Papa rellena: Peruvian stuffed potatoes

The potato. Such a humble root, with such vast potential both in cooking and in feeding the planet (see what Charles C. Mann, author of 1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created has to say about it in this Smithsonian Magazine article). The summary? The potato fed a lot of people and may have driven some of the world's population explosions and subsequent political restructurings. Ah, the historicopolitical impact of food. 

The potato might be my favorite vegetable (or starch, however you want to view it). I like them mashed, baked, boiled, fried, gussied up, or plain as day. (Always cooked though, of course; raw potatoes contain toxins that can make you sick.) 

I am not alone in loving potatoes. When I was growing up in Sweden, we got lots of potatoes with just about every dish, and, though others were more excited about rice, I was always happy to see those friendly yellow spuds on the dinner table. I once spent an hour with a friend from Ireland, raving about the delights of the potato. (I know, I am a weird geek with weird geek friends.)

In Peru, love of the potato is fundamental. Thousands of potato varieties exist, each one adapted to different microclimates and different storage and nutritional requirements. Some potatoes must be eaten with a specific type of clay to not be poisonous. Some are meant to be frozen and mashed. The variety is so great that Peruvian people who eat only potatoes still get all the nutrients they require. This kind of variety is very different from what we are used to seeing in American markets, even at farmers markets, which are far more likely to showcase oddball varietals of fruits and vegetables (one of the many reasons I love shopping at farmers markets).  

As part of Peru week (read more about the Grand Tour here), I knew dinner was going to feature a lot of potatoes, and the Peruvian dish I decided to try this time was papa relleno. It is a mashed potato ball (more like a football, actually) stuffed with a tasty ground meat filling and deep fried. They are fun to make and, as my son said, "Yummy!" My husband described it as being a little like a mini deep-fried shepherd's pie. 

The ground meat filling I made is somewhat unusual for me. For instance, I used raisins, which I would normally never do because I dislike raisins. But I decided to give it a try and was very pleased with the result. The flavor of raisin didn't come across, only a bit of sweetness that balanced the salt and sour of the other ingredients. So if you don't like raisins and don't like much fruit in savory food, I recommend giving it a try anyway. You may find yourself pleasantly surprised. Other additions I saw in various fillings were chopped hardboiled eggs and chopped black olives. Feel free to mix it up. 

The only trouble I had with this dish was the deep frying, which is a technique I have yet to fully master. I recommend checking out this article to get some tips on deep frying (such as don't skimp on the oil, let the oil get very hot, don't crowd the pan, and cook your food in batches).

Ingredients

• 3 lbs yellow potatoes, peeled
• 1 egg
• 1 onion, chopped finely
• 3-4 cloves of garlic, crushed
• 1 lb ground beef (or ground pork would also be good)
• 1/4 cup raisins, chopped
• 1 16-oz can crushed tomatoes
• 1-2 Tbsp chopped fresh cilantro (or you can replace with parsley)
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• salt and pepper
• all-purpose flour
• vegetable oil (both for making the meat filling and for deep frying, so you will need a lot)

Instructions

1. Boil the potatoes in salted water until you can easily poke them with a fork. 
2. Drain the water and mash the potatoes in a bowl with salt and pepper to taste. (A ricer is a piece of kitchen equipment that you should really invest in if you make a lot of mashed potatoes. Totally worth the cost and space.) Set aside the potatoes until they are really cold. (Overnight would be fine, just cover them with plastic so they don't dry out.)
3. In a frying pan, heat about 2 Tbsp oil until it shimmers. Add onions and garlic and cook until shiny and a little brown. (Smells good, huh? Frying onions is one of my favorite smells.)
4. Add the ground meat to the pan and cook until the meat is browned and cooked through. 
5. Add raisins, crushed tomatoes, cilantro or parsley, cumin, salt, and pepper, and about a cup of water to the pan. Let the mix cook until most of the liquid evaporates and you have a loose mass in the pan. (Don't forget to taste it for salt and pepper, but don't add too much salt early because evaporation will concentrate the salt.) Let the mixture cool. (Once again, you can do this a day ahead.)
6. When you are ready to start shaping the papa rellena, add 1 egg to the mashed potatoes and mix until completely incorporated and smooth. Put a couple of handfuls of all-purpose flour on a plate for rolling. 
7. To shape the papa rellena, pick up about 1/4 cup of the mashed potatoes and create a dent in the middle. Place about 1 Tbsp meat filling in the dent and mold the mashed potatoes around the filling. Patch any holes with additional mashed potatoes. Form the mass into a potato shape (the first few won't look great, but you will get the hang of it very quickly.)
8. Roll the "potato" in flour and set it aside while you shape the rest. You should get about 12-14 papas.
9. When you have finished rolling them all, deep fry the papas in batches. They will be done when they are golden brown and crispy. Keep them warm in a 200-degree oven until you have finished the remaining batches. 
10. Eat! Enjoy.

