Pear and vanilla honey

Pears were never my favorite fruit. That slightly grainy and at the same time slippery smooth texture put me off. S on the other hand, loves them. From autumn till late winter, pears adorn our oversized fruit bowl and he always seems to munch on them after dinner.

I can’t say that I have somehow miraculously converted to eating them, but this recipe made me reconsider my relationship with the fruit. Let me introduce you to the pear and vanilla honey and to make things clear, it doesn’t contain honey. This is like a jam but with a honey consistency. And it is dreamy.

The idea of making this came from an experiment I made a long time ago with apples. I wanted to make apple jelly but ended up making apple honey. It never occurred to me to apply the process to other fruits but when I had some Conference pears staring at me from the fruit bowl, the decision was made. Pear honey it was.

I made it a couple of times since that first time and S polishes off a couple of small jars all by himself. As for me, it is something I go for in the mornings instead of my beloved strawberry and raspberry jams. That speaks volumes about how good it is.

What you do is simple. You add some chopped pears to a pan along with a split vanilla bean and a little lemon juice. You simmer until the pears soften and the smell is sweet and tempting and then you purée the whole lot. You add sugar, simmer for a while longer until it thickens and bubbles like amber-colored lava, and you’re done.

It is incredibly aromatic and not very sweet, with the right amount of acidity from the lemon and a spicy quality from the vanilla. With a smooth and ever-so-slightly grainy texture from the pear, it flows like honey without the stickiness.

I made brioche the other day and when I smeared some of the pear honey over a thin slice, it was magical. It was what breakfast dreams are made of. A couple days ago though, when I was craving a savory nibble, I paired the pear honey with mature Gruyère cheese and some crusty bread, and I was enchanted by the combination of savory and sweet.

Pear honey, you are a wonderful thing.


PS. I need to share the recipe for this brioche bread, soon.

Pear and Vanilla Honey

I used Conference pears; the most common European pear. Their flesh is grainy, sweet and juicy and perfect for this pear honey.
Use ripe but not overripe pears.

By the way, the pear honey is a perfect pair to these Parmesan biscuits.

Yield: about 600 g (3 small jars)

Ingredients
1 kg whole pears, peeled, cored and roughly chopped (about 750 g after peeling)
Juice of 3 lemons (130-140 ml)
300 ml water
1 vanilla bean, split
390 g caster sugar (less or more depending on the amount of pear purée you end up with, read on recipe for details)

Special equipment: medium-sized, heavy-bottomed pan with lid, immersion or regular blender, fine sieve, measuring jug, glass jars with lids


Preparation
Add the peeled, cored and chopped pears to a medium-sized, heavy-bottomed pan (I use a Dutch oven) along with the lemon juice, water and split vanilla bean. Stir and bring to the boil over medium-high heat. Then, cover the pan and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Uncover the pan and continue to simmer for a further 15 minutes, or until pears are soft, stirring from time to time.

Remove the split vanilla bean carefully from the pan, scrape out the seeds carefully (the bean will be hot) and add them to the pear mixture.
Using an immersion blender, purée the mixture in the pan until smooth. If you’re using a regular blender, transfer the pear mixture little by little to it and blend until smooth.

Press purée through a fine sieve and into a measuring jug and write down how many ml of purée you have. Return purée to the pan and add the sugar. You must add 275g of caster sugar for every 600ml of purée. My purée was 850ml so I added 390g of caster sugar.

Place pan over low heat and stir the mixture until the sugar dissolves. Turn heat up to high and boil for 15-17 minutes, stirring often, until the mixture thickens and becomes like very very thick syrup that holds its shape when spooned onto a cold plate.

Pour the hot jam into small sterilized jars and turn the jars upside down. (Read here on how to sterilize glass jars). Once the jam has cooled completely, put the jars in the refrigerator. It’s better to leave the jam sit for a couple of days before you try it. It will give it time to develop in flavor.

The jam will keep for about 3 months in the fridge. Once opened, it will keep for 1 month.

Strawberry jam

I’ve sung the praises of Greek ingredients many times and now is the time for Dutch ingredients and particularly strawberries.

Dutch strawberries are small and sweet, with a reddish-pink color and in one word, awesome. There’s really not much more to say; they’re delicious beyond description.

While in Greece, I made strawberry jam and spoon sweet using local strawberries. I made the exact same thing here in Holland with Dutch strawberries and it was like tasting two completely different things.

