. It allows you to use just enough sugar to balance the acidity but still preserve its inherent flavor. This roasted vanilla rhubarb is a thick, jammy compote of sorts, and comes together easily and quickly using an air fryer. You’ll find conventional oven directions in the notes after the recipe.

I love to spoon this over plain Greek yogurt. You can do the same with ice cream, or try stirring some into a glass of bubbly seltzer for a homemade rhubarb soda. It would even be great to use in cocktails, and work nicely muddled into an old fashioned. —xo, j.

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A few weeks ago, while making veggie tacos for lunch, memories of restaurant taco lunch crept into my thoughts, specifically the homemade crema they served with them. I did a quick search for some recipes, and was quite surprised to see how easy it is to make. There are two ways you can go. Let’s call the first one a shortcut crema. It’s a mix of heavy cream, sour cream, and sea salt. Generally, you want to give it 2 to 3 hours to chill on the counter, and thicken up. That is totally acceptable crema to me in a pinch.

The real show stopper, though, is made with heavy cream, buttermilk, and sea salt. You’ll notice there’s one difference here, but it’s a world of difference to me. By letting the cream take its time to sour and thicken (you’ll need 18 to 24 hours to make it), the resulting crema is more developed, has more character. Regardless of which recipe you choose, homemade crema is one of the easiest ways to upgrade your next taco meal.

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originally published February 2017

Morocco was an incredible, beautiful dream-like blur, and yet my memories of those 48 hours are still so vivid. Agadir is an interesting place, juxtaposed by a luxury beachfront with high-end stores and hotel, and a very rough and tumble feel to the streets once you venture from the boardwalk. On my only full day there, I went for a hike in the High Atlas Mountains, with a local guide. Never have I experienced something so magical. In the middle of the mountains was a little rest stop, the gentleman who was the host was a cousin of our guide.

We refreshed with a meal, humble looking on sight, but so perfectly cooked. A vegetable tagine that I still dream about making, some amlou, and warm, fluffy pita that I watched him bake in a clay oven. Many people refer to amlou as a Moroccan nutella. I suppose that makes sense since it's a finely ground blend of nuts, oil, and sweetener, but really they are very different.

Amlou starts with a base of deeply roasted, fine ground almonds. You want to use skin-on almonds, and I always opt for roasting my own rather than buying roasted almonds—I like being able to control the roasting process. It's important to take the almonds further than you might think, without burning them, of course. This intensely roasted flavor is tamed by the honey you add to make the amlou. I prefer a creamy, churned honey, but I'd say use what you have in the house, or simply like best.

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The key ingredient here is argan oil, something not readily available in grocery stores, so apologies for that. It is quite easy to order online. Be sure to buy an argan oil that is for cooking purposes, as this is also a big trend in toiletries (hair oil, shampoo, soaps, etc.). And choose a pure oil, not a blend. I suppose if you must, as I know someone will ask me this question, you could use a substitute oil to make amlou, but for me that would be like saying it's okay to use anything but olive oil to make a classic, basil pesto. In this case, I really do recommend sticking with tradition since it also imparts a crucial flavor in the amlou.

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We’ve just finished the Jewish High Holy days, with Yom Kippur last weekend, which also leaves me contemplating decisions and all the relationships in my life. Going to high holiday services alone is never easy but this year felt particularly hard as I watched a young couple with their two young daughters, one maybe just six months old, surrounded by their extended family. I wanted that so badly, and had it for a fleeting moment even if our extended families were so dysfunctional, but then again who’s family isn’t?

When Michael was alive, we acknowledged all of the Jewish holidays in a very relaxed, non-traditional way. I had a yearning to make sure our children knew their Jewish heritage even if it perplexed my Italian Catholic family, and even though we never attended services. Michael and I only went to a synagogue together three times—for a bat mitzvah, a wedding, and a tot shabbat that friends invited us to. We never actually attended services together. His relationship with Judaism was very conflicted like many Jews I know.

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah services this year, I found myself wondering if I would still be on this same path, Judaism carrying such relevance in my life if Michael were still alive. Would we have made this journey together? I’d like to believe we would’ve. He was a spiritual person who found deep comfort in Buddhist readings and principles. Reconstructionist Judaism, the congregation I belong to, reminds me a lot of Buddhism at the core.

I think if Michael had had the chance to experience the Woodstock Jewish Congregation he would’ve seen there was indeed a place for those who identify with their Jewish heritage but also know faith alone cannot guide one’s decisions. We must always keep questioning, keep refining the way we see and experience life.

