The discovery of my homemade honey was entirely accidental, as I had originally sought to make an herb jelly. I absolutely love rose jams and jellies, so I thought why not try it with my favorite herbs? I've been on a lavender kick recently, so that had to be part of the mix, and the idea for Herbes de Provence inevitably followed. Herbes de Provence is a mixture of herbs preferred by the home cooks of southern France. The line up may vary slightly, but it usually is a mix of thyme, rosemary, and lavender, with fennel possibly thrown in as well. It's delicious on lamb chops and other meats, adding an earthiness to anything it touches. So I dug up some recipes on non-fruit jellies, compared notes, and executed my plan of attack. All seemed to be working well: the kitchen smelt amazing from the perfume of the herbs and the way the lemon juice turns the herb liquid from a murky brown to a bright peachy orange was magical. But as I boiled, and reached setting time, I realized that without the addition or pectin or gelatin it would never take on a "jammy" form. Instead I got a thick, viscous, golden syrup. I dipped my finger in it to taste it. Wow. Not what I expected.
I can't really say what I actually expected; maybe more lavender or thyme to come through? The result was herbaceous and deep, with a peppery note from the fennel seeds on the finish. After I got over the initial confusion, I couldn't stop going back for more. This "honey" would be amazing with a cheese course, or just drizzled on some bread to snack on. Enjoy!
.jpg)
Ingredients:
.jpg)
Ingredients:
2 cups water
1 3/4 cups white sugar
1 large bunch thyme
3 sprigs rosemary
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
2 tablespoons lavender flowers
1 large lemon
Directions:
Place the water in a pot with all of the herbs and bring to a boil. Allow to boil for about 10 minutes, then strain the water into another bowl, removing all of the herbs. The water will be a murky brown color. Put the water in the fridge to cool. When it has cooled, squeeze the lemon juice into the murky water. Something amazing will happen: the water will change from dingy brown to a peachy orange. Pour the mixture back into the pan and add the sugar. Bring the mixture to a boil for about 10 minutes, or until it has reached 220 F. Pour the syrup into sanitized jars, and sprinkle the top with lavender flowers. Cool to room temperature and then refrigerate.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
The fact that I've never had rhubarb before shocked my friend Christie. It actually led us to order an unfortunate dessert while I was visiting her in DC. On the menu, it said it was served with candied rhubarb, but when the plate arrived it was just the average rigmarole of mixed berries. We pushed the berries around with our forks despondently as we waited for an explanation from our server. "Oh, the sauce is candied rhubarb." We leaned in to examine the drizzle of syrup that the berries had clung to. False advertising, we both concluded. After this experience, I became enamored with the idea of rhubarb. It was the very beginning of the season, so hunting it down proved to be a little difficult, but I was able to hustle some up. My reasons for never tasting it went back to two notions: I don't like explicitly sour things, and my dad refers to it as "Poor man's cherry pie." It also doesn't help that it looks and tastes like sour celery when it's uncooked, not exactly the qualities a child yearns for in a meal, let alone a dessert. But still, I felt an urge to overcome that whiny inner-child and finally taste some myself.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
The fact that I've never had rhubarb before shocked my friend Christie. It actually led us to order an unfortunate dessert while I was visiting her in DC. On the menu, it said it was served with candied rhubarb, but when the plate arrived it was just the average rigmarole of mixed berries. We pushed the berries around with our forks despondently as we waited for an explanation from our server. "Oh, the sauce is candied rhubarb." We leaned in to examine the drizzle of syrup that the berries had clung to. False advertising, we both concluded. After this experience, I became enamored with the idea of rhubarb. It was the very beginning of the season, so hunting it down proved to be a little difficult, but I was able to hustle some up. My reasons for never tasting it went back to two notions: I don't like explicitly sour things, and my dad refers to it as "Poor man's cherry pie." It also doesn't help that it looks and tastes like sour celery when it's uncooked, not exactly the qualities a child yearns for in a meal, let alone a dessert. But still, I felt an urge to overcome that whiny inner-child and finally taste some myself.
The idea for strawberry-rhubarb-rosewater jam came together because rhubarb and strawberries are a natural pairing, and Christie and I love rosewater, so this is sort of an homage to her. Upon eating the finished product, I must say rhubarb is growing on me. It adds some acidic brightness to the sweet strawberries, making it a well rounded treat for you toast. Enjoy!
Ingredients:
2 cups rhubarb, chopped into 1/2 inch cubes
2 cups starwberries, quartered
2 lemons
2 tablespoons rosewater
2 cups sugar
Directions:
Put the strawberries and rhubarb into a large bowl and cover with the sugar and lemon juice. Cover the mixture with a kitchen towel and let it macerate in the refrigerator over night. The sugar is acting like salt does in the preservation of meat; it will cause the fruit to leech out its liquid, creating a fruit-sugar syrup.
On the second day, pour the syrup into a pan and heat until it bubbles (about 5 minutes on med-high) and then add the fruit. Stir until the entire mixture is bubbling (about 5 more minutes) and return to the bowl and refrigerator for another night.
On the third day, put the entire mixture in a pan and let it start bubbling over medium heat. Stir frequently so no part is boiling.
Meanwhile, boil you jars and their tops in water for at least 10 minutes, then allow them to dry out on a clean kitchen towel.
When the mixture is ready (this is after about 10 minutes of bubbling, with the mixture clinging to the spoon—DO NOT OVER COOK) take it off the heat and ladle the jam jars until almost full, leaving about a ½ inch open at the top. Secure the tops to the jars and clean off any excess jam, and then place on a plate, upside down. The plate is just in case some jam leaks out. Place the plate of jars in the refrigerator to cool over night.
The next morning, you will have a perfect partner for toast!
If you like the jars I used (i love their voluptuous shape) you can get them at Weck Canning at a very reasonable price.
Put the strawberries and rhubarb into a large bowl and cover with the sugar and lemon juice. Cover the mixture with a kitchen towel and let it macerate in the refrigerator over night. The sugar is acting like salt does in the preservation of meat; it will cause the fruit to leech out its liquid, creating a fruit-sugar syrup.
On the second day, pour the syrup into a pan and heat until it bubbles (about 5 minutes on med-high) and then add the fruit. Stir until the entire mixture is bubbling (about 5 more minutes) and return to the bowl and refrigerator for another night.
On the third day, put the entire mixture in a pan and let it start bubbling over medium heat. Stir frequently so no part is boiling.
Meanwhile, boil you jars and their tops in water for at least 10 minutes, then allow them to dry out on a clean kitchen towel.
When the mixture is ready (this is after about 10 minutes of bubbling, with the mixture clinging to the spoon—DO NOT OVER COOK) take it off the heat and ladle the jam jars until almost full, leaving about a ½ inch open at the top. Secure the tops to the jars and clean off any excess jam, and then place on a plate, upside down. The plate is just in case some jam leaks out. Place the plate of jars in the refrigerator to cool over night.
The next morning, you will have a perfect partner for toast!
If you like the jars I used (i love their voluptuous shape) you can get them at Weck Canning at a very reasonable price.
:.