Last week, when I wrote I asked everyone I know about making strawberry jam, I was fibbing a little. I never asked Madame Gousse, our dear friend. She knows everything, whether it be about plants, the cuisine, or her new hobby, cultivating bees. So why didn’t I ask her for help when I was making strawberry jam that would be better used as mortar? Shame. As small and simple as that might be: shame. If everyone kept telling me that making strawberry jam was that simple, how could I build any culinary trust between us if I couldn’t get this first step right? I’m trying to learn all I can from her about the Catalan cuisine, so I needed to show her I could get the little things right. Like, who’s going to show you how to make a soufflé if you can’t crack an egg?
Boy, was I wrong for not asking sooner. She gave me no blank stares, no bulging eyes, no jaw dropping – she just simply told me how to do it and what I was doing wrong. To sum up the lesson: I was Americanizing the process. I was thinking too big. I was hording the berries in the freezer so I could make a batch as big as possible to say how much I’ve made and how efficient I have been. Wrong. The process is small; use only the berries collected that day to make the jam. Most of the time, it means only making a jar or two at a time, no more.
Since my lesson, I’ve made strawberry jam twice now, once creating two jars and once just a single jar. Each time, it has come out perfect. It’s clearly more time consuming, but I can be proud of the product I have created. In fact, I can actually eat it.
It’s all about adapting. I’ve learned that sometimes applying what you know to something new works, but knowing when to step back and try a new method is even more important.
