IACP-winning cookbook author Cathy Barrow to teach canning class at Southern Season

Cathy Barrow, aka Mrs. Wheelbarrow, will teach at a cooking class at 6pm Monday, May 11, at Southern Season in Chapel Hill. She'll demonstrate her No Pectin, No Fail Strawberry Jam, water bath canning, Strawberry Jam Barbecue Sauce with Pork Sliders, and Mini Jam Tarts from her award-winning book, Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Practical Pantry: Recipes and Techniques for Year-Round Preserving. To reserve your seat, click here or call 800-253-3663.

Cathy Barrow, aka Mrs. Wheelbarrow
(Photo © Christopher Hirsheimer)

With local strawberries starting to appear at farmer's market, even those who have never canned jam or jelly before find it hard to resist to the tug. "Do it," they seem to say, as dew from early morning picking begins to dry into a sweet sheen.

The timing could not be better, both for those unfamiliar with canning techniques and experienced jammers who want to step up their game. Cathy Barrow, whose debut cookbook, Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Practical Pantry, recently earned the 2015 International Association of Cooking Professionals award for best single-subject book, will unlock the secrets of strawberries on May 11 at Southern Season.

"Every new canner starts with strawberry jam and it's really the hardest one to make," says Barrow, who writes about preserving for The Washington Post and in her Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Kitchen blog. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeve to make sure those first-time jammers are successful."

Those tricks benefit experience canners as well. Using her directions, I've produced the most glossy, flavorful strawberry jams and sauces ever. I'm a particular fan of her Double Strawberry Preserves, which uses both fresh and tart dried cherries, and the lightly floral Strawberry Mango Jam.

I had the privilege of being among a group of testers, her Practical Pantry Posse, who made those recipes before the book was published. Trust me, there's just no going back after you've made these flavor-packed treasures.
 The book lists for $35 but often is available for less online. While there's nothing a diehard canner likes better than a jam-splattered cookbook, note that the Kindle edition currently is on sale for just $2.99.
The following is one of her strawberry-based recipes that will not be on the menu at Southern Season. While I'm told that local rhubarb can be found at some farmers markets, you are more likely to find it imported from a cooler climate at a well-stocked grocery store. Local strawberries, however, are abundant and should be your first choice.

Strawberry Rhubarb Sauce 

Reprinted with permission of Cathy Barrow from Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Practical Pantry: Recipes and Techniques for Year-Round Preserving  (W.W. Norton & Co.).

   

Prep Time: 15 minutes

Cook Time: 25 minutes

Total Time: 40 minutes

Yield: 4 pints or 5 12-ounce jars, plus some to enjoy right now

 

Ingredients

• 4 pints (48 ounces or 1380 grams) strawberries, rinsed, hulled, and quartered
• 3 pounds (1350 grams) rhubarb, rinsed and cut into ½-inch dice
• 5 cups (35 ounces or 1 kg) granulated sugar
• Juice of 3 lemons
• Star anise (optional)

Instructions

1. Put the berries to a large glass or ceramic bowl and, using a potato masher or wooden spoon, gently crush them. Add the rhubarb, sugar, lemon juice, and star anise (if using) and stir well and completely until the sugar has dissolved. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the mixture macerate for 4 hours, or if refrigerated, for as long as 2 days.
2. Scrape the mixture to a preserving pot and clip on a candy thermometer. Slowly bring to a simmer over medium-high heat, stirring frequently to prevent scorching. Then bring to a vigorous boil and stir constantly until th sauce thickens to the consistency of ketchup, about 25 minutes.
3. Turn of heat and discard the star anise. Ladle the sauce into warm (sterilized) jars, leaving ½-inch headspace. Clean the rims of the jars well with a damp paper tower. Place the lids and rings on the jars and finger-tighten the rings.
4. Process in a boiling-water bath for 15 minutes.

Note: You can skip the water-bath process and tucked the cooled sauce straight into the refrigerator, but processing keeps it shelf-stable for a year. You'll be glad to have some stashed for the holidays, or on a frigid day when you can laugh at the weather with a bowl of warm oatmeal topped with Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Strawberry-Rhubarb Sauce.