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There’s no good way to segway from such deep thoughts to a recipe for stir-fry sauce but here I am, doing just that. As you may know from previous posts I’ve been all over the place with dietary modifications to try and understand some health issues. It’s frustrating to have blood test after blood test show everything looks okay on paper when you still feel rather cruddy in your own skin. I went down the gluten-free rabbit hole for a third time in the last few years, and it didn’t seem to make a deep enough impact to be worth the major change, mainly when it comes to bread and pasta. 

What I did find out conclusively though is my Hashimoto’s diagnosis about six months ago, though it’s subclinical and not affecting my thyroid yet. There’s some extreme suggestions for dietary changes, and in the same way faith doesn’t have to be all or nothing, and is not one size fits all, the same can be said for dealing with diet and health. Two changes that did seem to have a positive benefit for me were reducing refined sugars and removing soy from my diet.

Refined sugars were easy to reduce since I’ve leaned towards maple syrup and honey for years now. The farmers’ market in Great Barrington has a wonderful maple syrup stand where I was able to buy maple sugar in bulk, too. 

Soy has been harder because it’s everything, and it meant giving up tofu which I not only loved but was a staple in my mostly vegetarian diet. I made the switch from tamari and soy sauce to coconut amino acids ( I love Big Tree Farms brand), and have since been making a lot of my own sauces from scratch since most store-bought ones contain soy sauce and sugar. 

The stir-fry sauce below has become a staple in my house. Virginia loves it on everything, so I make a batch every couple of weeks. Use it as you would in any recipe that calls for stir-fry or teriyaki sauce, or just toss it on some grilled, roasted or sauteed veggies and meats. I also love it simply drizzled over fried eggs with a bowl of rice or quinoa. —xo, j.

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Soothing waters.

Seagulls trying to steal our potato chips off the beach blanket.

Sand scratching between my toes.

Tomorrow is the big day. The one we wait for every year. The countdown really starts the moment our car rolls down the driveway onto Shore Road, and we wait another 365 days to return to North Truro.

Before I could think about packing, though, I wanted to make sure you had this recipe for pickled watermelon rind. After tasting it—my first venture into this very unique and intriguing Southern side, I decided it was worthy of bumping the other 20 or so recipes in the queue.

It is that good, and addictive, I should warn you. That expected pickle-like crunch. Drops of syrupy vinegar cutting through the heat of the jalapenos. Most recipes call for chopping the rind into chunks. I couldn't resist slicing it into slivers instead. I imagine it will pair well with tacos or instantly perk up an otherwise simple salad.

If only I can stop eating it by the forkful.

So far, I've managed to can four jars. I still have some watermelon in the fridge and might be tempted enough to can a few more while I'm readying the last of our bags for the journey. Trust me, this is one recipe you don't want to shelve until next season.

Originally published August 2010

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When I first mentioned last week that I was attempting a homemade version of Nutella, a twitter friend said I was going too far. Oh, how does his lovely wife Michele live his incessant teasing? They are a very cute couple, by the way, and I'm so glad to have met them in person last year.

Ah, but I've gotten off track, and so soon into this post. That may be a record for me. Alas, my goal in making my own nutella wasn't to improve upon the original recipe. And when I say original, I mean the one in the glass jars that are imported from Italy, not the plastic containers made domestically in the U.S.—they used to contain HFCS, and while that ingredient has been removed it still is made with palm oil. My goal was to simply recreate the recipe as stated on the label of those glass jars I'd been paying $5.79 for to support Isabella's habit.

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Well, at least that was my original intent. Of course, I decided to push the envelope, and we'll see what Chef John has to say about it. The ingredient list is short, and um...sweet: zucchero (sugar), olio vegetale (vegetable oil), nocciole (hazelnuts), cocoa magro (which translates to thin cocoa, which I interpreted to mean cocoa powder) and from here there are three more ingredients with very funny literal translations, but they're basically powdered whole milk, powdered skim milk, emulsifiers and flavoring.

What that translated to in my Italian-American kitchen was confectioners' sugar, hazelnuts, melted chocolate, cocoa powder, vanilla bean seeds, and a few drops, I really mean just a scant amount, of vegetable oil—for an ultra smooth spreading consistency.

Here's where I may have gone too far. I was going to use Scharffen Berger cocoa powder. But right next to it on my pantry shelf was that alluring dark box of Valrhona cocoa. It's as if it was batting its eyelashes, saying "you know you want me".

I caved.

Then there's the matter of the chocolate. I could've used milk chocolate, which would've better recreated the exact flavor.

I could've. But I didn't. 