Lomo saltado: First leg on the Grand Tour

So, my son's last day of school for the summer was Friday. Months of summer stretch out before us.

Sounds great, doesn't it? It sounds great... No, not so much really. To be truthful, I doubt my parenting skills (every day). I really doubt my patience. How do I keep this five-and-a-half year old from getting bored (and worse, getting into trouble)? How do I keep from tearing my hair out? How do we keep the boy from losing all the progress he made in his Montessori school this spring? And how do I keep him from watching TV and playing video games all summer while I try to work? 

Then I got the idea. I was inspired by this Washington Post story about the Spanish-themed buffet at the Garden Cafe of the National Gallery of Art and the Joan Miro exhibit. I liked the idea of the food connecting with the exhibit. That could be cool. Each week, we have a different country as the theme: We try the food. We go to relevant exhibits. We learn about the country: the history, the geography. We use all that as a basis for regular lessons in writing, reading, math, and science. We make art in the style of the country. We listen to the music! Hey, this could be kind of fun! 

So I let my son pick the first country on our "Grand Tour." He picked Peru (where one of his teachers, Miss Rosy, is from). Eek, I thought, I know next to nothing about Peru. But now I am so incredibly happy and grateful he picked Peru. I've learned so much! What a fascinating country! When can we go? Incas, Nazca lines, a coastal desert, the root of all potatodom and all tomatodom, Machu Picchu, Andes, and the Amazonian rain forest. 

It turns out Peruvian food is at least as diverse as its landscape. Thousands of varieties of potatoes, tomato species that exist nowhere else, fish, fruit, not to mention the variety of ethnic influences on the cuisine from all over the globe. What do I pick to make and eat?

Ceviche, which may be the dish most associated with Peru, is intriguing but not necessarily a dish you want to introduce to a five-year old. Furthermore, because it requires such extreme freshness of seafood and such a deft hand with acid and spices, it didn't seem like a good place to start as a beginner. I wanted something traditional, somewhat easy, definitely Peruvian, but not so far out there I wouldn't be able to get my son to try it. A friend suggested lomo saltado, a beef stir-fry dish with fried potatoes. So I started looking into what makes the dish. From a few different sources,* I gathered these basic features of the dish:

• It's a stirfry, reflecting the fact that Peru boasts one of the larger ethnic Chinese communities outside China in the world. 
• It includes potatoes and is typically served with rice. So yes, that's two, let me say it again, two starches in one dish. 
• The main ingredients are almost always beef strips, onion, tomatoes, fried potatoes, soy sauce, and vinegar. Often included are either parsley or cilantro. Sometimes cumin is included, sometimes not.  
• Aji amarillo, a yellow Peruvian pepper is often included, but sadly I couldn't find one. 