The version made with the Dutch berries was tastier with a fuller flavor of the fruit bursting in my mouth with every spoonful and far more aromatic. There’s no better test than that in my book; using the same ingredients and seeing the resulting differences.

I have been making this strawberry jam for years. I’ve mentioned it before, promising that one day I’ll share the recipe. Well, the time has come, finally.

It’s pretty straightforward and quite quick as well; no macerating of the berries is required, which undoubtedly makes things easier. You clean and hull the strawberries, making sure to halve any that are big; this isn’t of course the case with Dutch strawberries that are invariably small and cute.

The secret to this jam is twofold. First, it’s the lemon seeds that are put inside a muslin cloth and into the pan along with the berries as they simmer, thus omitting the need for artificial pectin and second, the vanilla seeds that bring an incomparable flavor and aroma to the jam.

This jam can be as thick or thin as you like it. I usually prefer it on the thinner side as this gives me the chance to enjoy the small berries in all their juiciness and sweetness and not mashed into oblivion, but also because I can use the syrup that usually remains, to make strawberry drinks of any kind.

Of course, for those of you looking for a more traditional jam consistency, you can simmer the berries for longer and mash them as they cook inside the pan.

I have made it twice already and I’m planning on making it a couple more times before the strawberry season ends. On top of cakes and crepes, yoghurt or ice cream, on top of buttered bread, straight from the jar with a big old spoon, I simply can’t get enough of it.

Strawberry Jam with Vanilla

Needless to say, the more aromatic and flavorful the berries you use, the more tasty the jam will be. Choose strawberries that are ripe but not overripe.

I use a thermometer to determine the setting of the jam but it is not necessary. The simple sauce-in-the-freezer technique described in the recipe, works just as well.

Yield: about 1.5 liters / I usually end up with 4 medium jars of jam

Ingredients
1.5 kg fresh strawberries, hulled and halved lengthwise if too big
1 Tbsp water
2 tsp lemon seeds
1 vanilla bean, cut in half lengthwise and seeds scraped
1 kg caster sugar
120 ml lemon juice

Special equipment: muslin or cheesecloth, twine, sugar/candy thermometer (optional), potato masher (optional), glass jars with lids


Preparation
In a large, heavy-bottomed pan, add the strawberries and the water and cook over medium heat for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon, until the strawberries soften.

Place the lemon seeds inside a piece of muslin or cheesecloth and tie it with twine to the handle of the pan. You need to make sure that the lemon seeds are immersed in the fruits. Add the cut vanilla bean as well as the scraped seeds, followed by the sugar and the lemon juice, stir with a wooden spoon until the sugar is dissolved and turn heat up to high. Bring to the boil and place the sugar thermometer in the pan, if you’re using. Turn heat down to medium and cook for 20-25 minutes, depending on how thick you want your jam, or until the thermometer reads 105 degrees Celsius / 220 Fahrenheit (known as the setting point), and making sure to stir it from time to time. If you want to mash the fruit, do it gently with a potato masher while the jam is simmering.

Note: As the jam simmers, remove the scum that forms on top with a metal spoon in order to have a clear jam.

If you don’t have a thermometer, you can check if the jam is ready by doing the following: Put a small plate in the freezer for 5 minutes. Take it out and spoon a little of the jam on it. Leave to cool for 1 minute and then push the jam with your finger; the top should wrinkle. If not, boil for a couple of minutes longer and test it again. Keep in mind though that once the jam cools, it will thicken.

When the jam is ready and the consistency is to your liking, remove the vanilla bean and the muslin cloth with the lemon seeds from the pan. Pour the jam into sterilized jars and turn the jars upside down. (Read here on how to sterilize glass jars). Once the jam has cooled completely, put the jars in the refrigerator.

The jam will keep for several weeks in the fridge.

Jammin'

Greeks are not the type of people who have large breakfasts and I'm a typical Greek in that respect. Give me a bowl of cereal or a couple of slices of bread with some honey or jam and I'm ready to face the day.

I don't particularly enjoy store-bought jams and marmalades, perhaps because they're always too sweet or lack the pure, deep taste of fruit and really, what else do you want from a jam but that unadulterated flavor of your favorite fruit?

That's one of the reasons why I prefer to make my own. This summer, I made a strawberry jam, which I make every year and of which, naturally, I'm already out, and then this one, nectarine jam, whose beautiful flavor was a huge surprise to me.