I used some Guittard 55% chocolate wafers. The resulting flavor is a quite decadent treat, as if Nutella in itself doesn't scream decadence spread on toast...for breakfast. Back when I was in middle school—I believe my daughter thinks that's when dinosaurs roamed the earth, we used to rent an apartment from an Italian family. I was always jealous of their morning Nutella ritual but my mother said chocolate wasn't for breakfast.

Now that I'm a grown up, I can have it whenever I want. I also get to be a pretty cool mom when I let the kid have a tiny smear on toast before she goes off to school—hey, it's whole wheat bread and it gets her to eat something in the morning, as well as drink a big glass of milk. 

So, while this recipe is richer and has a deeper chocolate flavor, it's pretty darn good and kid approved. If you really want to be a purist and crave more of that creamy, milk chocolate undertone, by all means swap in milk chocolate discs and regular cocoa. Trust me you won't be disappointed by either version. 

Originally published March 2010

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I’m on the fence whether sharing this recipe is a good or bad thing. Depending on where you live, apricot season may be done. Up here in the Hudson Valley, apricots seem to be an endangered species. They were non-existent the last three years due to crop damage from late spring frosts. Stone fruits are particularly vulnerable when a cold blast hits after weeks of warm weather. Once the trees start to bloom, a late, unexpected frost can take out an entire season’s harvest.

The weather cooperated producing the first apricots at Montgomery Place Orchards in a few years, and yet it still wasn’t enough for them to be a reliable source. I’d all but given up hope on finding them this season.

My work schedule now means my time for getting up to the farm stand is limited. I missed the first smallish batch for sale, and just about when I’d resigned myself to “maybe next year”, my patience was rewarded with scoring four quarts of apricots. They were a hefty sum, but considering all I’d saved not being able to buy them the last three years, I rationalized the expense.

The girls, Virginia especially, squealed when I arrived home with them. We consumed the better part of one quart, eating apricots out of hand, and making an apricot version of my Summer Peach Cake.

My eagerness to help the season linger, combined with my lack of time to make jam, resulted in preserving the remaining three quarts of apricots using a cold pack preserving method. The fruit is split in half, pitted, and then snuggly set into a jar. You want to make sure the fruit really fills it up, even looking a bit too close for comfort.

While you’re doing that, a pot of water, honey, and sugar should be bubbling away on the stovetop. The hot liquid gets poured over the fruit, and at that moment you’ll understand why it’s important to pack the fruit it rather tightly.

The apricots buckle from the heat of the boiling honey syrup, not enough to lose their shape, but enough to fill the jar comfortably. For this reason, you also want to make sure you select apricots that are ripe, but still quite firm.

Deciding when to use my tiny stash of three jars is going to be a challenge. How to use them will be the easy part. Spooned over ice cream or sponge cake. Stirred into yogurt or oatmeal. Maybe just eat them as-is for a light, fuss-free dessert. One thing you can be sure of is that I’ll savor every single bite.

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The unofficial start of summer arrived when I noticed the hand painted sign with strawberries scribbled on it at Davenport’s farmstand on Hurley Mountain Road a few days ago. I almost jammed down on the brakes to make a u-turn but past years have taught me that the first strawberries of the season are always the most expensive and not necessarily the sweetest. Combined with the fact that I had no cash on me, I decided to continue on my way into Kingston for an errand. 

One big surprise when I moved up here 10 years ago is just how expensive local produce costs. In many cases it’s more than when I shopped at the farmers’ markets in New York City. A bit mind boggling since I’m so much closer to the source. Farming is hard work, though, and there’s a good argument to be made that the small scale farm model is not an effective or efficient way to feed the majority of people, at least not in a fair and financially equitable manner for both the farmers and consumers.

Another reason I was able to keep driving after seeing that strawberry sign at Davenport was knowing I had a quart sitting in the fridge. It was far from local, unless you count me buying it from the Hannaford’s in Kingston. As one might suspect, the strawberries were just okay but I had a plan for them: homemade jam.

I’m not new to jam making as anyone who’s followed me for any length of time knows. Come September, my basement is usually stocked with a few dozen jars of homemade strawberry, apricot, blueberry, and cherry jams. I make a combination of pure fruit jams and infusions, with flavors like apricot vanilla, strawberry rosemary, orange passion fruit marmalade, and every berry.

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Back when I first started jamming 14 years ago, I used natural pectin to avoid using copious amounts of sugar. As the years progressed, I switched to a more traditional all-sugar method, adding in a thick lemon peel for an extra pectin boost (the white pith is rich in pectin). My general rule of thumb is a 2:1 ratio, with 2 parts fruit to 1 part sugar.

