We are honored that Chef John Besh has allowed us a sneak peak of four of his recipes from his soon-to-be-released cookbook, My New Orleans: The Cookbook (publishing Oct. 6, 2009. Recipes reprinted with permission from Andrews McMeel Publishing). To view his recipies for Peach Jam, Sport Pepper Sauce, Sugar Plums in Syrup, and Watermelon Pickles go to the Resource Page above or just HERE.
July, 2009:
Recipes from My New Orleans: The Cookbook, by Chef John Besh
Blueberries (and Raspberries and Apricots) for Zoe

Many of us have fond memories of Blueberries for Sal, the classic Robert McCloskey picture book about a mother and daughter in 1940s Maine who head out one summer’s day to pick blueberries to can for the winter. At the beginning and end of the book is a wonderful illustration of Sal and her mother in the kitchen, wood-burning stove behind them, pouring blueberries from a pot into a canning jar, with several filled jars – and several more yet to be filled – waiting on the kitchen table. For me, this image evokes a world that has all but disappeared, but one that holds tremendous appeal: a world in which a mother could walk out of her door, pick the freshest, tastiest berries and then preserve them, in her own kitchen, so that her family would have homemade blueberry jam to sweeten a cold February morning.
My daughter, Zoe, at 6, is a few years older than Sal was when she and her mother went out to pick blueberries on that summer’s day in the late 1940s. But this summer, Zoe and I have had our own version of that scene in the kitchen filling glass jars with beautifully preserved fruit. We began making jams and pickles with fruits and vegetables from our local farmers’ market. Unlike Sal and her mother, we live in as urban a setting as you can imagine, only a few miles from the Chicago Loop. But Chicago is close enough to Michigan’s wonderful fruit orchards that, thanks to the farmers’ market, we can still get fruit that was picked only a day or two before.
For years, Saturday morning at the farmers’ market has been a ritual for our family. Zoe and her father–and now little brother Jamie–go for the blueberries, the cherries and the peaches. I go for the heirloom tomatoes, the corn–picked that morning or I am not interested, thank you very much–and those delicate and unusual items (garlic scapes? squash blossoms?) that challenge the ambitious cook and that you can never seem to find any place else. For some reason (and I truly don’t know why), this spring, I decided that I wanted to learn how to take some of this fleeting farmers’ market bounty and preserve it. My only goal was to have fun trying something new and perhaps to come away with some homemade gifts for the holidays.
Canning is a wonderful activity to do with an elementary-school aged child. From the moment I first suggested it to her, Zoe has been an enthusiastic partner in my canning endeavors. She loves going to the farmers’ market and helping me decide which fruits and vegetables to can that week. By noticing what the farmers have for sale each week, and how it is different from what they had the previous week, Zoe is learning an important lesson about growing seasons. So far, we’ve made apricot, blueberry, sour cherry and mixed berry jams, and this week, we tried our hand at pickling grape tomatoes.
There is quite a lot that a young child can do to be helpful during the canning process. Zoe has pitted cherries, crushed all kinds of fruit, peeled cloves of garlic, pricked grape tomatoes (so the skins don’t crack), squeezed lemon juice and measured out cups of sugar. With close supervision, and a kitchen chair to stand on, Zoe can even stir the fruit as it reaches the gelling point. And once our jars are processed and cooled, Zoe helps with the labels. One of her favorite tasks is coming up with the names for our products, such as Zoe’s Very Berry Jam.
For Zoe, canning is something that she and I can do together–without her little brother around–and it makes her feel extremely competent. Plus, just like me, looking at those gleaming jars she feels the pride that comes from making something with your own two hands.

I knew I had a convert when Zoe rushed into the kitchen after a birthday party that had taken her away during the middle of a canning session, and asked breathlessly, “Did you hear the jars ‘ping,’ Mommy?” (Of course, if I knew more about science, I would use this opportunity to explain to Zoe about vacuums. As it is, we are just relieved that our jars sealed properly.) Zoe and I also feel a special connection to the past by participating in this traditional domestic art. Blueberries for Sal aside, we’ve noticed references to canning in some of our favorite books, including the Betsy-Tacy series by Maud Hart Lovelace and Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books. Even Zoe’s American Girl doll, Kit, who lived during the Great Depression, is shown in the accompanying books canning peaches and tomatoes.
For Zoe, there is perhaps a special reason why canning is such a joyful activity. Zoe has many food allergies, including to such basic foods as wheat, milk and egg. As a result, cooking can be a touchy subject. My husband and I had to tell Zoe that she could not participate in the cooking activity at her day camp this summer, and last spring, when her Hebrew school class learned how to make matzo, Zoe and I stood in the back of the room, away from all the flying flour, watching sadly while the other kindergartners pounded and pressed the sticky dough. But canning is an activity that perfectly safe for Zoe. And the results are delicious, even on wheat-free bread.
As I mentioned, this is the first summer that Zoe and I have canned fruit and vegetables, so I don’t know how it will feel in December to give away a jar of our homemade pickles, or crack open a jar of our homemade jam. I am hopeful, though, that, in the dark days of winter it will help us feel closer to the warmth and abundance of summer, much as it must have for Sal and her mother.
CAA ContributorEmily Paster is a passionate home cook and novice canner who lives outside of Chicago with her husband and two children.
If You Want The Best Jam…

