I'm not sure about this...

Sometimes, I know, I am going to blog about quite profound and meaningful things. Things that nip at our higher consciousness like a hungry Chiahuahua nips at the heels of its owner at dinnertime. And I will no doubt relish those times...but today, my friends, ain't one of them. Today I begin as if to create a blog of small things on an apparently innocuous subject that still managed to give me no end of f**king difficulty!

Now anyone who knows me, knows I am not the most culinarily gifted person. Sure, I can roast things and have been known to produce a half-decent cake once in a while, but as for the finer food oriented arts...well that's where things start to get a bit tatty. Thus it is still perplexing to me as to why, the other day, I decided to make jam.

Actually, I should be more precise; I ATTEMPTED to make jam. With a flurry of domestic fervour that would make Martha Stewart weak at the knees, I had a pot on the stove within seconds of deciding my plan. And into this was hurled (as my recipe stated) the requisite 2kg (approx 4 1/2 lb for those of you of an imperial bent) of plums and a bit of water...so far so good.

I was hopeful I must admit, standing there in my modest kitchen. I was thinking: "I can do this". And surely, I felt, fortune will smile fondly upon one so eager to extend her creative abilities...surely. Well after halving and stoning over 100 pissant little plums, I sure as hell hoped it would!

"Boil until soft and pulpy." the recipe continued: not rocket science. Hurl in 7 Cups of sugar: doneski. Simmer for 15 mins or until setting point is reached.....now this is where I encountered technical difficulties.

At this point, many an historic tale of jam-making woe leapt to the forefront of my consciousness. As I stirred my bubbling mixture, I recalled how, just the day before, the gifter of my current plums stated: "We had to use it for ice-cream topping it was so runny." Nice. And I was even more newbie than she'd been! But, I resolved, this was not going to happen to me! I was determined that my prized creation was not going to suffer the same fate. I would reach that setting point if it took all damn day....and by the looks of the progress so far...it was going to.

After a further 15mins I could still have piddled thicker than the consistency of what was dripping off the end of my spoon so on for another 15 it went. I'm sure I had a penis in a previous life for it was about now than I decided to actually read the instructions. Don't get me wrong, I was following the recipe to the letter...I had just failed to notice that there was a wee tutorial at the front of the section.

Apparently you are not supposed to have your "preserving pan" (WTF is a preserving pan??...Oh never mind) more than a third full.

Oh.

Well that could explain things a little. Let's just keep that a bubblin' a while longer. The timer went off, which I promptly ignored and it wasn't until I detected the slight 'odour de jamstucktobottomofpot' that I thought I'd better investigate. After a wee stir though, I felt all was well, and the elusive set-point may indeed have been reached. I tried the next test on the list and dropped some of my concoction onto a cold plate. Holy crap, it did all the things it was supposed to so into my beautifully sterilized jars it went.

I make that sound so simple don't I?

Do you have any idea what a bitch it is to get a searing hot liquid into a searing hot jar from a bloody great pot? Hence why half a jarful ended up spread across the stovetop. I wasn't amused. But I persevered and eventually all my jam went into jars.

And did indeed set...

...kinda like meatloaf.

But sort of raisin-flavoured.

*sigh*

It was not my best work, but it was edible...just. So long as you didn't try and spread it with a plastic fork.

*sigh*...again

Meh...I prefer peanut butter anyway