I have never made nectarine jam before, nor have I ever considered making it, but when I came across some juicy nectarines at the market, I couldn't control myself. I started thinking of all the desserts I could put them in and then it dawned on me. Jam, why not make jam?

It was a brilliant idea that yielded the most delicious, rich jam I have ever made. Thick and sweet but in a good way, with subtle notes of lemon, it was splendid slathered over a fresh loaf of bread, over a warm, flaky croissant bought at my neighborhood bakery, spread on my favorite classic waffles, or on a biscuit-type cake that I made not too long ago and which I plan to share with you hopefully on my next post.

I have been reconsidering my relationship with early morning breakfasts lately. Now that they involve this jam that is.

Nectarine Jam

It's preferable to use nectarines that are not too firm and unripe otherwise they'll take a longer time to soften and they'll need more sugar. Opt for juicy, plump, sweet nectarines that will give more flavor and aroma to your jam. Be careful not to use nectarines that are too soft and overripe.

You'll need 1 kilogram of nectarines for the jam so you should buy about 1.3 kg whole nectarines.

Yield: about 1 liter (3 medium jars)

Ingredients
1 kg fresh, ripe nectarines (weight after stoning and peeling them)
900* g caster sugar
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon (about 60 ml), freshly squeezed

*Use about 100 g less if your nectarines are very sweet

Special equipment: large, deep, heavy-bottomed pan, glass jars with lids, potato masher (optional)


Preparation
Peel the nectarines, remove the stones and cut them into small pieces. Make sure to do all that over the pan you're going to use, in order to catch all of the fruit's precious juices.

You can either peel the nectarines using a small and sharp knife, as I usually do, but you can also blanch them. By blanching them, you'll save all those little pieces of flesh that tend to stick on the skin.

How to blanch nectarines: Bring a large pot of water to the boil and add the nectarines. Blanch for 30 seconds, remove them with a slotted spoon and immediately immerse them in a pan filled with ice cubes and water to stop them from cooking. Once they're cool enough to handle, peel them with the help of a knife. The skin will detach from the flesh of the fruit very easily.

Add the nectarine pieces to your pan followed by the sugar. Place over a medium-high heat and stir continuously with a heatproof spatula until the sugar dissolves. Bring to the boil and add the lemon zest and juice. Turn heat up to high and boil vigorously for 10 minutes. At this point, the jam will become very bubbly and foamy. Turn heat down to low and simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring frequently so the jam doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan.
As the jam simmers, remove the scum that forms on top with a metal spoon.
In the end, the nectarines should have broken down and the jam should be, well, jammy (not glue-like). If large chunks of fruit still remain, mash them gently with a potato masher or a fork.

You can check if the jam is ready by doing the following: Put a small plate in the freezer for 5 minutes. Take it out and spoon a little of the jam on it. Leave to cool for 1 minute and then push the jam with your finger; the top should wrinkle. If not, boil a couple of minutes longer and test it again. Keep in mind though that once the jam cools, it will thicken.

Allow the jam to cool for 30 minutes, empty it into sterilized jars and turn the jars upside down. (Read here on how to sterilize glass jars). Once the jam has cooled completely, put the jars in the refrigerator.
The jam will keep for several weeks in the fridge.

If you want to store or preserve the jam, take a hot sterilized glass jar—making sure you're not touching the inside of the jar—and fill it with the still piping hot jam. Secure the lid tightly and put the jar in a cool, dry place for storage.
You may keep an unopened sterilized jar of this jam in a dark and cool place for up to a year. Once you open a jar, you have to immediately refrigerate it.

The fig tree

The yard was huge. It seemed endless in my eyes back then. It was paved with concrete and whenever I'd stumble and fall after being chased by D., I'd scratch my knees and they would bleed. I never cried, I was never afraid of blood, or pain.






It looked almost empty. There were some small, almost bare trees on the far end next to a large wooden table with rusted metal legs, and a couple of shrubs near the gate. Every time I'd walk past them, my dress would get caught on a branch and it would lightly prick my thigh.






In one corner, right opposite my bedroom window, the tree stood proud. Its leaves facing downwards every afternoon when the scorching sun would make them sizzle. Hidden underneath, the fruits. Some of them dark, dripping with juices and sweetness, and others still green, unripe.






