Talking Turkey by Robert Hendrickson – ISBN: 1626365504

  • Full Title: Talking Turkey: A Food Lover’s Guide to the Origins of Culinary Words and Phrases
  • Autor: Robert Hendrickson
  • Print Length: 160 pages
  • Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
  • Publication Date: February 11, 2014
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1626365504
  • ISBN-13: 978-1626365506
  • Download File Format | Size: epub | 1,92 Mb
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Food is a favorite topic of conversation around the world—how to create it, how to season it, how to compliment it with other foods, how to serve it…the list goes on. Yet little attention is paid to where the names of food actually come from or why so many phrases we use daily involve food, whether or not they actually relate to the kitchen. Bring some history to the table with this delightful phrasebook!


Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Robert Hendrickson is the author of more than twenty-five books including American Literary Anecdotes and God Bless America: The Origins of Over 1,500 Patriotic Words and Phrases. He has a deep-rooted love for the English language. He lives in Peconic, New York.



n Sanvidge

Diane Sanvidge Seckar

Jean Sanvidge Wouters

Julie Sanvidge Florence

Note: No garlic was harmed in the production of this book.

Wisconsin Historical Society Press

Published by the Wisconsin Historical Society Press

Publishers since 1855

© 2008 by the State Historical Society of Wisconsin

E-book edition 2013

For permission to reuse material from Apple Betty & Sloppy Joe (ISBN 978-0-87020-386-2; e-book ISBN 978-0-87020-517-0), please access or contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. CCC is a not-for-profit organization that provides licenses and registration for a variety of users.

Cover designed by Sue Ellibee

Interior designed by Jill Bremigan

Illustrations on front cover and page 230 by Cloo Stevenson

All photographs are from the authors’ collections

Other art credits appear on page 366

12 11 10 09 5 4 3 2

The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Sanvidge, Susan.

Apple Betty & sloppy Joe : stirring up the past with family recipes and stories / Susan Sanvidge . . . [et al.].

p. cm.

Includes index.

ISBN 978-0-87020-386-2 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Cookery, American—Midwestern style. 2. Cookery—Wisconsin. 3. Wisconsin—Social life and customs. 4. Oshkosh (Wis.)—History—20th century. I. Title.

TX715.2.M53S36 2007



Our Two Cooks

Helen Noffke Sanvidge and Neil Sanvidge

Our very own salt and pepper shakers,* before kids . . .

and after kids.

It does look like Dad tore some of his hair out, and Mom needs glasses now after all those years of “seeing what we were up to.” We couldn’t have been too bad, because they still look good.

*One of our favorite salt and pepper shakers in Grandma Sanvidge’s collection was the bride and groom—before and after the wedding.

This cookbook is dedicated to Mom, as a small thank you for the big job of getting meals on the table for four kids all those years, and to Dad, for working so hard and for making breakfasts, Sunday night suppers, and popcorn.

This book was Diane’s idea, but as Mom would say, “We all put our two cents in.”



The Big Kitchen on Bowen Street in Oshkosh…

Breakfast “Time to get up!”

Lunch “Soup and sandwich . . . ”

Appetizers “Something to tide you over . . . ”

Salads Yes, Jell-O is a salad.

Vegetables and Fruits “They’re good for you!”

Potatoes Everybody likes potatoes.

Meat “What are we having for supper?”

One Dish Meals “Waste not, want not!”

Up North “Hurry up! Dad’s getting antsy.”

Breads and Rolls “Please pass the butter.”

Desserts “Be sure to save some room . . .”

Cookies and Bars “Who’s in that cookie jar?”

Holidays The only time there’s candy in the house.

Time to Clear the Table!


“Girls! Time to come in!”

The bell Mom used to call us in to eat is on the shelf above her head, and the cups from our play tea set are sitting on the counter behind her, in front of the cake saver.

Our summer began when the freezer was stocked with Reimer’s hot dogs and brats and the old basement fridge was crammed with grape pop, cream soda, root beer, Pepsi, 7UP, and beer. We went strawberry picking—and hulling and eating—and Mom made jam with what was left. We bought corn from roadside stands. We had beets, tomatoes, carrots (rubbed on the grass and eaten on the spot), peas, and beans from our own garden. We ate wild asparagus from Grandma Sanvidge’s ditch and raspberries from Grandma Noffke’s garden. Summer was watermelon with salt, ice cream cones at the Sunlight Dairy on Main Street, the single piece of rhubarb pie Grandma brought over for Mom (because she was the only one who liked it), and the dreaded berry-picking with Grandpa Noffke. (How come he never needed a bathroom?)