 

A most practical obsession: on canning with ‘Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry’

I sometimes feel there should be a special group for people like me – people who go to farmers markets and imagine all those peak season fruits and vegetables framed like lasting, fragrant and edible snapshots in glass jars in the upstairs closet, ready to be opened for off-season satisfaction that less-driven mortals will never know.

Yes, as I stand on my feet for endless hours because I could not resist the bargain box of local strawberries – or perhaps peaches, corn or okra – I imagine that others envy my industrious nature, my ability to convert fleeting flavors into preserves and sauces and pickles that will conjure sunshine on the darkest winter day. I keep count of my filled and empty jars with the sincere enthusiasm of an accountant, knowing whether I’ll have enough jam to give to friends at the holidays and enough sauce to last until tomatoes reappear.

Hi, I’m Jill. I am an obsessive canner.

It is a relief to know there are many others similarly affected by a one-time hobby that has grown such that my husband feels compelled to tell neighbors – who sometimes spy me through the kitchen window making just one more batch when most sensible people are deep in dreamland – that we are adequately stocked in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

My insistence that my penchant is practical, providing us the resources for both flavorful meals and appreciated holiday gifts, is a welcome and recurring theme of Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry: Recipes and Techniques for Year-Round Preserving, the long awaited book by Cathy Barrow (W.W. Norton).

Cathy Barrow (Photo © Chris Hirsheimer)

I have been following Cathy’s eponymous blog for years, having discovered it through an online search for a canning advice, as well as her articles in the New York Times and Washington Post. I have made more of her reliable recipes than I can count and, after years of likes and tweets and direct emails – which include almost as much personal news as canning tips – am proud to call her my most cherished virtual BFF. 

  

I was thrilled to be invited to be a member of the Practical Pantry Posse, each of whom tested several recipes that made the final cut. (I still marvel at seeing my name next to these culinary luminaries in the book's kind acknowledgments.) I made a handful in the water-bath and pressure-canning chapters which, like others on preserving meat and fish and making cheese, include bonus recipes in which your projects will become a starring ingredient. As I wrote in my feedback forms, I found Cathy's recipes to be practically omniscient, providing expected yields and describing changes in consistency and appearance with reassuring accuracy.

Among my favorites are the Double Strawberry Preserves – which combines juicy fresh berries with intense dried ones; the tweaked final version is even better than the original – Strawberry Mango Jam, and the surprisingly simple Rugelach, in which any jam or preserve may be used. Her Whole Cranberry-Raspberry Sauce (see below) will surely make its debut at Thanksgiving and I plan to take advantage of pear season to make her Caramel Pear Preserves. The latter is a pectin-free version of a 2010 recipe posted to her website, which takes its inspiration from French canning expert Christine Ferber.

Double Strawberry Preserves, a must-make
from 'Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Practical Pantry.'

I also tested her exceptional Homemade Ketchup, which makes great use of other canning projects, including Tomato Puree, Plum Jam or Grape Jelly, Garlic Dill Pickles and Hot Sauce. I was tasked with preparing it with comparable store-bought ingredients, in case users wanted to substitute anything they did not have in their oh-so-practical pantry. With 18 ingredients and four hours of active cooking time, it may strike some as intimidating. But give it a try. You’ll quickly discover why, in our house, we call it Super Ketchup.

The only recipe I tried that did not work was one in which I requested the chance to experiment. After hunting for goat’s milk and finally finding it in a portion larger than what was needed, I decided to see if I could successfully make a double batch of Cajeta, Mexico’s tangy version of cinnamon- and vanilla-infused caramel.  Many canning recipes do not work when doubled, and unfortunately it’s true of Cajeta. After nearly five hours of slow bubbling and occasional stirring, the promising sauce suddenly and irreparably seized up. Spoonfuls before that tragic moment hinted at the lush flavor that should have been; the next day, I sadly scraped the sugary mess into the trash. Lesson learned.

Cathy’s publisher permitted recipes testers to share a recipe in a series of blogs to be posted today, which marks the official release of the book. You’ll find the posts online by searching for the hashtag #PracticalPantry. I am including her Whole Cranberry-Raspberry Sauce below, but if you’d like to peruse all of Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry, enter a comment below by 5pm Friday, Nov. 14. A winner will be chosen at random to receive a copy of the book.