I’ve played around with natural sweeteners while still relying on just the lemon peel for added pectin because I don’t like the cloudy nature of jam made with powdered pectin. It sets up looser, more akin to a French-style jam. I love this runny texture. You can slather it on toast, swirl some into yogurt or even stir it into seltzer for a homemade soda. The strawberry, honey & rosemary jam in this strawberry e-cookbook is a favorite.

I decided to branch out from honey this week, and use maple syrup. Balance would be key here since maple is a very distinct flavor and runnier than honey, so I compromised, and decided to use half maple syrup and half granulated natural sugar, a slightly less refined option, to ensure the maple wouldn’t overpower the flavor of the strawberries, and also to make sure it would set properly. The result is a wonderfully runny jam filled with plump strawberries. 

I’m looking forward to enjoying some with a homemade gluten-free boule if I can make that happen this weekend amidst my plans to  move Bella out of college for the summer. Hope the week has been a gentle one. Happy June 1st! –xo, j.

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Originally published August 2010

We're in countdown mode. 18 days from now we pack the girls up for the sandy shores of Cape Cod.

I need this vacation. It feels like the last year has pummeled my spirits and pushed me to the limits. Life is supposed to be easier as the girls grow up, right? Well, if your kids are approaching school-age, let me give you a tip. Enjoy the life of leisure that is pre-K. Savor the relaxed pace of Kindergarten.

It all ends come first grade.

I will not sugar-coat the experience. I'll even go so far to say it was easier the first time around when you did it yourself. Went through elementary school, that is. See back then you didn't know the answers, so it was all a matter of discovery. Unchartered waters.

The second time around, you'll find yourself thinking who cares if my kid know which sign is greater or less than. I mean, who really needs to know these symbols to prepare for life? Sure the concept is important, but why the symbols? Is it to prepare us, or them, for the symbolism of life?

I don't have the answer to that question. All I know is we were sent home this past June with a 22-ounce packet of homework that is supposed to help prepare Isabella for second grade in September. Whatever happened to fun in the sun? Since when did we abandon the "school's out for the summer" tradition?

The last week I've lost my cool a bit more than I should admit, and it all revolved around that homework packet. Sometimes it takes the silliest moments to put things in perspective. For me, it was today's mommy-daughter matinee of Ramona & Beezus. As we walked to the theater and stopped at Sahadi's for gummy bears, I let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to take the day off and be with my girl.

The next two hours I flashed back to my childhood, curled up with Beverly Cleary, except this time her message was on the big screen, and not a jumble of words I was just learning to decipher. If you read the series, then you remember Ramona was spirited, a free-thinker, full of imagination and hope—all qualities adulthood has a way of crushing from us like a clove of garlic ready for the skillet.

I glanced at my daughter and finally decided to let go of that homework packet. At least for the afternoon. While all of her friends are getting wide-eyed about High School Musical, she's thrilled to watch The Munsters. While we were in the book store, her hands shot right past Justin Beiber and the tween magazines, as she reached for a Sparkle World glossy, filled with the Rainbow Fairies and My Little Pony. The kid is seven, and the way I see it, I'm going to embrace the "I Won't Grow Up" sentiment—even if it means accepting her boycotting her summer homework packet. Her love of reading is already there, and now we have a new friend to check out at the library. Just wait until she discovers the wonder that is Judy Blume.

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It’s hard to believe Thanksgiving is just two days away. I’ve already made six pies in the last week as preparation for the pie class I taught this past weekend. I gave a couple away to a friend, flash froze two more to bake at a later date, and we’ve been happily shaving off wedges of the other two pies. There will be more fresh pie for Thanksgiving, too, now that Isabella is home and excited to cook and bake together.

Our Thanksgiving table will be intimate, just me, Matthew, Isabella and Virginia, but that won’t stop us from making all the things we love for Thanksgiving. I’ve ordered a turkey but am still undecided about actually making one since we’re such a small group, and may opt for a roasted chicken. I’m supposed to pick up the turkey today from the butcher, so guess I need to decide on this asap.

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For anyone making the Cheesecake-Swirled Pumpkin Pie from my Thanksgiving ebook released two weeks ago, you’ll notice the recipe doesn’t use a full can of pumpkin. I tend to find recipes like that annoying because what is one supposed to do with ⅔ cup leftover pumpkin? I’ve got one way to solve that problem with a recipe for homemade pumpkin spice syrup at the end of this note.

The syrup is great for stirring into yogurt, pouring over ice cream, mixing with steamed milk, adding to hot cocoa, and yes, making your own pumpkin spice lattes at home if that’s your thing (I’m not casting any judgment here, and admit to enjoying a few during the season myself). Other ways to use up that little bit of extra pumpkin are stirring it into risotto, adding to a pot of beef stew, making these mini pumpkin spice muffins or these pumpkin pie waffles. 