So based on these general ideas about the dish, here's how I made it, and I must say it was pretty delicious:

Ingredients

• 1/2 bag of frozen French fries (I know, I totally cheated on this, but at least they were organic and included very few ingredients)
• 3 Tbsps vegetable oil  
• 1 lb of grass-fed stir-fry beef in thin strips
• 1 red onion, sliced thinly
• 2 cloves garlic, crushed
• 3 tomatoes, seeded and cut into bite-size pieces
• 2-3 Tbsps soy sauce
• 1 Tbsp red wine vinegar
• 1 Tbsp chopped parsley
• 1 tsp ground cumin
• salt and pepper

Instructions:

Before we get into the specifics, here's a general tip about any stirfry: Always make sure that all your ingredients are prepared and ready to go. Stirfrys are one kind of dish where mise en place is critical. So, assuming your ingredients are all chopped and measured and peeled and sliced and ready, here are the instructions:

1. Cook the French fries according to package instructions. 
2. Heat the oil in a wok or another thick-bottomed pot on high heat. The oil should be very hot. 
3. Add the meat to the oil (be careful about getting splattered!). Stirring quickly, let it cook for 1 minute. 
4. Add the onions to the pan. Let it cook for 2 minutes. 
5. Add the tomatoes, garlic, cumin, garlic, soy sauce, vinegar, and parsley to the wok, stir quickly and let it all cook for about 2 minutes. 
6. Taste the sauce, add more soy sauce, salt, and pepper to taste.
7. Serve the stirfried meat over the French fries with white rice on the side. Sprinkle a little fresh parsley over the top. 

Is it completely authentic? Probably not. Is it good? Oh yes. I think I just added a new dish to the dinner repertoire. (And it would probably be good with pork too.) 

* Some sources to learn more about Peruvian food are My Life in Peru, Peru Food, www.southamerica.cl, and About.com's list of traditional Peruvian dishes. 

Herbed Ossabaw pork chops

When I was a kid, I visited my grandparents (Afi and Amma) in Reykjavik every summer. They lived in a gray concrete apartment building with a green square of grass in the back. Their windows were hazed with lace curtains, and at night white light quietly tiptoed into otherwise dark rooms. As I tried to sleep, jetlagged and unused to so much night light, I listened to the ticking of clocks and sometimes chimes as another hour came full circle. Because Afi and Amma didn't have a lot of space, I slept on a blue canvas fold-out cot in the dining room, which was put away every morning.

I spent most of my time there either reading or playing on the carpeted stairway that was the main entrance to the building. The outside door had a buzzer; my grandparents' names were hand written next to the button and slightly water stained. The air of Reykjavik was chilly and smelled a bit like fish, while the water in the pipes smelled and tasted like sulfur. Because Afi managed the building I got to go into the basement with him a few times: It was clean, dry, painted concrete with pipes running along the walls. He was a trim, capable man, unconsciously confident in his capabilities, like many of my Icelandic relatives.

Sometimes I went with him to the fishmonger. The fishmonger had a tiny store in a row of about five tiny stores less than a block from my grandparents' apartment. Sometimes I would go and look in the window at the different kinds of fish laid out on ice in the window. They were sold whole, head on, and had cloudy eyes that stared at you. I knew nothing about the different kinds of fish that the fishmonger sold, only that most were silvery gray and shiny. Sometimes, a red one would be in the mix.

So what is the point of all this remembering and what does it have to do with Ossabaw pork chops? It's all in the packaging: The neat butcher paper wrapped around the pork chops brought me back to Iceland, to the little stores on the corner and the green plastic net bag that Afi used to carry his groceries in. And it was a nice reminder that the small cares you take to prepare a pork chop, to wrap it up like a gift, because in some ways it is a gift, can have far-reaching consequences, can reach deep down into memory or seed the future with meaning.

That's what I took away one day a few months ago, when I made the trek out to Marshall, Virginia, to see my friend Jeff who works at The Whole Ox, a rare and wonderful artisanal butcher shop, because I had heard they had some Ossabaw pork and I was dying to try it (yes, it was a round trip of about 100 miles to get some pork chops). I first learned of Ossabaw pigs while watching an episode of The Four Coursemen, a show about some people who love beautiful, local, artisanal foods and wines and want to share their knowledge with others. Ossabaw pigs descend from pigs brought to the New World by the Spanish, supposedly the same kind of pigs that the famous Jamon Iberico is made from. Because these pigs have been isolated on Ossabaw Island off the coast of Georgia, they have mostly retained their unique genetic identity and flavor. Furthermore, because their diet comprises primarily acorns, their meat is said to have a nutty flavor.