Whole Cranberry-Raspberry Sauce
Reprinted with permission of Cathy Barrow and W.W. Norton from Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry.

Makes: 5 half-pint jars
Active time: 1 hour

Over the years, I've heard many people complain about the horrid canned cranberry sauce they were served as a child. I have no such memories. These same people initially shun my glistening, ruby-red cranberry sauce, but quickly revise their thinking after just one taste. Tangy, sweet, fruity in November, when many fruits are only a memory, this is a welcome addition to any holiday meal.
If you feel the need to serve this as a mold, as though it had slipped from a can, just run a palette knife around the inside of the jar and slide the cylinder into a relish dish.

4 cups (28 oz., 800 g) granulated sugar
4 cups (32 oz., 950 ml) non-chlorinated water
Grated zest of 1 orange
Juice of 1 lemon
4 cups (14 oz., 390 g) cranberries
1 cup (8 oz., 225 g) fresh raspberries
1/2 teaspoon unsalted butter (optional)

1. Combine the sugar, water, zest and juice in your preserving pot and bring to a boil over high heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. When the mixture is briskly boiling, carefully add the cranberries. The berries will burst when heated and may splatter. Cook until most of the berries have burst and the sauce is thickening, about 12 minutes.
2. Add the raspberries and bring back to a boil that will not stir down. Boil hard to about 10 more minutes. Test the set using the wrinkle test of the sheeting test. Add the butter, if using, to clarify and clear the sauce.
3. Ladle into the warm jars, leave 1/2-inch head space. Clean the rims of the jars well with a damp paper towel. Place the lids and rings on the jars and finger-tighten the rings.
4. Process in a boiling-water bath for 10 minutes.

The sauce is shelf stable for 1 year.

REMINDER: Be sure to submit a comment below by 5pm Friday, Nov. 14, if you would like a chance to receive a free copy of Cathy Barrow's Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Practical Pantry. The winner will be drawn at random and notified by email.

In praise of Marcella - and North Carolina shrimp

© MCT

Like most anyone who enjoys reading and cooking from an especially well-written cookbook, I was saddened by the recent passing of Marcella Hazan. She introduced countless home cooks – who felt themselves to be on a first-name basis with this legend – to the essential flavors of her beloved Italy, often with simple recipes that yielded surprisingly complex flavors.

I’ve read many of the tributes published by leading newspapers and culinary publications, as well as the chefs whose careers were informed by her groundbreaking work. When Cathy Barrow launched an effort to celebrate Marcella’s life on Oct. 26 with a virtual dinner party called Dinner with Marcella, I was in.

Marcella’s confident voice resonates in her many cookbooks, which have endured decades of competition to serve as bona fide touchstones. She conjures the Amalfi coast of her youth and the abundance of local resources with captivating charm and the warmth of a generous grandma sharing lessons in the kitchen.

I heard that voice myself once when, in an undisputed high point of my life, she responded via Facebook to a story I wrote about making her cantaloupe pasta sauce. Her Aug. 11, 2010, comment made it clear that she had browsed this then-new blog:

Thank you, my dear. You write so well. I enjoyed reading your blog and I am very glad the cantaloupe sauce worked for you. I have feelings similar to yours about some aspects of fennel. I loathe it in sausages, which compels me to look for butchers who will make them fennel-free as we do in Italy. On the other hand I adore it sliced very thin, blanched, breaded and fried, or baked with butter and parmesan until it is brown on top. I understand, however, that there is no chance of my converting you. There are insurmountable obstacles for all of us in our gustatory travels.
Warm regards,
Marcella

Her prickly side was, perhaps, equally famous. With a stern “in my opinion,” Marcella dismissed most American ingredients as lesser in quality to those of her beloved Italy. Sometimes, as with “American sole … [which] really isn’t sole, it is flounder,” she considers available substitutes downright deceptive. “The best one can do with flounder is to take the edge off its awkwardness through the graces of a seductive sauce,” she wrote in The Classic Italian Cook Book (Knopf, 1978).

I heard from that Marcella once, too. I had been following posts from a group of bloggers who were cooking their way through her books. When I commented that I do not care for candied citron, she replied with unrestrained scorn that Americans have no idea what real candied citron tastes like.

