There are moments in every life, surely, when one stops and thinks, "This is it." Moments where everything is right, and if you could only stop time and fully experience it, maybe you wouldn't have to do anything else. Some days I look at the kids and see them lit with a kind of penumbra, they're utterly beautiful. They embody beauty. Or joy, or action, or something that is normally a fleeting thing, held for just that memory, and by that, kept alive forever.
Canning is sort of like that. (How's that for a jarring transition?) Summer flavors, colors, scents, all captured and waiting. That's why I love it so. Even the tomatoes have heart.
Enough jokes. Anyhow, there are some fruits that are equally beautiful inside and out. Figs aren't. Outside, they're sort of, well, sort of anatomical, to me, just sort of yucky. But split open? Jewels.
I didn't know how I felt about their taste, but there are many many worse tastes out there, it turns out.Both Black Mission and Calmyra came home from the store and I was tired of eating them, even caramelized over ice cream.
So they joined the nine pints and three quarts of spaghetti sauce, and five pints of tomato juice that got made today. Four jars of figs in honey, and one jar of fig-infused honey.
To me, it sounds positively medieval. In a good way, though.
Harvest Monday, May 20th, 2013
33 minutes ago