Reason No. 473 on why you should learn how to can

I've been spending the day happily browsing Andrea Weigl's new Pickles & Preserves, a volume in the Savor the South series from UNC Press. It is a pleasant reminder of the joys of canning, a welcome thought on this day when our windows are open to a sunny and mild March afternoon. 

I am reminded of the contentedness that comes from both making canned goods and sharing them with friends, as well as the simple pleasure of opening a jar of something that tastes as seasonal as the day it was sealed. With such good cheer, could one be faulted for using one's own canning pantry to create a cocktail at 4 in the afternoon?

Sad news on a day last summer halted my plan to make Bill Smith's famous honeysuckle sorbet. Rather than pitch the fragrant infusion, I turned it into a simple syrup and placed filled pint jars in a boiling water bath. I hoped for the best, assuming the delicate flavor would droop.

But, oh, it did not. Combine with muddled mint and lemon, a spoonful of jam, a shot of vodka and a splash of soda, and you've got a taste of summer on a not-quite spring day.

Honeysuckle Sipper

Makes one drink.

2-3 fresh mint leaves
1 slim wedge of lemon
1 generous teaspoon raspberry jam (or other flavor)
3 ounces honeysuckle syrup
2 ounces vodka
club soda

Muddle mint and lemon in a cocktail shaker. Add jam and ice, then honeysuckle syrup and vodka. Shake vigorously.

Strain and pour into tall ice-filled glass. Top with club soda and give it a quick stir. Garnish with a mint leaf. (If it's your first one. Otherwise, forget it.)

Rinse and repeat.

Strawberry-Basil Martini

I recently acquired a bottle to TOPO Piedmont Gin, which is produced near the Chapel Hill-Carrboro line in a building that used to rattle and hum with the sounds of newspaper production. My affinity for such places is strong, and my historic conviction that all gin smells like Pine-Sol has been shattered by this fairly mild sip – which has been described by those in the know as “not juniper forward.”

Working under the principle of a little knowledge is a dangerous thing – a phrase credited to Einstein, whose cocktail preferences remain a mystery to Google (though it did try to connect “Manhattan”)  – I made the bold leap in home mixology by substituting gin in a beverage for which I might otherwise instinctively have reached for vodka.

In fact, thanks to some lovely, suddenly very much in-season strawberries, I specifically created this cocktail in the hope that it would be an appealing complement to gin’s inherently herbaceous nature.

It turned out so good – and was just as promising on the second batch as the first – that I have to admit I forgot to fully document my triumph at the time. Thankfully, the reporter in me reflexively wrote down a few notes, so herewith is my Strawberry-Basil Martini. It takes a little bit of planning, but just a little bit. And if you’re not confident about using gin, try it a splash of your standby vodka. The strawberry puree also is quite good stirred into bubbly soda water.

Strawberry Puree

2 cups strawberries, hulled and chopped
juice of 1 lemon
several strips of zest
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

Place chopped strawberries, lemon juice, zest and sugar into medium stock pot. Toss to coat then cover and allow to macerate for at least 30 minutes.

Simmer on low heat about 20 minutes until syrupy and very fragrant. Turn off heat and remove zest. Add 1 teaspoon red wine vinegar and puree with an immersion blender (or cool slightly then puree in a blender).

Place 5 ice cubes in a sealable quart jar. Pour in strawberry puree. Swirl to blend; when no longer warm, place in refrigerator to fully chill.

Strawberry-Basil Martini

Makes 2

Strawberry puree
Fresh-picked basil leaves
Simple syrup

Make a simple syrup by heating ½ cup of sugar in ½ cup of water. Bring to a low boil and stir until sugar crystals dissolve. Transfer to a small jar and cool; lid jar and transfer to refrigerator.

Place 5-6 basil leaves in the bottom of a cocktail shaker. Muddle aggressively.

Fill shaker about 2/3 full with ice. Add 1 jigger of strawberry puree, 2 jiggers of gin and 1 jigger of simple syrup. Shake it like to you mean it.

Strain into two martini glasses and garnish with a small basil leaf. Go outside to admire your garden and say to yourself, “My life is good.” Repeat; or, if for some strange reason you son does not appreciate its subtleties, drink his.

Peachapalooza, Part II: liqueur and a lemony jelly and syrup from peelings

Save your peach peelings and lemon rinds
to make jelly and syrup, but discard the pits.