On a housekeeping note, I’ve set up my live cooking class schedule for the month of December. They’ll be Sundays at 12 noon, and you can see the full rundown of classes here by clicking here. The next class on December 4th will be learning how to make my Italian Rainbow Cookies.

You can choose to bake along or watch the class, and bake afterwards. Classes are recorded, and links to watch are sent 24 to 48 hours after class ends. Paid subscribers take note of the discount code below to save 20% off classes. The code is good for up to three uses, so you can apply it to each of the three classes. The last class sold out in one day (!), and I’m excited to make this beloved family recipe with you, so be sure to register now if you’re interested.

I hope you all have a peaceful Thanksgiving. Be well, and remember to be kind. –xo, j.

Recipes and e-books are accessible to paid subscribers. Quarterly e-cookbooks are an additional benefit of paid membership.  Join now for only $5/month or $30/year (that’s six months free!).

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My twitter pals know why I was whistling dixie yesterday. While on vacation I took a few minutes to enter my tomato jam recipe into the weekly contest for best preserves over at Food 52. Well guess what (ok, you probably figured out but please entertain me)? I won. And the crazy thing is with all my accomplishments, this one means more than you can imagine.

Not only was it chosen by the amazing duo of Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs—the community cast the votes, so it means I reached real people. That's why I started blogging almost three years ago. What started as a way to connect and share my life experiences with friends and family, has blossomed into In Jennie's Kitchen.

Like my tag line says, it's all about "making meals easier, one recipe at a time". Just because you have children doesn't mean you have to sacrifice quality and flavor. And for those who say they can't cook, I say if you can boil water, saute some garlic, add tomatoes and fresh basil, then yes, you can!

On that note, here's the winning recipe and you won't believe how easy it is to make. Patience is a virtue here, so get ready to catch up on Mad Men, Top Chef, or whatever you kids watch these days while it's simmering on the stove. And thanks again to everyone in the Food 52 community who made this gal from Brooklyn so very proud and bursting with joy.

Sweet & Savory Tomato Jam

Makes 1 ½ pints

Just enough sweetness to tow the line between a condiment for roasted and grilled meats and a treat to slather on toasted baguette, this is a great way to preserve summer's bounty.

3 ½ lbs (1.75 kilo) tomatoes, coarsely chopped

1 small onion, diced

½ cup - 100g brown sugar

1 ½ cups - 300g  sugar

1 tsp salt

½ tsp coriander

¼ tsp cumin

¼ cup cider vinegar

Juice of 1 lemon

½ cup finely diced tart green apple

Put all ingredients in a 2-quart pot. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Cook until thickened and jam-like consistency, about 3 hours. Transfer to sterilized glass jars and store in the refrigerator for up to two weeks, or use a hot-water canning bath for 15 minutes for long-term storage.

Did you find a typo? Thanks for your eagle-eye! I’m a one-woman business here, so sometimes typos and editing errors slip through regardless of how many times I proofread recipes and posts. Feel free to leave a comment and I will correct it as soon as possible.

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The words for this post have been in my head for weeks, jumbled together, a mental Rubik’s cube, trying to get them in the correct order to solve the puzzle of my memory. The answer to fitting them together occurred to me yesterday, so I got in the car and drove 100 miles down to Astoria, Queens where the story of caponata began for me.

Mikey lived in Astoria when we met 27 years ago. Back then one of his favorite places was an Italian shop called FGA on Broadway, just off 34th Street. Those of you with me for a while now, know about my beloved Caputo’s in Carroll Gardens. FGA was his Astoria version of Caputo’s, a small family-run business, specializing in imported meats, goods and homemade southern Italian foods run by a husband and wife from Italy. 

One of Mikey’s favorite dishes from FGA was their caponata, a Sicilian eggplant dish. Sharing a recipe for caponata is likely to cause controversy amongst Italians, the recipe itself varying the same as sauce or gravy. Every family has their own way of making it, and every family’s version is of course the best. Except mine. 

I grew up in an Italian American family with a group of somewhat fussy eaters. While most of them liked pine nuts, olives and raisins on their own, mixing them together in a dish was never going to happen. And, capers? They were a hard no in my family. How could they lay claim to Sicilian roots and not like caponata is an answer that evades me to this day, but it is the reason I’d never eaten caponata until Mikey introduced me to it.

