Rhubarb jam from a dear friend in Vermont. Rather than pectin, she uses the long-boil method, and in this case it had set extra hard, into a jewel like candy. No great sacrifice here, I ate it by the forkful!
(By the way, I'm sure she would hasten to mention that she tried to offer me a more successful batch. But I had my heart set on rhubarb, which is one of the few things that doesn't thrive in California. My dad used to make strawberry rhubarb sauce every year out of our backyard, where it grew like a weed.)
I didn't get any blackberries of my own last year, so I'm treasuring this small jar, mostly in PB&Js on homemade bread. (Again, don't look at me! Inder's the only breadmaker in this household!) Part of my haul from the "Yes, We Can" canning exchange at the Eat Real fest. I traded jars with some lovely kindred souls whose idea of a good night out on the town involved sitting on hay bales in Jack London Square conversing about jam. This was made by Stefani of the Alameda Fruit Exchange, if I recall correctly.
This year I'd love to try your jam, yes yours!