To be truthful, I am not sure I detected the nutty flavor. What I did get from these pork chops was amazing flavor, the kind of complex, rich flavor that reminds you why foods that are grown with patience and care, on or in healthy soils, are so superior to processed junk, which are bland and lack dimension. Foods like these pork chops are so good that your best bet is to do very little to bring out their flavor. Because I was so eager to taste the pork itself, I kept the preparation simple: a little salt and pepper, a little thyme, a little butter, and a squeeze of lemon. Mostly I just tried to put some care into their preparation and to share them with family and friends. (My only regret was that I didn't get more of them when I had the chance.)

Ingredients

• 4-6 Ossabaw pork chops (the ones I got were very small and adorable, probably no more than 4 oz apiece; the size will affect the cooking time)
• salt, pepper, dried thyme
• 2 Tbsp unsalted butter
• 1 lemon          

Instructions

1. Melt the butter in a pan over medium-high heat. 
2. Sprinkle salt, pepper, and thyme over the pork chops. 
3. When the butter is slightly browned, place the pork chops gently in the pan. 
4. Cook each side for about 3-4 minutes per side. Spoon the melted butter over the pork chops regularly. 
5. To finish, squeeze a little lemon juice into the pan and mix it with the drippings and the butter in the pan.
6. Serve with the pan drippings. I served them with polenta, but anything that soaks up the drippings is a good option. 

Oh yeah! I almost forgot, I've also got a new Facebook page! Check it out. 

Can I eat this fish?

I struggle with seafood. I know it's good for you (lean protein, omega-3 fatty acids, and so forth) IF it's not chock-full of mercury or other heavy metals, in which case don't eat it all if you are pregnant, nursing, or a young child and only moderately if you are anyone else. I also know that current seafood consumption patterns have the potential to wipe out fish and seafood stocks all across the planet. (Here's a graphic from The Washington Post that illustrates some of the overfishing issues that we currently face.) And I know most of the fish I get is flown or shipped in from somewhere halfway around the world--not a great thought when you aim to live in a way that supports local community and reduces fuel consumption. And then there's the question of farmed or wild? What's better? And perhaps by what yardstick? With seafood, you definitely have to weigh a lot of different factors.

Let's consider some of these factors, starting with sustainability. This topic actually makes me want to chew nails. For one thing, the fish species you thought were sustainable last year, last month, or even last week may not be sustainable today. This week you may be committing an atrocity on fishdom if you buy and eat that kind of fish. It can make you crazy. 

But there are resources to help you stay up to date on what's OK to eat now. In "A Consumer's Guide to Buying Sustainable Fish," Denise Santoro Lincoln notes that your best option is to find a good fishmonger who is passionate about selling sustainable fish and works to keep up with continual changes. She also notes that this isn't really practical for most of us and provides a great list of resources, including Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch. World Wildlife Fund also has a list of excellent resources, including some country-specific seafood guides. All this information, however, requires that we as consumers put effort into ensuring we are making good choices. And because the state of a fishery can change so drastically from year to year, it's something we have to check into regularly. (Unfortunately, it's not enough to trust that your grocery store is going to do that work for you.) 

Another factor to consider is farmed versus wild. Some of the problems with eating wild-caught fish are of course depletion of wild fish stocks and the problem of bycatch. However, when done poorly, farmed fish can wreak environmental havoc, including habitat damage, pollution and disease, and escapes, possibly of "Frankenfish." So once again, we have to do our research to find out what's a "Best Choice" and what isn't. I have generally avoided all farmed seafood, but it turns out some farmed species are Best Choices after all (oh boy, I can go back to buying and eating mussels; I love mussels).