FGA closed years ago, and what I cook now is a memory of those flavors imprinted long ago. Still, I felt compelled to make the trip to Astoria because I needed to know what replaced FGA. I stared at the street view of Google maps for a while, and then started questioning my own memories. I’d been convinced of its exact location but what if this was just another trick of my memory’s gaps in time and space?

Two hours and seventeen minutes after pulling out of my driveway in Olivebridge I’d found a shady parking spot under a tree on 36th Street and 31st Avenue in Astoria, Queens. Knowing FGA was closed, I stopped at the other Italian deli nearby, one that has been there just as long but that we never went to back in the day. I ordered a Silician salami sandwich “dry”–no lettuce, tomato or condiments, and almost immediately devoured half of it, not realizing how hungry I’d been.

And then the moment of truth. I found myself standing at the corner of 34th Street and Broadway where Uncle George’s used to be, a well-known but also now gone Greek restaurant that Michael loved. FGA used to be next door–or was it two stores down. This was the part I couldn’t remember, and what led me to drive all the way there in the first place.

It was going to be one of two places, the first being a restaurant and the other being an Asian market. I went into the market first and chatted with the young guy at the counter, asking how long they’d been there and if he remembered an Italian deli called FGA. Nope. He’d been there five years and the only one he knew of was the deli two blocks down where I’d gotten my sandwich.

I stood outside the market, now staring at the restaurant’s awning next door. It couldn’t be possible that this was FGA, and yet it had to be. I’d come this far–could I possibly leave without a concrete answer? The restaurant’s front windows were opened up completely, leaving no barrier between me and an answer except the courage to talk to an older gentleman sitting on the chair by the bussing station.

In a shy, soft spoken voice, which some of you may find hard to imagine, I asked if he remembered a store called FGA and where it used to be located. His face lit up, and in an excited Greek-accented voice he said “it was here, a long time ago, the couple retired about 20 years ago…so much has changed here now”. I shared the story with him of why I was there, and how fateful that the location of my beloved FGA was now a place called Michael’s Restaurant. We were both smiling at the way life brought us together in that moment, validating our memories in a sense. In a world before Covid I imagine being strangers wouldn’t have stopped us from hugging before saying goodbye but we both settled for kind smiles, and I wished him a peaceful rest of his day.

My worries about feeling sad when I embarked on my trip to Astoria were replaced by peace and calm, even joy in a way. I walked a few blocks further down and stopped into Parisi Bakery for some butter cookies studded with rainbow nonpareils. Then I looped back in the direction of Michael’s old apartment, passing the driveway where he used to rent a parking spot from the owner for his little red Toyota Celica. The laundromat where he did his laundry has new signage, and probably new owners, but is still there. Kaufman Astoria Studios, where he used to work, is also still an anchor in the neighborhood.

When I was ready to leave Astoria, I thought about zipping over to Rego Park for empanadas and maybe a walk around Flushing-Meadows Park but realized something. I don’t need to hold all the memories together all the time. It’s okay to sort them into necessary piles, revisiting only the ones needed at the moment. Yesterday was about caponata, nothing else. Empanadas could wait for another day. I drove home along the Taconic feeling whole in a way that’s been elusive more and more lately. 

A few words about my caponata. Remember what I said about versions varying family to family? Make this version if it’s your first time, then tweak it as you see fit for your own taste buds. Some things are non-negotiable, like having sweet and sour elements to create the agrodolce (sweet and sour) balance. Raisins usually add the sweetness, but if you’re raisin-averse, you could add some sugar to balance out the vinegar. Olives and capers are traditional but I don’t always have capers in the fridge, so feel free to use both or just one, but really you don’t want to skip them completely.

Unless you have a nut allergy, be sure to include those, too, since they add a nice texture to a relatively soft dish. The only olives I had when I made the version in these photos were almond-stuffed, so I skipped the pine nuts, meaning if you don’t have pine nuts, then almonds are fine to use, too.

Lastly, caponata is  usually made on the stovetop. I much prefer this sheet pan, oven roasted version. It’s pretty easy and hands off, and can be made while multitasking other chores, or during the workday, which is how I get a jump on dinner between zoom calls during the week. Caponata is usually served as an appetizer but I break the rules and serve it tossed with hot pasta. You can even serve it as a room temperature pasta salad. The only rules in your own kitchen are the ones you make. Hope the weekend has been a gentle one, filled with some pockets of peace.. Remember to be kind. –xo, j.

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Originally published August 2013

It happens like clockwork every year, that moment when the first whisper of fall comes crashing in. The calendar may not have officially changed seasons yet, but the breezy winds, and cooler nights made their way to the Cape a couple of days ago. This has been the pattern for most of the 18 years I've been coming here. Of course, summer doesn't disappear without a fight, especially back in New York City. I'm sure we'll be swapping sweaters for swimsuits again next week, but right now my thoughts on this Easy Peach Jam.

