I Think, I Can.
I Think, I Can.
I Think, I Can…
I know. I ripped off of Aristotle. Or Thomas the Tank Engine. Or whoever else has spoken something akin to this. For this slight plagiarism, I offer my heartiest apology
PSYCH! I’m not sorry. Because MY version means, “Jam”. A LOT of Jam. Right Proper Jam. Equal (but not limited to) Rosemary Fig and Plum Lemon Verbena Jams.
I had help from a Beautiful friend of mine and over the course of two afternoons; I went through 12 Ball Jars, several cups of sugar, approx. 27 fantastic “Jam Puns” and learned what “Canning Process” means. I also ate a significant number of homemade Ginger Molasses Cookies. It was sensational.
Oh hey Sourdough Buckwheat Pancakes with Caramelized Apples and Crème Fraiche. What up. My Name’s Megan.
Or this one:
Fresh Wheat Pasta with spring peas and goat cheese and other melty goodies. Shut my mouth.
Or things like:
Homemade Pickles, Kim chi, Sauerkraut
Slow roasted Pork Shoulder with a Maple Bourbon Homemade Mustard Glaze
Cold Pork canapés with some Rosemary Fig jam:
You can see why I am a girl possessed.
I thought about Sweet Jams. Savory Jams. Booze infused Jams. I thought about sending Jam as gifts. I thought about making custom labels for my Jams. (Which I did) I thought about opening a Jam store. I thought about taking over the world with Jam. Jam, Jam, Jam. Oh I thought about creating an entire barter system with my Jams. Like that one Swedish Girl who bartered her sourdough loaves for things like bicycle parts, hotel rooms, meats, vegetables, wine, and Jam… She became my latest greatest Hero(ine).
It was so much easier than I expected. You throw stuff in a pot. Boil it. Sanitize jars, fill jars, boil them to “seal”. Then you toast bread and spread it and eat it. Winners. Every and All of us.