For some great tips on choosing seafood that's as sustainable and as healthful as possible, check out Lettuce Eat Kale. Just as fruits and vegetables have seasons, so does seafood and it pays to know when those seasons are.

[Update] And it turns out the cod I had for dinner tonight was from a company that sells Certified Sustainable Seafood (thank you, MOM's Organic Market for looking out for me) and pretty tasty as well. If you happen to have a few cod fillets, here's a really simple recipe.

Cornmeal-Crusted Cod Fillets

Ingredients

• 2-3 cod fillets (if frozen, defrosted), rinsed, patted dry
• salt
• ground white pepper
• 1-2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 egg
• 1/4 cup yellow cornmeal (more or less)
• lemon wedges

Instructions

1. Melt the butter in a frying pan over medium-high heat. 
2. Salt and pepper the cod fillets.
3. Beat the egg with a fork in a bowl (just enough to incorporate the white and the yolk). Put the cornmeal on a plate.
4. Coat each fillet in egg. Dip the fillets in cornmeal. 
5. When the butter is foaming and slightly brown, add the fish fillets to the pan. Fry on each side for about 2 minutes per side. (The cornmeal should be golden brown. If it isn't, give it another minute in the pan.)
6. Remove the cod fillets to a plate and let them rest about five minutes before devouring. Serve with lemon wedges. Great accompaniments (especially in spring/summer) are boiled new potatoes with butter and a sprinkling of chives and a simple salad of lettuce leaves with some oil and vinegar.

Participating in a creative exchange: The push of a SPARK

So this won't be the usual post about food, as you may have guessed from the image. This is my latest painting, which I have titled "In the Garden." I made it as part of my participation in a creativity exchange called SPARK. SPARK is a way for visual artists, writers, and musicians to inspire other artists and to get a creative spark in return. During each 10-day round, pairs of artists and writers exchange a piece of writing, music, or artwork and use it as creative inspiration to create something new. In other words, it's a creative kick in the butt--something I have sorely needed considering it's been a year since I painted anything new. And I really do love(/hate) to paint.

So when the call for more artists came from SPARK, I signed up. I'll admit, I was nervous: What if I didn't like the inspiration piece? What if I made something horrible? What if I couldn't finish? Eek, ack, gah! Then, the 10-day round of SPARK started. I received these song lyrics from my SPARK partner, Sharon Deegan, as my inspiration:

Are you ready to face the feast my soul companion?
Pull off the boots made for silent marching through the night?
Well you’ve been appeasing corpses, shunning angels,
And me, I’ve been turning the compost every couple of days and my garden grows
Over the bones, and my garden grows.


Do you think you can stop your digging, drop your shovel?
Wash the dirt from your calloused hands?
Life is a well from which we’re all drinking,
How shall we meet our thirst’s demands?


Well you’ve been
Invited to your own wedding,
Invited to your own birth.
Love lies waiting for You-
(spending all your time just trying to bury your true heart
In a plot of dark and lonely and cold unyielding earth )


Will you ever be ready to 
Face the feast  my soul companion?
Pull off the boots made for silent marching through the night.  

When I read it, I was relieved to enjoy the piece. I read the lyrics a few times, allowing specific words and images to hook into me, assuming an idea for a painting would emerge. And it did.

One of the most enjoyable things to do when reading a poem, or in this case lyrics, is to consider individual words. What thoughts do they engender? What alternative meanings do they have? What associations do they have? When you have gathered together this cornucopia of thoughts and ideas, the question becomes how do you put them all together again? How do you form meaning? That explains the process both of unpacking a poem and then of developing new ideas.

Here are some of the ideas and connections I got from Sharon's lyrics: The image of working in a garden and turning over compost reminded me of a poem about compost by Walt Whitman. Whitman's poem celebrates the transformative qualities of compost (and anyone who is a gardener will know what I am talking about), this seemingly miraculous ability of worms and heat and time to transform leftovers, scraps, trash into fresh, dark, beautiful soil that nourishes the garden. The ability of the earth to take death into itself and bring forth life. The ability of the earth to turn rot into the very definition of freshness.