In the fall, we went to Rasmussen’s for bushels of apples, cheese, and maple sugar candy and headed out on leisurely Sunday afternoon drives to gather hickory nuts. I remember the dim root cellar at Grandma Noffke’s with a dusty ray of sunlight that made the green beans, red tomatoes, and yellow beans in the Mason jars glow.

We ate oranges that Grandma Noffke brought back from Florida, Georgia pecans from Uncle Cliff and Aunt Millie, cheese from local cheese factories, smoked sturgeon and chub, deer sausage, venison passed off (unsuccessfully) as beef, elk, partridge, pheasant, duck, trout, and, in good years, lobster.

We all remember the fragrance of Mom’s bread baking in the oven, the chewy brownies, and the beautiful birthday cakes. We remember meals with our grandparents: Grandma Sanvidge’s Blue Willow dishes, Grandpa Sanvidge saying, “I ate quite freely of it,” Grandma Noffke’s
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rite a book about baking and sprinkle their magic over kitchens across the land.

Whether it is creating a wonderful show-stopper or making something simple with the kids, baking really is one of life’s great pleasures. So put on your apron, delve into the secrets and recipes of Konditor & Cook and enjoy the delights of baking their magical cakes in your own kitchen.

Sir Terence Conran


This book is a reflection of two decades of baking, from delicious everyday recipes to decadent cake creations fit for a queen. In it, I would like to share with you some of the most popular recipes from Konditor & Cook’s early years, as well as those that have stood the test of time and become legendary – recipes such as our Raspberry Fudge Tart, Boston Brownies, Kipferl Cookies, Curly Whirly Cake and, of course, the Magic Cakes that we used to create a giant portrait of the Queen, which went on display at Battersea Park for the Diamond Jubilee celebration. I hope you will be able to bring them to life in your own kitchen and make them your recipes, too.

I have often said that at Konditor & Cook every cake has a story behind it – whether it’s the inspiration for a magnificent tiered cake, how a particular recipe came about, or what it is in a recipe that has made it so irresistible over time.

I hope that, in these pages, I have captured some of the Konditor & Cook magic that made Sir Terence Conran include his favourite London cake shop in a list of the top 100 retail stores in the world.

Ever since I trained as a baker and pastry chef in Germany, I dreamed of opening my own Konditorei. A Konditorei can be defined as a cake shop; most often it is a combination of shop and café. The shop offers a wide range of cakes and confections with seasonal variations, while in the café you can enjoy the entire spread of baking as well as a menu of small savoury dishes.

In order to fulfil my dream, I needed to save some money and gain more experience. This eventually brought me to London, where, after a stint at the now defunct Swiss Centre in Leicester Square, I ended up working for inspirational food entrepreneur Justin de Blank in Knightsbridge. It was there that I honed my skills in essential British baking and was at the forefront of the British food revolution of the 1980s. As well as introducing some of my own recipes, I developed an interest in one-off cake creations for celebrity customers, including Tina Turner, Ringo Starr and The Rolling Stones.

One of the best things about Justin de Blank was that the cooks were expected to interact with the customers. It made the preparation of food all the more enjoyable, as we would often get immediate feedback. I really enjoyed the exchanges with the customers and was bursting to set up on my own. I just needed a space where I could put my vision into place.

After a combination of failed attempts and nerves, it so happened that in the summer of 1993 my attention was drawn to a small bakery in Waterloo. The Queen of Hearts Bakery on Cornwall Road was about to close down and needed a new owner. At the time, the area was still suffering from the economic plight caused by the closure of the Greater London Council, and was about to be thrown into further turmoil thanks to the excavation works associated with the imminent extension of the Jubilee line.

Despite all this, I saw a perfect little set up: a beautiful small shop front at the end of a terrace of late-Georgian artisan cottages with a production kitchen right behind. Since it was near the station, it enjoyed great footfall to the offices along the river, and, as it turned out much later, the South Bank was to be transformed further with the development of the London Eye and Tate Modern.

All the shop needed was a lick of paint, a new name and, more importantly, a complete set of new recipes and a revised approach to quality, for the previous incumbent had the reputation of producing some rather fusty-looking pies and tarts. When it came to naming the shop, I drew inspiration from my training as a pastry chef, or Konditor, in Germany and from my acquisition of skills in savoury cooking (Cook) at Justin de Blank in London.