I recently processed nearly 30 pounds of perfect peaches into a delicious assortment of jams and jellies. What didn't get put into jars would up in gallon containers with a vodka to make liqueur. It took a few weeks to fully infuse - and repeated strainings - to yield a blushing but clear pour that (shhh!) lucky friends and family will enjoy as holiday gifts.

Additionally, inspired by Gilt Taste's popular Eat Shoots & Leaves series - especially this IACP award-winning apple peel edition by Sheri Castle - I decided to save all the peach peelings and most of the lemon rinds to make stock for jelly and syrup. The results are as righteous as they are delicious.

Peach Liqueur
1 750 ml bottle of vodka
5 lbs. peaches
2 cinnamon sticks
10 strips lemon zest
2 sealable gallon-size containers
2 cups sugar
2 cups water

Select a brand of vodka you would drink in public, but not an expensive top label. Pour four cups vodka into each of the gallon containers; add a cinnamon stick and 5 slices of lemon zest to each.

Blanch peaches, peel and cut into chunks; reserve peels but discard pits, which contain a trace amount of cyanide. Divide fruit equally among containers. Secure lids and set aside in a cool, not sunny location. Turn container over every day for a full week.

Strain mix first through mesh colander  to gather majority of the juice, then run the juice through a jelly bag; transfer to clean sealable gallon container. Transfer peaches from colander to jelly bag and all to drip for at least an hour. Press lightly to get the last drips, but avoid the urge to squeeze as liqueur can turn cloudy. Pour liquid into a gallon container. (Note, The fruit likely will have given its best to the infusion, but sample a bite before you decide whether to discard or use for another purpose, such as mashing and adding to homemade barbecue sauce.)

Meanwhile, in a small pan over medium heat, dissolve sugar in water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer two minutes, stirring to ensure that sugar is fully incorporated. Remove from heat to cool.

Add cooled syrup to peach mixture in the container. Seal and set aside in a cool, not sunny location, swirling occasionally, for 4-6 weeks (or more, if you lose track). If necessary, strain one more time before serving to remove any remaining sediment. Transfer to smaller bottles to enjoy or give as gifts.



Lemony Peach Jelly and Syrup
Peach peelings from about 20 pounds of peaches
Rinds reserved from about 8 juiced lemons
Reserved blanching water
About 10 cups water
6-8 cups sugar, divided
2 packages low-sugar pectin (such as Sure-Jel)

Makes two batches of jelly, each yielding 5 half-pints, with remaining stock boosted into a light syrup to flavor soda water.

Jelly
Place reserved peelings, reserved blanching water and fresh water in a stock pot. Bring to a boil over meidum-high heat, then reduce to a simmer. Bubble for about an hour, or until stock is richly colored and fragrant.

Carefully transfer hot mixture to a jelly strainer set over a large pot. Allow to drip undisturbed four about an hour. Gently press obvious juice from the bag, being careful to not release sediment that will cloud the jelly. Discard remains from jelly bag.

You'll need 3 cups of peach stock, 3 cups of sugar and 1 package of low-sugar pectin per batch of jelly. Pour stock into a wide, heavy-bottom pot of dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add pectin and 1/4 cup sugar, stir constantly until fully blended. Bring mixture to a full rolling boil, then add remaining sugar. Stir often until mixture returns to a full rolling boil. Watch the clock or count off 60 seconds, then remove the pot from heat.

Peach syrup in soda water (pre-stir)

Following USDA directions, process in water bath 10 minutes then carefully transfer to heatproof surface. leave undisturbed until jars are fully cooled and set. Repeat for second batch; do not double this or any jelly recipe. Ratios are important in canning and a double batch of jelly may never set.

Syrup
Measure remaining peach stock an 1 cup sugar for every 2 cups stock, or more if you prefer a sweeter syrup. Transfer mix to a medium pot and bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring to ensure that sugar is well incorporated. Remove from heat and, when cool, transfer to a sealable bottle and refrigerate.

Fill a tall glass with ice. Pour in about 3 tablespoons syrup then top with soda water and stir. Garnish with a peach slice, if you have any left, or spike with a splash of vodka.

Note: If you want a thicker, pancake-style syrup, boil the mixture to reduce to desired consistency. Remove from heat and, when cool, transfer to a sealable bottle and refrigerate.

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.