The change in weather gave me a bit of a panic attack the other day. We've had some wonderful trips this summer, but all the packing, unpacking, and on and off planes means I missed a good deal of my local growing season. Translation: my cupboards are dismally low on home-canned goodies. Thankfully, I stumbled upon some incredible peaches at the farmers' market in Provincetown this past weekend, proving the window has not yet closed on my canning opportunities.

When I first started making jam, I relied on Pomona's Universal Pectin because I was weary of using copious amounts of sugar to thicken it. I also love to capture the pure fruit flavor without any cloying sweetness. That said, my thoughts on this changed a little this year. I still do recommend Pomona's, especially if you're diabetic, need to maintain, or just prefer, a low-sugar lifestyle.

There are other approaches to making jam, though, that you can consider.

Adding chopped, unripe, tart apples (sometimes called summer apples), is one method. These apples are high in natural pectin, and just a little apple, chopped up, goes  a long way to helping thicken up your jam, allowing you to use a little less sugar (don't get me wrong, you'll still need a good amount). You can also try making your own apple jelly to use as a pectin base for your jam. This is Christine Ferber's approach, and her jams are heavenly. I'm madly in love with her raspberry violet one, and stock up on it whenever I'm in Paris (I've yet to be able to find it here in NYC).

Simmering: cooking & life musings from In Jennie's Kitchen

Raspberry Violet Jam

originally published June 2016 So many thoughts and feelings tucked inside this little pot of Raspberry Violet Jam. I don't know where to begin, really. Is it because the raspberries were hand picked from my very own garden? Perhaps it's the splash of…

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4 years ago · 1 like · Jennie

The last method, and one I've embraced this summer, is the very traditional method of adding almost equal parts sugar to fruit. It's incredibly easy, and is cooked on the stovetop instead of my quick method which uses the microwave (a great recipe if you want to make jam in 15 minutes!). Don't mistaken large quantities of sugar as a remedy for poor quality fruit. It's still imperative to use super ripe fruit for the best taste.

I've experimented a lot with infusing fresh herbs, and new flavors into my jams. Rosemary with strawberries is a lovely marriage. A friend recently made a plum lavender jam that was incredible, too. When it comes to perking me up on a cold, grey, winter day, though, I crave a more simple, pure burst of summer to slather on toast, or stir into my oatmeal.

And so, today, I'm offering up an easy peach jam recipe. All you need are three ingredients—peaches, sugar and lemon juice.

A bit of patience is necessary too, but I'm taking that ingredient as a freebie, and not adding it to my count. A note about selecting your peaches—try to get freestone peaches, as the pits release easily with minimal coaxing from the tip of your thumbnail. Cling peaches work absolutely fine, but you'll lose a little of the meat cutting the flesh from the pit. At this late point in the game, I say go with whatever peaches you've got, but thought I'd add that tidbit if you do have a choice when you're at the market.

As for peeling the peaches, a very ripe peach usually sheds it's skin easily. I get it started with the tip of a paring knife, and pull it away from there. If your skins are persistent, you can score them (cut an "X" in the bottom), and add them to a pot of boiling water for one minute, until the skins loosen. You'll need to let them cool enough so you can handle them, before slipping the skins off. This means you'll need more prep time for making your jam, but it's not at all difficult—just plan accordingly.

The jams I've been making this summer, this one included, remind me a lot of Christine Ferber's, in that they're a little on the runny side when first made. They set up more, and thicken further once opened and chilled. Feel free to experiment if you want to dress the jam up a bit. I can see vanilla bean, lemon thyme, mint, or a hint of cinnamon being a lovely accessory to the peach's natural flavor.

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originally published June 2016

So many thoughts and feelings tucked inside this little pot of Raspberry Violet Jam. I don't know where to begin, really. Is it because the raspberries were hand picked from my very own garden? Perhaps it's the splash of violet syrup, made from violet's plucked from the grass behind my house, the first sign of spring back in late April.

Or maybe it's because this Saturday is the fifth anniversary since my first trip to Paris, a trip we were supposed to take as a family, but instead I packed up our girls, and fulfilled a promise he'd made to Isabella he could no longer keep himself. It was on that trip where I first learned the magic possible when combining raspberries and violets together.

