(I feel like I should say ya’ll now, since I’ve been in the south for nearly a month; however, I’m still confused on where to place my apostrophe. I’m sure “ya’ll – y’all” have opinions, so feel free to share.)
I made blackberry jam today.
An hour into the ordeal, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I’m here to tell you that making jam is not as easy as it sounds. You boil empty jars, crush berries, boil them for one minute shy of an eternity (or until they become a gummy bear), fill the jars, and then boil them again. It’s germ warfare at it’s finest!
I gave myself a berry facial and it was berry good. Strawberry Shortcake would be proud.
Now, I need to get a job before I start making bread, or heaven forbid, peanut butter to go with my jelly.
I’m not cut out for the culinary life. I would not have survived two hundred years ago. I would not survive today if left to my own kitchen skills. Some crazy people are dropped into the wild, naked and afraid. I can stay in town, clothed and calm, but if I couldn’t get to the grocery store, I’d starve.
I’m into hashtags lately? Can you tell?? It’s probably because I’m spending my days with a fifteen year-old goofball who hashtags everything. This is the same boy who couldn’t identify a pound sign.
I’m not sure I should admit this, but it took me three solid hours to make six jars of jam, the small jars. I think I need intervention. Actually, cooking lessons may be more useful.
The first two jars came out super runny, so I wrote syrup on a label. Tomorrow morning I will make pancakes and pretend my making blackberry syrup was intentional.
I still don’t know what went wrong. The instructions said to rapid boil the berry concoction for one minute. I did that and got syrup, so I boiled the next batch for ten minutes.
My husband has taken to calling it tar.
Girls like me, we are the reason someone had to start the website farmersonly.com.
Despite the runny jam and the tar, I feel mildly accomplished today. I be jammin.