I had to admit she was right; a morsel of Italian candied citron has never passed my lips. That said, I know what candied American citrus tastes like and I dislike it just as I do the finest quality marmalade.

Marcella similarly disliked American shrimp, even though it is somewhat endearing when she called them shrimps. In the introduction to Classic Italian’s I Secondi (second courses) chapter, she observed: “But while green beans, chickens and even veal may give roughly the same results here that they do in Italy, there is very little in American waters that resembles Italian fish. Not one of our species of shellfish coincides with an Italian one.”

In the headnote to Spiedini di gameri dell’Adraitico (Shrimp Brochettes, Adriatic Style), she take this claim a step further: “I have tasted many versions of this very simple dish in seafood and Italian restaurants here, but I have never come across any that recall the delicate balance of flavors and the juicy texture of the shrimps that fisherman cook all along the Adriatic.”

OK, Marcella. Game on. I have not enjoyed the shrimp of the Adriatic – which no doubt taste even more divine when eaten in that beautiful setting – but I have great confidence in the plump, flavorful shrimp of the North Carolina coast.

Despite three pages of directions and an illustration, the Shrimp Brochettes recipe appealed to me for its simplicity. Also, we had recently eaten excellent shrimp both locally and in South Carolina while on vacation.

Tim purchased beautiful shrimp from his favorite market that had been driven inland from the coast early that morning. I shelled and deveined them just before lightly coating in a “protective covering” of olive and vegetable oils, fine bread crumbs, garlic, basil and salt. (Her recipe calls for parsley, but I trusted I would be forgiven for using a few leaves of our still-performing basil plant.)

After a 20-minute marinade, I started the broiler to preheat. I followed her precise instructions to thread the shrimp through three points of each curl to ensure that they don’t slip when turner the skewers.

The shrimp cooked quickly, just as she said they would, and not a single one dared to slip. Served atop Isreali couscous cooked risotto-style with chicken broth, Graham pronounced the result the best shrimp dish he ever tasted. The delicate flavor was even better with the wedge of lemon Marcella recommended.

Mark your calendar for slivovitz season

Homemade slivovitz with
my grandfather's glasses.

The new year creates a great excuse to raise a glass of deep amber slivovitz, a sort of plum schnapps I associate with my grandfather and the familiar comforts likely enjoyed by Eastern European immigrant families who savored the taste of home while seeking a better life in America.

I never sipped it or, to be honest, thought to look for it at the liquor store. But when I saw a post by Cathy Barrow (@MrsWheelbarrow) back in August, I decided I had to try it. I'm so glad I did and, I think, so are the friends and family with whom I shared this luscious elixir at the holidays.

Her recipe used small Italian prune plums, which were not available the day inspiration hit. Wikipedia claims that the Damson plum is most traditional for slivovitz. I opted for a roundish, gold-flecked red variety that was seasonally abundant and on sale at the market. 

Because they were larger than the variety cited, and I used a gallon-size Ball jar, the proportions had to be adjusted. One bottle of vodka barely covered the fruit, so I bought another and added an additional pound of plums and proportionately more sugar, orange peel and cinnamon. I also tucked in a small glass ramekin, pushing it down to fill and submerge to help keep the fruit from bobbling to the top.



Before adding more vodka, etc.



The only tricky part of the process is repeatedly turning the jar until the sugar is fully dissolved. I advise picking a jar that screws tight (the lid on mine only pushed on) to avoid any dribbles, which proved quite attractive to ants. Trust me: Like any inebriated houseguest, they can be annoyingly difficult to get rid of. 

When the sugar was no longer visible and, to ensure the ants were fully vanquished, I wrapped the jar in a double layer of Target bags -- one from the bottom up, the other top down, then secured with tape -- and tucked it out of sight for the requisite three months. It emerged from its cocoon with the elegance of a Monarch and, once relieved of its spent ingredients, yielded a glistening pour with a pleasingly smooth finish.

Don't bother imagining what you can do with those booze-soaked plums. They have given their best to the brew and will be fit only for the trash -- or perhaps the mulch pile, so long as it's not near anything combustible.

So take that new 2012 calendar, flip to August and make a note to yourself to make some slivovitz. I certainly will.