My mother is on a mission. That mission is to service her nearest and dearest with enough jam to feed the world:
This is the top shelf of our fridge. It contains mostly JAM. In a variety of forms. Almost all home made.
Now, I hope I am not about to sound ungrateful. They are all stupidly delicious. But there are three of us in this flat and we just don't get through them quick enough. I realised this today when I was having a rummage through them. I managed to palm off a raspberry jam to my sister, and I (the guilt part I) threw out a 2004 gooseberry (I recycled the jar! I recycled the jar!). There are still two other gooseberry's, plus several mint/apple variations on the theme of jelly.
Also still left to consume are a plum, strawberry, chillie (chillie jam!??), an elderflower something and a jar lemon curd.
I came back from France (guilt trip part II) with a jar of Nutella.
It's a second currency where my parents live though. A well-donated jar of jam can buy several days of pet-sitting, the odd pint, or may well be repayed weeks later with fresh stock from someone's allotment. It's like a code, or a very sophiosticated form of social bartering. What goes around comes around. And taste bloody good.
We all love the stuff. But I've just got too much! They shouldn't even be in the fridge. They're preserves, dammit. But we don't have much room anywhere.
Luckily Damascus is on hand to provide some utterly absurd links about toast, here and here.
Now. Who's buttering and who's spreading? And I don't want any marge / butter debates. Alright?