You could say that I have an affinity for the art of preservation, but the words come too lightly to convey how much I enjoy this particular practice.
According to the news media, sales in the canning sector (who knew it had it’s own sector?) increased by almost 25% over last year. The article extrapolates this jump to be connected to the local food movement, but if anything, it probably has more to do with the recession. Buying up produce while it’s in season (thus, relatively cheap) and then preserving it was a method commonplace among the octogenarian set back in the day and is slowly but surely regaining ground. Preservation is a basic, primitive form of guaranteeing a local diet, too. If you’re not keen on foregoing your favourite fruits and vegetables over the long winter, you find a way to preserve them somehow (canned, dried, jammed, etc) so that you can enjoy them year round.
Today it’s almost unheard of for my generation to devote time and effort to such a (perceived to be useless) pursuit. Most people in my age bracket see a jar of jam sitting on the supermarket shelf and think, if I can buy that for $2.50, why on earth would I pay for jars, fruit, other ingredients and my own time instead? Or they purchase the gourmet, fancy $10 jam to assuage the guilt of not doing it themselves. Those people are part of the lackadaisical, spoiled, me-me-me, self-centred generation I am so ashamed to be lumped together with. As any true jamfiend knows, you don’t just do it for the cost effectiveness (though it is comparable to store costs once you’ve made the investment in jars). You do it for the taste. For that fleeting moment when the sun beat down on a strawberry bush and warmed those blistery, bursting orbs of succulent sweetness. That is what we go to all that trouble to capture. So that in the dead of winter you can open up a jar of preserves and reminisce about a summer that is now long gone.
Amongst my friends I am the only one I know who bothers to preserve food each year. The irony is that there’s always a line full of those same people wanting to partake in my latest batch of goodness. They recognize a quality product, but are too lazy to prepare it themselves. A select group have access to my preservation pantry, on the caveat that they get nothing more until they return my empty jars. Not returning jars is a sure way to get yourself on the blacklist, believe me. Just consider it a sign of respect or gratitude, or an investment in future jars of edibles and you’ll do just fine.
Thinking back to my youth, I am unable to pinpoint any memories, moments, people or places that connected me to a desire to extend the harvest beyond it’s natural season. As far as I recall nobody in my family (immediate or extended) was ever big on canning or any other form of preservation. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that my predilection stems from a childhood spent having a little less than enough. A recent inventory of our sunroom found a bookshelf laden with more jars of preserves than I will possibly ever eat or need. The urge to ensure I’ve not wasted a crumb and will always have food has led me to concoct jar upon jar of jams, pickles, chutneys and sauces that I may never realistically use.
Case in point? The multiple jars of lemon pickle that I accidentally scorched into more of a lemon marmalade. Or the limequat jam that I still haven’t found a standout use for. Or we could even talk about the 4 more jars of stout-laced whole mustard that I thought would make an excellent condiment (it did, but it will take me eons to get through 5 jars). Having a pantry full of options like that is the best security of all. Because no matter what happens, there will always be some form of food to nourish myself in case of an emergency. And that on it’s own is nothing to balk at.
Until next time…
Tags: jam, Preservation