Sharon's lyrics suggest a similar transformation, of burying bones (a tragedy? participation in war? the loss of a loved one?) and allowing the earth to transform them from pain and rot into a feast.

One of the things I wanted to do with my painting was to create layers, to suggest decaying leaves that something fresh and green could grow from, to mimic a process of accretion. Also to suggest the process of letting time and the earth transmute pain, grief, and death into green plants, fresh life, a garden, a feast. This idea of layers reminded me of a painter I heard of many years ago, Claudia Bernardi. She builds up rich saturated images of pure pigments, layer upon layer. Her painting process suggests the work she has done with the Argentine Forensic Anthropology Unit to exhume noncombatant civilians who were murdered during the civil wars in El Salvador and Guatemala. In this work, she patiently uncovered layers, using the painstaking tools of archaeology, to lay bare a history of grief and thereby to transmute the darkness into new life and hope.

So these were some of the ideas that went into the painting. I hope that I captured some of the thoughts and feelings that went into writing the lyrics. The process of making the painting itself featured a lot of stress and terror. From creating the underdrawing and then covering that over with paint. Every layer of paint represents another possibility of catastrophe: of making a mistake or a bad choice that you can't recover from. Making the painting was a good reminder: Being creative is an act of courage. Making something new, something for others to like or dislike or misinterpret, is extraordinarily hard to do. Will I do it again? Absolutely.

 

Strawberry-lemonade jam

When you start making your own food from scratch, especially stuff like bread and mayonnaise, you take a whole lot of pride in what you've accomplished. But it wears off. Eventually baking your own bread doesn't feel so special anymore; it's just a regular part of your week. And once you get the hang of making mayo, you kind of feel like, "Hey, no big."

So far I haven't reached that point with making jam. (And I hope I never do.) Here I am, glowing with pride while eight jars of gorgeous jam cool in the kitchen (plus a little extra insufficient to fill a jar). I decided to call it strawberry-lemonade jam because I love strawberry lemonade (and I thought it sounded good), but really it's strawberry jam flavored with lemon zest, lemon juice, and a hint of lemon verbena to cut the sweetness. It's delicious. And I was able to keep the color of the strawberries--a first in jam making for me. So I am a little puffed up. Let me enjoy my moment of glory. Wait, I have to run to the kitchen and get a spoonful from the partial jar...

Man that's good. Sorry, I'm back. That was wonderful. I am going to tell you how to make the deliciousness yourself in a moment, but first a few tips for making jam:

• Get the very best berries you can find and preferably ones that haven't been sprayed. I got mine from Reid's Orchard because their berries are extraordinarily good, and they practice integrated pest management, which means they rarely spray their fruits.
• Jam is not an excuse for using less-than-perfect berries. If you've got ugly berries, trim the ugly parts and try making saft (a Swedish fruit syrup that's delicious as a refreshing drink when mixed with water or you could also pour a little over ice cream). Or bake something with them.
• Get everything ready before you start cooking the jam, because once you start you will not be able to leave the stove for more than a minute or two. (Lot of hovering over the stove involved in making jam.) So that means wash and sterilize all your jars, juice and zest your lemons, wash the verbena stems, place a plate with five metal spoons in the freezer for testing, and have a ladle and a funnel ready to go.
• Be careful. Making jam is an activity not dissimilar to making candy. That means temperatures get very high, boiling can get violent, and the jam can overflow. Also, it can spatter and burn, so take care. Maybe wear an oven mitt while you stir. Or cast caution to the wind and gain some badges of honor (I got one on my wrist today).  
• Don't start making jam unless you have at least 45 solid minutes to devote completely to the task. You can't really start and stop, and you have to be present at the stove through nearly the entire cook time.    

