Learning the Secrets of Jam Making

My great-grandma Goose was short, fierce, opinionated and known for her fig raspberry jam. Hers was a sticky sweet, firmly-set preserve, laced with fig seeds, swirled with tart raspberries, and capped with a thick layer of paraffin.*

As a kid, the jam was not of interest to me, but once I began my work in kitchens, I fell hard for jam making; both the process and the outcome. The beauty of perfectly ripe fruit tossed in sugar and cooked until translucent and suspended in its own sauce is kitchen magic. 

Growing up in a kitchen filled with three generations of bossy women didn’t leave much room for me. Yet I was determined to learn how to preserve from Goose. Over and over again she waved me off, not understanding why a young kid would want to learn this old art. One day she finally relented.

One early August morning, I drove from my home in Los Angeles to hers in Bakersfield — up the 5 freeway and over The Grapevine, past the orchards of almond and apricot trees, until I neared the cotton fields and knew I was close.

After our usual hello of hugs, kisses, and the big measuring comparison to see if and how much taller I was than she, we headed out back to her yard where a single fig tree stood. I climbed up a ladder and, under her direction, I picked the fruit - aiming for the plump nearly bursting figs - ones dripping sugar with a bit of milk where the stems detached from the branches.

For the next few hours we stood together, working in her kitchen —chopping figs, measuring raspberries and sugar and sterilizing jars — and eventually stirring and cooking the jam. None of this was a fuss to her. I’d ask questions trying to learn — how long to cook, why do we do this in that order, do all fruits require the same process — but she just waved me off and kept moving. Eventually the fruit and sugar liquefied and thickened to the setting point. The jam was poured into the mismatched jars she had collected over the years. We melted the wax* over a double boiler, topped off each jar and screwed on each lid. 

Finished with our days work, we went to relax on her back patio. My questions were still unanswered but I had begun down the road of preserving and would eventually learn all the other secrets for myself. And I had another memory tucked inside my heart.

*Paraffin wax is no longer considered a safe method to preserve fruit.