I also learned so much about myself during that time in Paris. Most of my discovery since Michael's death has been understanding who I am as an adult on my own. That sounds crazy, I know. I was so young when we met, only 21, and he was 35. He'd already lived quite a full life by that point, and was ready to settle down in a way. Not the whole marriage and kid thing, even though that is the path life propelled us on.

It's just that he'd traveled beyond the borders of the tri-state area, read more books, listened to more music, seen so many live shows (I'd only seen Bette Midler with my mom at Radio City Music Hall). Michael had 14 more years of living on me, and that left an indelible mark, shaping the adult I grew into. Who was I without him? That is what I had to figure out. I needed to understand it was okay to admit things like I hate the Sex Pistols, and I love 80s music (hey, that was mygeneration, Mikey).

So, that first visit to Paris was more than just a trip. It was a journey I've been on ever since, figuring out how to be Jennifer without Michael.

[caption id="attachment_10730" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Raspberry Violet Jam | In Jennie's Kitchen[/caption]

One of my first stops when we arrived was a visit to Pierre Hermé, where I picked up a jar of Christine Ferber's Raspberry Violet Jam. It was like tasting jam for the very first time, the subtle fragrance of violet combined with sweet raspberries when I opened the jar was intoxicating. Never could I have imagined years later, I'd be making it in my own house tucked away in the Catskills.

Ferber's jam spills from the jar with a smooth, silky texture. I've made it with such precision in the past, cooking it just until it's set enough to have some structure, but still rather runny. Her jam is also seedless, and I've strained mine, too, on some occasions.

I decided to dispense with the fussiness this year, and make this jam my own way because I like the way the seeds pop when I eat them jam slathered on baguette. The straining of the seeds also defines the texture, so while mine is still a looser set, it's more a crushed velvet texture than a slippery silk.

One step I don't skip is skimming the foam from the top of the jam as it cooks. This ensures a lovely, jewel-like jam, whereas not spooning that foam off could result in a cloudy jam (that's how mine looked in the early days of jam making, 10 years ago). I spoon the foam into a small bowl. Once it cools, you'll notice a liquid settles underneath the foam—you'll want to save that liquid. It's makes a wonderful homemade raspberry violet soda when mixed with seltzer. You can also swap it in for simple syrup in cocktail recipes for a flavorful twist. I should also mention that if you don't have violet syrup, this is a wonderful straight up raspberry jam, too, so you can proceed with the recipes sans the syrup.

The apple peels & lemon rind get discarded once the jam is thickened. They're place in this jam is to provide a pectin boost, something naturally occurring in the peels and white pith of the lemon rind. I tend to set mine on this ceramic spoon rest that sits faithfully next to the stove, while I take care of spooning the jam into jars . The spoon rest was his, from long before we met. It sits by my stove, a reminder that he's still with me everyday in this simple, if not silly, way. I guard that spoon rest so carefully, worried of the day when it will break, knowing it'll reduce me to tears. I mean, it's just a spoon rest, and yet it's so much more. Kind of like this jam.

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I've said this before, but it's always worth repeating. When making jam, use fruit from the seconds bin. This is usually fruit farmers don't see fit for sale at full price. Frankly, it always perplexes me, the way people think fruit should be pristine and blemish free. I wonder if that's the reason produce is so pricey in general. Life is rarely so perfect, so why should we be so demanding of our fruit? Provided it still tastes delicious, and isn't riddled with bruises that can make it inedible, a bump here, and nick there shouldn't be a deterrent.

Another reason for raiding the seconds bin is that fruit placed in them tends to be very ripe, some might think too ripe for eating. A juicy nectarine has never been a problem for me, and this is exactly the kind of fruit perfect for making jam. If you insist on paying upwards of $3 per pound for perfect nectarines, the going price at the farmstand I frequent, that's your call. If you're making jam, the 99 cents a pound fruit from the seconds bin is the way to go (and what I also buy for eating).

This nectarine jam is a riff on my Easy Peach Jam, with one noticeable difference. I cut back on the sugar here because I also found some summer apples, the zestar variety, at the farmstand. These early apples are high naturally occurring pectin. There's no need to peel them, especially since the skins are packed with pectin. Just grate some into the pot with the nectarines, sugar, and lemon juice.

Summer apples aren't something you'll find at the supermarket, so you'll need to increase the sugar to 4 cups if you don't use them. A granny smith apple could work, too, but I would also add a few thick slices of lemon rind with the white pith still attached, to the pot. The pith has natural pectin in it, too.

This is my first year making nectarine jam, and it won't be my last. It's been on my mental To Do list for years, so I've got a lot of lost time to make up. Oh, and one last note. Unlike with peach jam, don't fret about the skins here. I find they kind of melt into the jam as it cooks.

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