Chutney

Gobble Gobble

It's gonna be real this year.  Old school.  Like major old school--heritage turkey style.  The bird comes tomorrow, from a farm in Kansas dedicated to bringing back native turkey species.  He's being FedEx'd overnight, first class. He's spending tonight in Indianapolis.  I know because I tracked him.  I wonder if there's a Ritz in Indianapolis?  This is one special turkey.  I can't wait to taste him.

Jammin'

Thank God I married an Irishman with an affinity for Kerrygold buttered toast slathered with preserves.  If you know much about me, you know I fantasize about trips to the candy store.  Just thinking about a visit to Dylan's Candy Bar in NYC could easily bring me to a state of delirium.  I love sugar.  But enough is enough.  I've had fruit coming out my ears all summer.  I inherited two frost peach trees, a yellow plum tree, a purple Italian plum tree, five pear trees, oodles of strawberry plants, and several blueberry bushes.  I just planted three apple varietals, a mulberry, and a fig tree. I am a glutton for sugar induced punishment. Learning to 'can', has not made this situation better.  Don't get me wrong: there is pleasure in biting into a juicy peach just a moment after picking it from the tree.  But come on, let's be honest, a few sticky fingers later, and that gets old.  Why eat the fruit raw when you can cook it down with sugar and lemon zest - and spoon it over butter cookies... in January?  Canning has made me a very happy girl...for sweet better, or for sticky worse.