Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam

Jam-making is a calming process for me. When fruit begins to become overwhelming on the counter, spilling out of bowls and taking up too much space, I have no problem turning it into a simple jam. Cutting the fruit into small pieces and tossing it in a saucepan to bubble and boil, each batch is as unique as the others—some sweeter, some more tart—with a mix of flavors that comes from the extra ingredients in the cupboards.

Jam may be simple to make, but the scents that infuse the house as the fruit cooks down is why homemade jam is worth the time.

My grandmother is well known in my family for creating vibrant strawberry jam. Every few months, she will simmer another batch over the stove, dividing it into small plastic containers, and freezing it until we pay her a visit. She makes certain the strawberry jam fountain never runs dry. My grandmother has faithfully made her strawberry jam for as long as I've known her. In those twenty-four years, I've created so many simple, strawberry-filled moments with sticky knives and happy faces.

Her jam is perfect on a freshly baked bun, warm and inviting—a treat I get to enjoy whenever the holidays come around.

Despite the love for my grandmother's jam, I truly believe different moments call for different flavors. The classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich just wouldn't be the same without a thick spread of grape jelly that oozes out from the crust of the bread as a bite-sized piece disappears. My mother's go-to barbecue sauce recipe uses grape jelly to bring in a depth of flavor (which I have been known to shamelessly eat with a spoon when my mother's back is turned). A spoonful of fig or strawberry balsamic jam blends seamlessly into a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

At a holiday craft fair in Montreal, I stumbled upon the most unique jam I've ever had the fortune of tasting. It was a cedar jam, derived precisely from cedar trees in a nearby forest. The sample I tried was electric, the taste reminding me strongly of the tree-scented scratch-and-sniff sticker in my childhood book, The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear. The instant memory and surprising flavor led me to buy a small jar of my own. I'm still waiting for the perfect occasion to open it.

The right moment to savor this Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam found me. In a way, the jam seemed to form of its own accord, as I found myself tossing a little of this and that from the cupboards into the saucepan. Still warm from simmering, I spread a thick layer onto a slice of fresh bread and enjoyed it as the summer sun set, turning the sky into a spell of pink and orange hues.

Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam contains a myriad of flavors that come together in an unexpected, but lovely marriage. Fresh peaches are peeled and sliced into small pieces, joining freshly minced thyme and a splash of bourbon. The jam simmers on the stove, infusing the room with bright scents and swirling steam. I love to sneak a taste with a spoon while the jam bubbles on the stove top (and I suggest you do the same).

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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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