In those days people weren’t used to going into cake shops. The idea was to provide a lure with the provision of a range of ‘daily bread’ savouries but then to tempt customers, once inside, with plates full of freshly baked pastries, mouth-watering mountains of brownies and enticing layered sponge cakes.

At the time, Waterloo was notorious for its Cardboard City housing the homeless in the Bullring. With Konditor & Cook a mere stone’s throw away, I wanted to signal that this could be an area of ‘hope’. Since then, the area has changed hugely and the Bullring is now home to the BFI’s IMAX cinema.

The shop was painted a rich, plummy purple that contrasted perfectly with the white china used for our displays and complemented the appetising colours of the fre
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of it”) a pasta topped with guanciale (the jowls). This year, Mario was trying out a new motto: “Wretched excess is just barely enough.”

Batali was born in 1960 and grew up outside Seattle: a suburban kid with a solid Leave It to Beaver upbringing. His mother, Marilyn, is English and French Canadian—from her comes her son’s flaming red hair and a fair, un-Italian complexion. The Italian is from his father, Armandino, the grandson of immigrants who arrived in the 1890s. When Mario was growing up, his father was a well-paid Boeing executive in charge of procuring airplane parts made overseas, and in 1975, after being posted to Europe, to supervise the manufacturing close-up, he moved his family to Spain. That, according to Gina, Mario’s youngest sibling, was when Mario changed. (“He was already pushing the limits.”) Madrid, in the post-Franco years (bars with no minimum age, hash hangouts, the world’s oldest profession suddenly legalized), was a place of exhilarating license, and Mario seems to have experienced a little bit of everything on offer. He was caught growing marijuana on the roof of his father’s apartment building (the first incident of what would become a theme—Batali was later expelled from his dorm in college, suspected of dealing, and, later still, there was some trouble in Tijuana that actually landed him in jail). The marijuana association also evokes a memory of the first meals Batali remembers preparing, late-night panini with caramelized locally grown onions, a local cow’s-milk Spanish cheese, and paper-thin slices of chorizo: “The best stoner munch you can imagine; me and my younger brother Dana were just classic stoner kids—we were so happy.”

By the time Batali returned to the United States in 1978 to attend Rutgers University, in New Jersey, he was determined to get back to Europe (“I wanted to be a Spanish banker—I loved the idea of making a lot of money and living a luxurious life in Madrid”), and his unlikely double major was in business management and Spanish theatre. But after being thrown out of his dorm, Batali got work as a dishwasher at a pizzeria called Stuff Yer Face (in its name alone, destiny was calling), and his life changed. He was promoted to cook, then line cook (working at one “station” in a “line” of stations, making one thing), and then asked to be manager, an offer he turned down. He didn’t want the responsibility; he was having too good a time. The life at Stuff Yer Face was fast (twenty-five years later, he still claims he has the record for the most pizzas made in an hour), sexy (“The most booooootiful waitresses in town”), and very buzzy (“I don’t want to come off as a big druggy, but when a guy comes into the kitchen with a pizza pan turned upside down, covered with lines of coke, how can you say no?”). When, in his junior year, he attended a career conference hosted by representatives from major corporations, Batali realized he had been wrong; he was never going to be a banker. He was going to be a chef.

“My mother and grandmother had always told me that I should be a cook. In fact, when I was preparing my applications for college, my mother had suggested cooking school. But I said, ‘Ma, that’s too gay. I don’t want to go to cooking school—that’s for fags.’” Five years later, Batali was back in Europe, attending the Cordon Bleu in London.

His father, still overseeing Boeing’s foreign operations, was now based in England. Gina Batali was there, too, and recalls seeing her eldest brother only when she was getting ready for school and he was returning from his all-night escapades after attending classes during the day and then working at a pub. The pub was the Six Bells, on the King’s Road in Chelsea. Mario had been bartending at the so-called American bar (“No idea what I was doing”), when a high-priced dining room opened in the back and a chef was hired to run it, a Yorkshire man named Marco Pierre White. Batali, bored by the pace of cooking school, was hired to be the new chef’s slave.