We had high expectations for our Shuksan strawberries from the start.
Tastemaker Jon Rowley and six-degrees-of-Traca Savadago had led our group to the gleaming, paint-red berries as the representative of a certain kind of umami. For Jon, these berries fit a particular sense of the word. They were a food that “has become all that can be, when it is at its peak of quality and fulfillment.” We sliced them with whipped cream for dessert that night, we made two batches of strawberry ice cream, we ate them out of hand…

but Jon had warned us that the berries wouldn’t last past nightfall. The rest were destined for jam.
First I turned to Marisa McClellan’s post on Strawberry-Vanilla jam. I’d had a song in my head ever since reading what she wrote about her day of berry-jamming, the subversively merry Michelle Shocked tune that goes “We were making jam. Strawberry jam! Well, if you want the best jam, you’ve got to make your own.”
I’d planned on making Marisa’s exact recipe, but decided at the last minute I was more comfortable measuring in weights rather than cups. I wound up with Nick Sandler and Johnny Acton’s book Preserved, which called for 6 3/4 pounds of strawberries, 5 1/2 pounds of white sugar, and the juice of two lemons (not quite as precise as we wanted when it came to the lemon, but there you have it.) We chopped the larger berries into chunks, left the large ones whole, and gently boiled them for an hour or so, as the recipe told us, until the volume had reduced by 10 percent.

Then we added the sugar and prepared to boil the mixture until the temperature rose to 220 degrees F, where it was to set. And we waited. And we waited. The hour crept toward midnight, the jam bubbled away, and the thermometer hovered stubbornly around 215 degrees.
I testily started asking around on Twitter, a surprisingly instant font of advice. Our problem, it seemed pretty clear, was that for all our supposed precision, we hadn’t realized it would be a problem to double the jam recipe. If we had thought to research it before we started, we would have learned you’re not supposed to do that.
But we boiled on regardless, as it didn’t seem like a safety issue, and we finally hit the magic temperature. We tested the jam to see if it had set — we found a clear explanation of how to gauge that in Molly Wizenberg’s berry jam recipe here — and finally proceeded with our sterilized jars and boiling water bath. (The book doesn’t call for water bath processing, but, remember, we’re paranoid.)

At night’s end, we were disappointed in the jam’s taste. Those fragile, glowingly juicy berries had disappeared, subsumed into what seemed like an overly sugared, overly cooked-tasting, hot-tub’s worth of jam.
We finished up and went to bed, figuring we would do better next time.
But as strawberry season passed its height and we cracked open our jars for morning toast and jam, something surprising happened.
A few days removed from our memory of the fields, the seasonal abundance, the ripe hit of the just-picked berries in our mouths, the jam tasted darn good. It was sweet, yes, but not as much as most processed store-bought stuff. Taken out of the context of those perfect berries, as just a random jar of jam, it appeared to be that “best jam” that we had wanted.
I was so pleased, I started giving it away to friends, to colleagues, even a jar to (gasp) Thierry Rautureau, the four-star chef who told me once that he cans enough fruit to last him all winter, but saves a single jar from the previous year until the new crops are ready, just to….what? Just to know there’s always one jar there.
Just as our jam wasn’t as disappointing as I thought at first taste, I sure hope it’s as good as I think it is now.
But that doesn’t matter so much. I’m digging up my Ball Blue Book to review basic instructions (as I should have done before hitting the stove this year.) I’ve got canning on the brain. Next week, we want to go picking for raspberries.
And a different verse of that Michelle Shocked song is the one that now just won’t leave my head. It goes like this:
“We have a little revolution sweeping the land.
Now once more everybody’s making homemade jam.
So call your friends up on the telephone…
Invite ‘em on over, you make some jam of your own.”

Won’t you join us on our Canvolution weekend?
Yours,
Welcome!
Welcome to the Canning Across America web site!
Canning Across America is a grassroots-inspired nationwide event that honors the revival of the time-honored art of canning.
Throughout the country, households will join each other the weekend of August 29/30, 2009 to preserve the summer’s bounty. In addition to home canning parties, chefs and food-preservation experts will host classes designed to inspire people how to can creatively and safely.
Whether you’re new to canning or have been putting up food your whole life, we hope that you’ll partake in the festivities during Canning Across America weekend.
The Canning Across America web site is designed to serve as a community and information clearinghouse. If you plan to can this weekend, please write to us at our email address (see Contact Us, right) and let us know. Include whatever information you care to share—including your name, city/state of residence, the foods you’ll be canning—and we’ll post it on the website in the Events section.
Have a question about canning? On the web site, you’ll find educational articles on the subject as well as Q+As by food-preservation experts.
We hope the Canning Across America weekend helps to inspire untold numbers of people—including yourself—to celebrate the craft of creating delicious foods that can sustain you throughout the year.
Yours,
Stephanie Gailing, Canning Across America contributor