She would pick them every now and then, when she had time or was feeling up to it, and she'd bring them into the kitchen. She'd rinse them and arrange them meticulously in a large, hand-painted, clay platter with their stems always facing upwards. It was for good luck, she'd say.






She would call us to come sit next to her and she'd lay a fruit on our hands. She'd also take one in hers and she would show us, slowly, how to peel it without tearing its skin. We were amazed by her ability to expose its flesh with such ease, almost effortlessly.






First, its milky white flesh would appear and from a single glance she could tell if the fruit would be worth eating. When she'd come across a bad one, she would throw it away into her apron, showing her dissatisfaction by grimacing in such a way that would make us burst into laughter.






Then, she would rip it in half to reveal its ruby red inner flesh and myriad of yellow seeds while we would jump out of our chairs, both of us eager to be the first one to grab a piece off her hand.






When our turn would come to peel our own, sap, juices and skins would go flying all around as we'd unwittingly pierce the fruits' flesh with our tiny fingers. Our giggles would be heard throughout the neighborhood, reaching all the way to the seashore.






We would eat them greedily, as if we realized from such a young age their ephemeral nature. Their sweetness would fill our mouths and we wouldn't be content until we ate one more, and then another, until she'd have to stop us, warning us that we'd end up with tummy aches.






Lying in my bed at night, with the moonlight reflecting on my crisp sheets, the taste of the fruit would be on my mind. As my eyes would close, I'd discover one more seed stuck between my teeth and I'd fall asleep smiling.













Homemade Fig Jam

This jam is the perfect way to say farewell to the year's fig season and preserve their unique flavor for months to come.

The vanilla complements and elevates the taste of the figs and it gives the jam an incredible aroma.

Preparing this jam doesn't involve any complicated jam making skills and it is quite quick too.

I usually enjoy it for breakfast, smeared on a piece of bread along with some butter, or on top of a couple of spoonfuls of Greek yoghurt, but I absolutely love it served like this: slices of toasted (or not) bread with some slivers of pecorino Romano or Greek kefalotyri cheese and a dollop of fig jam on top. The perfect appetizer or snack.






Yield: about 1 liter (3 medium jars)

Ingredients
1 kg ripe figs (I used purple figs)
500 g sugar*
1 vanilla bean
60 ml freshly squeezed lemon juice (juice of 1 lemon)
Zest of 1 lemon

Special equipment: glass jars, potato masher (optional)


Preparation
Rinse the figs well under running water. Cut their stem off and cut each fig into four or eight pieces, depending on the size of the figs. Add them to a large, deep, heavy-bottomed pan along with the sugar, lemon juice and zest. Cut the vanilla bean in half lengthwise and, using the dull side of the knife, scrape the seeds out. Add them to the pan along with the bean.
Mix everything with a wooden spoon and allow the figs to macerate for 2 hours at room temperature, with the lid on, stirring occasionally. This process will soften the figs.

Next, put the pan over a low heat and cook, stirring continuously, until the sugar has dissolved. Take the potato masher or a large fork and mash the figs lightly. Turn heat up to high and boil rapidly for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Be careful not to burn the jam or turn it into glue. Keep an eye on it.
The fig skins must have softened by now. If not, boil a while longer, until they have.

You can check if the jam is ready by doing the following: put a small plate in the freezer for 5 minutes. Take it out and spoon a little of the jam on it. Leave to cool for 1 minute and then push the jam with your finger; the top should wrinkle. If not, boil a couple of minutes longer and test it again.


Keep in mind that as the jam cools, it will become thicker.

Once the jam is ready, you may gently mash the fruit with the potato masher or a fork for a smoother texture, or leave it as is. I mashed mine and was left with smallish skin pieces.

You can either discard the vanilla bean or you can add it to the jar along with the jam. It goes without saying that the second option is preferable.

Allow the jam to cool for 30 minutes, empty it into sterilized jars and turn the jars upside down. Once the jam has cooled completely, put the jars in the refrigerator.
The jam will keep for several weeks in the fridge.

If you want to store or preserve the jam, take a hot sterilized glass jar—making sure you're not touching the inside of the jar—and fill it with the still piping hot jam. Secure the lid tightly and put the jar in a cool, dry place for storage. (Read here on how to sterilize glass jars).
You may keep an unopened sterilized jar of this jam in a dark and cool place for up to a year. Once you open a jar, you have to immediately refrigerate it.


*If the figs you're using are very ripe and intensely sweet then you might want to add less sugar (about 450 g).