Today, Marco Pierre White is regarded as one of the most influential chefs in Britain (as well as the most foul-tempered, most mercurial, and most bullying), and it’s an extraordinary fortuity that these two men, both in their early twenties, found themselves in a tiny pub kitchen together. Batali didn’t understand what he was witnessing: his restaurant experience had been making strombolis in New Brunswick. “I assumed I was seeing what everyone else already knew. I didn’t feel like I was on the cusp of a revolution. And yet, while I had no idea this guy was about to become so famous, I could see he was preparing food from outside the box. He was a genius on the plate. I’d never worked on presentation. I just put shit on the plate.” He described White’s making a deep green puree from basil leaves and then a white butter sauce, then swirling the green sauce in one direction, and the
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and the lemon juice until well combined. Season to taste with salt and set the vinaigrette aside.

In a frying pan, warm 1 tbsp of the olive oil over medium heat. Add the green onions and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 1 minute. Add the fava beans and mint and stir to coat. Add ¼ cup (60 ml) water, cover, and cook until the fava beans are tender, about 4 minutes. Uncover, reduce the heat to the lowest possible setting to keep the beans warm, and season to taste with salt.

Meanwhile, sprinkle the cheese slices on both sides with the remaining ½ tsp lemon zest and the red pepper flakes. In a large nonstick frying pan, warm the remaining 1 tbsp olive oil over medium heat. Add the cheese in a single layer and cook, turning once, until golden brown on both sides, about 4 minutes total.

Spoon the fava beans onto a serving platter and arrange the cheese slices on top. Whisk the vinaigrette to recombine, then spoon over the cheese. Garnish with mint leaves and lemon wedges and serve.


To create the pretty garnish seen here, thin the crème fraîche with a little water, drizzle over the soup, then drag the tip of a knife through the crème to make swirls. Finish each bowl with a pea shoot tip.

English Pea & Watercress Soup

A trio of springtime favorites—peas, watercress, and green onions—imbues this soup with a beautiful emerald color. Slipping a russet potato into the pot gives the soup a smooth, velvety texture without the addition of cream.

1 tbsp olive oil

⅔ cup (2 oz/60 g) sliced green onions

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1 tsp peeled and grated fresh ginger

5 cups (1.25 l) chicken broth

1 russet potato, peeled and cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) chunks

4 cups (4 oz/125 g) watercress, leaves and tender stems only

3 cups (15 oz/470 g) shelled English peas

⅓ cup (3 oz/90 g) crème fraîche, plus more for garnish

Salt and freshly ground pepper

serves 4–6

In a large pot, warm the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the green onions, garlic, and ginger and cook, stirring occasionally, until the green onions are tender, about 1 minute. Add the broth and potato and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat to medium, cover, and cook until the potato is very tender, about 12 minutes. Stir in the watercress and peas, cover, and cook until the peas are tender, about 4 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly.

In a blender or food processor, working in batches if necessary, process the soup until smooth. Return the soup to the pot and whisk in the crème fraîche. (The soup can be cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to 3 days.) Reheat the soup over medium heat until it just reaches a simmer. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle the soup into warmed bowls, garnish with crème fraîche, and serve.

Fresh Spring Rolls with Crab, Mango, Jicama & Haricots Verts

These colorful spring rolls offer a lovely mix of textures and hues. For a smooth assembly, prep all the ingredients before you start. Pour an aromatic white wine such as Sauvignon Blanc or Riesling to accompany the rolls.

1 tbsp peanut oil

2 tsp peeled and finely chopped fresh ginger

2 small cloves garlic, minced

¼ lb (125 g) haricots verts, trimmed and halved crosswise

½ lb (250 g) jumbo lump crabmeat, picked over for shell fragments

Wedge of jicama (about 3 oz/90 g), peeled and finely diced

6 green onions, thinly sliced

2 tbsp finely chopped fresh cilantro

1 mango, pitted, peeled, and coarsely chopped

12 large rice paper rounds, 8–9 inches (20–23 cm) in diameter

¼ cup (60 ml) fresh lime juice

2 tbsp piloncillo or dark brown sugar

2 tbsp fish sauce

1 tbsp rice vinegar

¾ cup (¾ oz/20 g) microgreens

makes 12 rolls; 24 bites

In a frying pan, warm the peanut oil over medium heat. Add the ginger and garlic and stir for 10 seconds. Add the haricots verts and cook, stirring constantly, until glossy and tender-crisp but still bright green, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool before filling the rolls. (The haricots verts can be covered and refrigerated for up to 4 hours.)

In a bowl, stir together the crabmeat, jicama, green onions, and 1 tbsp of the cilantro. Fold in the mango until well combined.