OK, so those are the general tips. Here are the specifics (both ingredients and equipment):

• 4 lbs hulled strawberries (keep them whole unless they are huge)
• 2 lbs 10 oz sugar 
• juice from four lemons (between 5 and 6 ounces, divided)*
• zest from two lemons (finely chopped or grated)
• 1 large branch of lemon verbena (optional, but nice)
• 1 white plate with 5 metal spoons, placed in the freezer to prep them for testing
• 1 deep thick-bottomed pot that's from 8 inches in diameter (up to 11 or 12) (if you don't have a jam pan,** a stock pot will work just fine)
• 1 silicone spatula
• 1 skimmer, placed in a bowl of cold water
• 1 ladle
• 1 wide-mouth funnel (you'll usually find these wherever you find canning supplies)
• 9 clean 8-ounce jars with banded lids, washed, sterilized, and kept hot
• Any equipment you are using to process the jars (pot with rack, baking sheet and rack, etc.). For information about processing jams (and any canned good) safely, go to the National Center for Home Food Preservation.      

OK, now that you have assembled everything you need, let's get started:

1. Combine strawberries, sugar, and half of the lemon juice in a pot. Stirring steadily with the silicone spatula, slowly heat the mass. When the berries release a lot of liquid and the berry-sugar mass becomes more liquid, raise the heat slowly to high and bring the mass to a rolling boil. 
2. Maintain the berry-sugar mix at a high boil for about 25 minutes, stirring once a minute or so, making sure to scrape the bottom with the spatula. If the mass starts to stick to the bottom, lower the heat a bit. Using a skimmer, skim the scum off the top for the first 10 minutes. As you will be standing here for a while watching the mass boil, you will no doubt notice some changes in the jam: First, it will boil up very high, possibly threatening to boil over. Usually consistent stirring will help keep that from happening, but it doesn't always work. Adjust the heat up and down as you work to maintain a strong boil, while avoiding losing half your jam in a sticky, possibly painful, disaster. 
3. At about the 25-minute mark, the jam will change color, growing darker and glossier, and production of foam will decrease. (Before this, you will notice the jam feeling thicker and the intensity of the boiling increasing.) Mix in the second half of the lemon juice and the lemon zest. (Take the pot off the heating element when you do this to avoid scorching.) Bring the jam back to a high boil for 5 minutes. 
4. After the 5 minutes, take the pot off the heat and add the sprig of lemon verbena to let it steep while you test the jam. To test the jam, place a small amount of jam liquid on a frozen spoon and return it to the freezer for 3-4 minutes. When you take the spoon out, feel the bottom of the spoon, it shouldn't feel hot or cold. If that's the case, tip the spoon to let the liquid run. If it runs slowly and sort of gums up a bit, the jam is done. If it runs fast, let the jam cook for another 5 to 10 minutes and test it again. 
5. If the jam was done on your first try, let the lemon verbena steep for another 5 to 10 minutes. Before you put the jam into the jars, remove the lemon verbena and toss it.
6. Using the ladle, pour the jam into the sterilized jars, leaving 1/4 inch room at the top of the jar. You will get 7 to 9 8-ounce jars of jam. 
7. Process the jars as directed. Except maybe one that you set aside to "test" for flavor to make sure it's OK. Make sure to refrigerate any open jars. 
8. Enjoy it. It should be good for 6 to 8 months if the jars form a proper seal and are kept in a cool, dark place. Make sure to check each jar carefully when you open it. If the seal doesn't pop, or if anything seems off or weird in any way (color, smell, rusty lids, etc.), just get rid of it. Better to lose a jar than to get sick.   

* The basis for this recipe is Rachel Saunders's "Children's Strawberry Jam," from The Blue Chair Jam Cookbook.
** If anyone feels like getting me a jam pan for Christmas, or for any other reason, I would not mind. No really. I wouldn't.

Strawberry upside-down cake

I like making upside-down cakes. They can be a bit of a gamble: Will the whole thing come out of the pan beautifully, or will it crumble into a delicious, but hideous mess? When they come out well, they can be so beautiful: Glorious jewel-like fruit glistening in deep-brown caramel both gooey and with a lacy edge of crispness. Then there is the contrast of the slight hit of acid from the fruit against soft sweet cake. Oh yeah...

