Jam.

When I was little I ate jam sandwiches every day in my lunchbox. But then one day, I didn’t eat jam sandwiches anymore.

I strongly believe that food has that magical quality of being able to instantly transport you back to a moment in time, predominantly childhood.  Jam is most certainly that food for me (along with Jaffa Cakes and Fish Fingers...yes.).

A couple of weeks ago, we picked some home-grown strawberries from the allotment and I hastily decided to make some strawberry jam on spur of the moment – but I was much unprepared. It was a very chaotic couple of hours in the kitchen. I didn’t measure out my quantities, I struggled sterilising my equipment and the final result ended in a burnt hob.  The jam however, was very scrumptious.  (The test is always in the taste.)

A few weeks and jam observing later I decided to get properly prepared, I sterilised my jars, chose my fruit, measured out my sugar … and voila…

I made blueberry jam!

Yum yum yum.

The problem with home-made jam – like anything home-made, is that once you’ve made your own there is simply no going back. I’m awfully sorry Sir William Pickles Hartley.

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