B E B E R E

I don't consider lacy, frou-frou or sexy to be a natural state for me, so it's kind of strange to think that I might want to try being so a little bit.

Was looking around on one of my favorite knitting sites, one by a former designer for Frederick's. Am feeling the most incredible craving for raspberries and for chantilly; neither of which is very practical. The Puritanical Bureaucrat in me tells me that it might be better to stick with slightly more work-appropriate. It's still lacy and feminine enough to satisfy this new taste I've developed, however.

I wonder who's going to be holding the credit card when this all hits the shopping cart: sexy thing or bureaucrat?

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Fresas Emotivas

I came across a strawberry windfall on Sunday at a time when I needed it the most.

Brought my boxes home, collected up some jars and lids (had just enough - was meant to do this), then started in on some meditative jam-making. My recipe, by the way, is based on the one in the Women's Home Companion Cookbook (1942 edition, same as what Grandma Z used):

Wash strawberries thoroughly, hull, remove bad spots, cut into desired-sized pieces (whole berries make preserves, cut/crushed berries make jam). Weigh the fruit and, for each pound of berries, measure out a pound of sugar. Place fruit in a large enough pot to accomodate bubbling up, then heat until boiling. When this point is reached, add sugar, mixing until all is dissolved.

Cook mixture for 15-20 minutes (low boil), making sure to stir often so it doesn't scorch. Test for done-ness by dripping a bit of the liquid off a spoon: if it 'sheets off,' it's jelled enough. Pour jam into clean, sterilized jars and seal lids.

Lots of intense good thoughts went into this batch and, honestly, I think it's the best I've ever made: ruby red, perfectly jelled, tasting of sunshine and spring. I'm enjoying looking at the jars in a row on my cupboard, souvenirs of a beautiful lovemaking session that they are.

(from Grimpen Mire)