The other thing I like about them is that they are endlessly variable. Once you get a basic batter and caramel down, you can switch up the fruit and the flavor of the batter in nearly endless ways (which just sparked an idea about inventing a savory upside-down cake at some point--maybe later this summer with tomatoes and some of the beautiful goat cheese from Cherry Glen--but I digress). For example, during summer you could use peaches, plums, cherries, blackberries--whatever is fresh and good and loading down the tables at the farmer's market. In fall, you could use apples, pears, and cranberries. To complement different fruits, you could flavor the batter with lemon zest, cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla--whatever strikes your fancy and suits your tastes.

In this case, my fancy was struck when I went looking for strawberry-intensive recipes for a treat to bring to a brunch. I came across several tasty ones at Joy the Baker's blog, including a brown butter banana strawberry bread (looks so delicious) and a strawberry balsamic flatbread (most intriguing), but what really sparked my thinking was the strawberry upside-down cake with cardamom. Oh yeah! I could make an upside-down cake with strawberries. Only, instead of using cardamom, I would caramelize the strawberries, and instead of cinnamon in my batter, I would use lemon zest because lemon and strawberries just play so nicely together. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

So I got to work. I had a quart of strawberries from the farmer's market to hull (I bought two actually, but the other one is for eating fresh), caramel to make, and a batter to whip up. Here's how to proceed.*

Topping

• 6 Tbsp unsalted butter
• 1 packed cup brown sugar
• 1 Tbsp local honey
• 1 quart strawberries, hulled and sliced 

(If you aren't using a cast-iron skillet to make this cake, make the caramel separately on the stove and then pour it into the cake pan you plan to use; use an 8- to 9-inch pan. Springform would probably help you out a bunch.)

1. Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. 
2. Melt the butter, let it get foamy and slightly brown. (Keep an eye on it, you do not want burnt butter in your cake. Or in any dish you make, ever.)
3. Add brown sugar and honey and stir until the brown sugar is mostly melted. 
4. Take the pan off the heat and add the strawberries. (The heat of the sugar-butter mixture will slightly cook the strawberries, and a scent will rise that is indescribably beautiful. Just breathe it in and count yourself lucky to experience such a thing of ephemeral beauty.) If you are using a cake pan, pour the whole mixture into the pan. Set it aside while you make the batter.   

Cake Batter

• 6 Tbsp butter, room temperature
• 1 cup white sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• zest from one lemon, finely chopped or grated
• 1/2 cup whole milk

1. Using a stand mixer, whip the butter silly. No. Sorry. Whip the butter until it's fluffy. The paddle attachment is good for this.  
2. Add the sugar to the butter and whip that until it's creamy. If you are starting with cold butter, this could take a while.
3. While the butter and sugar are working, add flour, baking powder, salt, and lemon zest to a bowl. Mix everything together with a whisk and set it aside. 
4. OK, now that your butter and sugar is fluffy and pale gold, add one egg at a time. Beat them into the butter-sugar mixture until fluffy. Even more fluffy! Lots of fluffy. 
5. Next, mix in the vanilla extract. 
6. Finally add the flour mixture and the milk, alternating between about a third of the flour and a third of the milk until you've added it all. Mix until the flour and the milk are just incorporated and then stop the machine. (If you keep beating the batter, you will get a tough cake. And you don't want a tough cake unless you are planning to throw it at someone you are mad at. And why would you be mad at someone? You have these gorgeous strawberries and this fluffy cake batter.)
7. Scrape the batter over the strawberries and caramel and smooth the batter as best you can (this is a thick batter that doesn't spread very easily, but don't worry about it being uneven; it will spread nicely in the oven). 
8. Slide the pan into the hot oven and let it bake for 1 hour and 5 minutes. Take it out and let it cool for 30 minutes before flipping it over onto a serving plate. Enjoy it warm or cold. Serve it with ice cream or some fresh whipped cream or all by itself.

* This recipe was adapted from this oh-so-good plum upside-down cake from Epicurious.