On a work surface, set out a large, shallow bowl filled with water, a damp kitchen towel, the rice paper rounds, crab mixture, and haricots verts. Immerse a rice paper round in the water for 4–5 seconds, then place the round flat on the towel (the paper will become pliable and very delicate within a few moments). Spread about 2½ tbsp of the crab mixture in a rectangle across the center of the round, leaving a 2-inch (5-cm) uncovered border on either side. Lay a few haricots verts across the top of the filling. Roll the bottom edge of the round up to cover the filling, compacting it gently but firmly into an even cylinder. Fold in both sides
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season. For a meal in a bowl, add cheese—a sharp Cheddar or a blue cheese is particularly good—or leftover chicken or shrimp. My favorite addition is a can of sardines or a few anchovies; those little fish deliver lots of protein.

Look for other terrific salad mixes: tender baby lettuces (so pretty), mustard, mizuna, kale, and pea or mustard sprouts. Even in an urban grocery store, one can frequently discover a range of greens appropriate for salad—watercress, radicchio, romaine, baby bok choy, cabbage, and more. Never hesitate to include an herb such as dill, parsley, or basil in your lettuce mix.


2 large or 3 medium cucumbers

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice or red or white wine vinegar

6 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and freshly ground pepper

2 tablespoons roughly chopped assorted herbs, such as chervil, basil, and cilantro

2 cups assorted heirloom cherry tomatoes, cut in halves or quarters

½ cup thinly sliced scallions, green and white parts

¼ cup diced red onion

½ cup diced radishes

½ cup sliced snap peas

½ cup fresh peas

Scrub the cucumbers, but do not peel them unless their skins are waxed, or peel them in strips. Cut the cucumbers in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Slice the cucumbers crosswise about ¼ inch thick, into half moons. Whisk together the lemon juice and olive oil in a salad bowl. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Add the cucumbers and the remaining ingredients, and toss gently; taste and adjust the seasoning.


There are more cucumber choices in the markets than there used to be, including the long slender variety known as English, as well as Persian, Lebanese, and, more recently, some delicious Asian types that are nice and crisp to the bite. These come unwaxed, and most have thin, tasty skin; they need only be washed before using. Pickling or Kirby cukes are usually found in farmers’ markets in the summer; they of course do not need to be pickled to be eaten, but their skin can be thick and sometimes bitter, so give them a taste test before throwing them into a salad, and peel them accordingly.

Cucumber seeds can be scooped out with a teaspoon, grapefruit spoon, or melon baller, a chore kids enjoy. Take care with a melon baller that has somewhat sharp edges. Don’t forget, cucumbers are such a beloved kid snack that you should plan to have enough on hand for the salad and the snackers. Cucumbers are soft enough to be cut into half-moons with plastic paring knives made for children—the ones we use at the Sylvia Center. They are widely available in stores and through mail order. Some five- or six-year-olds can manage this chore, but you are the best judge of your child’s readiness.

The cucumber is good for you in the sense that it has practically no calories, is at least 90 percent water, and delivers some fiber, vitamin C, and trace minerals, including potassium and manganese. You will get more in the way of nutrition if you eat the skin, which means finding unwaxed and, if possible, organic cucumbers. (Commercially grown cucumbers are waxed to keep them fresh and to prevent bruising during shipment, which is a benefit for the big growers and distributors, not so much for the consumer. Various ingredients and compounds go into the waxes used, some benign, but there is no practical way to know, so waxed cucumbers must either be well scrubbed or peeled.)

2. Baby Tomato and Fresh Goat Cheese Salad

This is an early signature dish of my colleague Jonathan Waxman, who has been at the center of the contemporary American food scene since the early 1970s, when he worked at Chez Panisse in Berkeley and at Michael’s in Los Angeles. Waxman now presides over Barbuto—he’s “the bearded one”—in the far west Greenwich Village, where all-American inclinations meet simple Italian cooking, frequently in the wood-burning oven. Jonathan’s cooking has always been defined by its clarity; there are times when I wonder how he has managed to make something as simple as a roasted chicken or a plate of beets seem so special. Top-quality ingredients in season and vigilant preparations are the answers—what I strive for in my own cooking.

This dish is a classic example of the early wave of what was known as the New American Cooking—a movement, if not a revolution, now forty years old and counting. It also demonstrates that a new, even trendy, dish can endure and become a classic—if it has integrity. Nevertheless, you can improvise here. Change the herbs according to what you’ve got, and the oils for the dressing.


