Strawberry Balsamic Jam

At the ripe age of twenty-three, I fear I'm becoming an old woman. It's a silly fear, I know. I'm not afraid of growing older (we all must go through it eventually), but I am afraid of skipping my thirties and forties and jumping straight into my sixties.

Over the last couple years, my habits have begun to betray me. I can't remember the last time I went out on a Friday night; and when I did, I was certain to be home before the strike of ten. My mother and I enjoy watching Hot in Cleveland together (and I find myself laughing louder and longer than her). I ask for kitchen appliances and dishware when the holidays roll around. I often wear vintage clothes and, to my dismay, more than once my students have loudly proclaimed I dress like an old lady (you have the same shoes as my grandmother!).

I suppose, in many ways, you could say I am already channeling the spirit of a seventy-five year old woman.

Maybe I wouldn't fear becoming an old woman if The Signs hadn't already arrived. As I sat down in the optometrist office last month, my eye doctor broke the news that my eyes were already getting cataracts. I have exactly three old lady veins—two in rather inconspicuous locations—but the last has the unfortunate position of running down the entire length of my nose (which my boyfriend so lovingly pointed out "looks bluer when I'm cold"). And, to spread the icing on the cake, I recently discovered I have laugh lines while tiredly looking at myself in the mirror.

I even talk like an old woman. Just the other night I caught myself telling my mother that I wished pants weren't so low cut and I hoped I could find a pair with a higher waist.

It's like a disease, I tell you. Old womanitis.

Despite my frivolous concerns towards aging, when I stumbled upon the quote above by Cassandra Clare, I did feel more at ease about myself. Beauty may fade, but cooking is forever. It's comforting to know that it doesn't matter whether my hair is gray or my hands are gnarled; I can make a mean chocolate chip cookie. In the end, I think that's what matters most. Food brings people together—it's a celebration of life and love.

When it comes down to it, I'd rather my legacy be lovely strawberry jam instead of a history of face lifts.

This strawberry jam is thick and sweet. Balsamic vinegar joins strawberries, lending a unique and enhancing flavor. The jam is thickened on the stove top until it reaches your desired consistency. This strawberry jam is perfect to spread on bread, crackers, or drizzle on top of ice cream.

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Fig and Balsamic Jam

The fig and I have an on-again off-again relationship. He is an unassuming, dumpy little gentleman if I ever saw one. At least that's what I thought until he got up the nerve to flash me. The audacity! I just can't look at him the same anymore--not after being exposed to all that eye candy.
Our love affair was brief. He took me for brunch and we dined on pancakes. He treated me to decadent desserts (and oh he can be so sweet-tempered smothered in chocolate). Then things headed south. He got cloying, sugar-coating all his words. More than once he got just a little too ripe with me.

I was at fault too. I was fickle. He caught me checking out the pears in the grocery aisle. I brushed him off to spend quality time with the apples. But we can never stray from each other for long. He always finds his way back to my kitchen table.

I will admit I was wary of making this jam. Figs and balsamic? Peppercorns? I couldn't imagine the taste, which made me suspicious. Thankfully, my curiosity got the better of me and I gave it a try. Oh, I am so glad I did. Figs and balsamic are like a match made in heaven. With jams, I generally get concerned that the sugar will overtake the jam and drown out the flavors, but with this one the peppercorns and lemon juice really keep that in check (and add a nice kick too!). If you are wary of this fig and balsamic jam like I was, you are going to miss out on a uniquely delicious flavor combination.

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