There are certain flavors that arouse to my foraging instincts. Among them is the taste of freshly made black raspberry jam and warm biscuits on summer mornings. This year, perfect wild berries magically appeared at the local farmers’ market before I could get out my bug repellant. I was both delighted and saddened. Now I wouldn't have to gather them myself. That’s good news.
On the other hand, I had rather liked the sense of having an exclusive. My secret summer jam ingredient has been outed. But could these market berries possibly taste as wonderful as ones I remember gathering? A moot point. I purchased several baskets to cook and enjoy with my memories.
Harvesting wild raspberries is not that difficult. You just have to be crazy enough to go out hunting on a hot, sunny July day. They grow on brambly canes hidden in shady patches next to cultivated fields. One has only to turn from the sun-baked rows of corn and step into the un-mowed undergrowth to enter the cool, shaded world where wild things grow..
I used to gather berries from an ancient tangle of canes on our farm. My ankles start to itch just thinking about navigating in the prickly underbrush. The blue work shirt and long pants I wore never protected me from the forces of nature. I was strafed by mosquitos, stuck by thorny stems and bitten by the little black bugs with yellow spots who resented my arrival on their turf.
But I always returned to civilization, disheveled and triumphant. My fingers stained, my arms streaked with thorn trails, my face flushed with heat. The berries in my bucket, on the other hand, were a beautiful mound of black gold. I was already anticipating how wonderful they would smell when I made jam in my kitchen.
You can follow the link to the recipe for this year's black raspberries:
http://www.chezm.com/component/search/black%20raspberry%20jam?ordering=&searchphrase=all
I'm adding some photos that illustrate notable moments in the preserving process:
After simmering the berries in a heavy pot, I removed the seeds by passing fruit and juices through the fine screen of a food mill. Four pounds of fruit yielded more than four cups of fruit juice and almost two cups of seeds. I discarded the latter.
While the fruit is simmering, I boil several eight ounce quilted jam jars in my pasta pot, submerged, for 15 minutes. I move them to a rack to cool and dip new lids in boiling water then set them gasket side up on the rack.
This is the exciting part!. After I’ve added the sugar, the liquid boils up and can’t be stirred down. In about five minutes the temperature of the liquid reaches the gel point of 220 degrees F. The preserve is ready to be ladled into the sterilized jars, sealed with the lids and a screw cap.