4 cups baby tomatoes

1 cup (about 8 ounces) fresh goat cheese

1 teaspoon chopped chives

1 teaspoon chopped basil

1 teaspoon chopped oregano

1 teaspoon chopped thyme

1 cup unseasoned fresh bread crumbs or panko

Salt and freshly ground pepper

1 egg

2 tablespoons each hazelnut, walnut, and olive oils, or any combination equal to 6 tablesp
wo about safety: Preserves are considered a low-risk product for processing due to their high sugar content, pH levels and the high heat at which the preserves are jarred. But even though they are low risk, a few precautions are essential in keeping them that way.

1. First, sterilize EVERYTHING ! Boil the lids, tongs, ladles…everything that will touch your product. You can boil your jars for 15 to 20 minutes, or simply place the clean jars in the oven at 225°F for thirty minutes to sterilize.

2. Next, the sugar. Always use the correct amount of sugar. Sugar is for preservation and gelling, and reducing the amount you use changes the nature of the preserves and opens the door for bacteria and mold to grow—ick!

3. Lastly, acid. Lemon juice provides the acid required to balance the pH of the preserves, and it activates the gelling process.

Together, these three factors—sterilization, sugar and acid—will ensure you’re making a safe and delicious product that will last months, if not years, on the shelf.

In addition, always check your lids to ensure a properly sealed jar. Concave = good. Convex = bad. If your jar does not seal, simply store it in the fridge and use the preserves within three months.


Processing jars is a way to ensure a longer shelf life of your hard work, and the extra step is easy.

1. Simply fill a stockpot or canner halfway with water and bring to a boil.

2. Using a jar lifter, carefully lower filled jars into the hot water (they should have at least one inch of water above them) and bring back to a boil.

3. Boil for 10 to 20 minutes, depending on recipe, starting the timer once boiling begins.

4. Remove carefully using jar lifter.


The best place to store all your hard work is in a dry, dark, cool spot—the back of the pantry works well. Typically, preserves are best if used within the year; after that, the fruity flavors and colors start to break down slightly.


Low-pectin fruits are often the bane of many would-be jam makers, due to their reluctance to setting up nicely, but they don’t have to be! A simple, proven method we use at the Preservatory is the addition of a fresh-cooked apple juice using green (unripe) apples (see recipe below). Do up a nice big batch and keep it in your freezer in smaller containers so you’ll have some on hand whenever you’re making preserves with low-pectin fruits that need a little help to set.


All those lemons you’re juicing: zest them first, sprinkle the zest with a little sugar and freeze the zest for use in muffins, scones and stir-fries. Save any and all extra chopped fruit in the freezer for easy smoothie prep. Juice lemons over a sieve to catch the seeds.

When adding alcohol to your hot preserves, be sure to add it off the flame and pour in carefully as it will cause the mixture to bubble up and splatter.

Use vinegars sparingly when cooking in copper, as it will react. If you want to use more vinegar, use a stainless steel jam pot instead.

“Fresh” Apple Juice


To help set preserves made with low-pectin fruit, this is a simple addition—and our secret weapon. Make sure to use green, unripe apples if you can find them; otherwise, a tart Granny Smith will do as well. Note: In a pinch you could use a completely unfiltered apple juice from your farmers’ market.

7 lb green apples (stems removed), quartered

12 cups water

1. In a large stockpot, bring apples and water to a boil over high heat; cook until apples are falling apart, about 20 to 30 minutes.

2. In a food processor or food mill, pulse in small batches to create a mash; strain through a sieve or chinois. For a clearer juice, line the sieve with cheesecloth.

3. Freeze in smaller containers for use in preserving recipes. Keeps for six to nine months.


So what’s the deal? Is it a jam? A preserve? According to whom? Preserves are commonly categorized in the following way:

Preserves— Containing whole pieces or chunks of fruit.

Conserves— Containing nuts and dried fruit.

Jam— Mashed cooked fruit, spreadable.

Jelly— Clear, juice only, no fruit.

Marmalade— A jelly that contains citrus rind or peel.

At the Preservatory, we call everything we do a preserve —jams, jellies, marmalades, even pickles. Basically, we’re preserving all of our products for future use. I use preserve and jam interchangeably throughout this book.

Whatever you decide to call your creations, I hope they are delicious and that you enjoy the journey!



Star anise

Cinnamon, sticks and ground

Ginger, ground

Cardamom pods



Nutmeg, whole

Madras curry powder



Mustard seeds

Espelette pepper

Whole red chile peppers

Vanilla beans

Dried lavender



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