It is the season of fruit in California. Not that we can't get fruit year round, mind you, but it's orangelemongrapefruitapricotplumfignectarinepeach season. There is some overlap in July, you see. I hang out with fruity people. I have a water bath canner and I know how to use it.
There are three nectarine pies in the oven. This morning I canned spiced peach butter. Last night it was five quarts of canned peaches. Yesterday afternoon it was apricot-orange jam with boozy kumquats (yes, that's right, Diana, I found something to do with them). Friday night it was the Santa Rosa plum jam with cardamom.
Bottom line: I have six cups of nectarines remaining in my fridge, even AFTER the three pies. I breached the last box of a dozen half-pint jars yesterday, and there is ONE LEFT. I have scoured this house and garage and found just the one, unless I want to go to wax sealing, which is just as appealing for me as leg waxing. It is Sunday night, I have fruit remaining, don't even know where I'm going to keep the pies that are in the oven because my freezer is full and fridge is overflowing, and if I could have just one more hit of that giant tub of boiling water... just one
more raw hand from dipping into the tub for the rings and lids, just one more late, hot summer night watching the thermometer climb past 200 degrees for that sweet spot in the jam.
Is this the alcoholic frenzy that searches out hidden bottles in strange places? Clearly I need a better plan. I need more hiding places.
No, no, it's not just fruit, we're talking about rare, tree-ripened nectarines that don't even have a varietal name, combined with organic blueberries. This is can't-be-bought-for-love-or-money nectarine-blueberry jam, can't you just see it and taste it now?
I'm ok, I'll be ok. Calming down now. Pies have three minutes to go. I can manage this.
First thing tomorrow, I buy more jars.