Look at those lovely berries! Imagine them turned into jam and spread on a cracker and popped into your mouth! INNA pickle INNA jam is a just-launched local business that would like to make that dream a reality. The Mission Mission reader that writes in with the best jam- or pickle-related story (or story about being in a real jam or pickle) wins the following:
2 jars of albion STRAWBERRY jam
1 jar of plenty spicy JALAPEÑO jam
1 jar of bread + butter persian CUCUMBER pickles
a perpetual postcard calendar
Leave your story in the comments. Contest closes one week from right now. Winner will be picked by us and INNA.
But that’s not all! This month only, you can get an annual subscription for just $100:
12 jars, delivered in 3 seasonal installments of 4 jars each:
SPRING, SUMMER, and FALL COLLECTIONS.
Choose to get jam, or jam + pickles.
One subscription includes:
• 12 jars of jam/pickles in 3 seasonal collections.
• A free gift! A perpetual postcard calendar or an organic tote bag.
• Free local bicycle delivery.
Revenge is best served smeared with a dollop of strawberry jam. We were chugging along in our old tank of a Volvo, in bumper to bumper traffic, trying to escape the blizzard sweeping into Lake Tahoe. The litterbugs in the car in front of us decided to toss a nearly full can of Coke out their window. Had the half-frozen can actually struck our windshield, it doubtless would have shattered our only protection from the blisteringly cold weather. Instead, it miraculously missed by a centimeter, bouncing instead off the metal side structural support. Furious, our driver managed to maneuver in front of them. Being unable to handle both breakfast and windy mountain roads, I had skipped breakfast that morning. Fortuitously, the jelly donut was still perched on the dashboard. The shotgun passenger rolled down the window, took careful aim, and lobbed the donut at the thoughtless louts in the car behind us. It splattered directly in the center of their windshield. Trying desperately to get strawberry jam out of their only line of sight, they made the mistake of turning on their windshield wipers. The result was that their vision was now completely obscured by smeared strawberry jam, and they had to pull over to clean it off by hand in the icy cold.
While getting my hippie degree in Ecological Agriculture at hippie school, we visited a homesteader who taught us to make sauerkraut. (Another story for another time: She also taught us how to make rennet-less goat cheese, got super hammered, and told me I was the best goat milker ever, which I deflected since it seemed to hurt my classmates feelings. Miss you New College!) My pickled cabbage was… not good. So a year ago I bought two tickets to a kraut making workshop at CUESA. Two of my coworkers got pretty NSFW trying to get the extra spot. Mr. G preveiled.
At the class we learned the science, measured the salt, massaged the cabbage, and each demanded our product would be the better one. I challenged him to a kraut-down. We spent the next six weeks trash talking each other; me telling him I knew a man’s pride was important to him but I wouldn’t judge him when cried, him telling me… Uh. I don’t remember. He’s blissfully terrible at insults.
It turned into a big event at the office, since everytime I saw him I tried to make him cry. Our coworkers judged; all declaring beforehand that they hated kraut. I was one vote down. I was going crazy in my head. No way could he win! Then Sweet C came in late. And even though it was a blind taste test, and even though we’d actually worked on the stuff together and it looked exactly the same, she instinctively knew which one was mine. Or maybe she could tell I was close to a freak-out. Either way, half an hour later she declared a tie. Relief. But I knew I’d really lost.
They all asked if there would be a rematch, but Mr. G declined, saying he was too nervous. He just wanted me to be nice to him again. Fine with me. I hate losing.
Homemade kraut has become an office kitchen staple since then. We always have a jar or two around- though G and I give each other knowing looks whenever anyone else talks about their prep methods, since we think we’re the only ones who know how to do it right. And we’re smug like that. “I mixed the cabbage with salt water.” (Sanctimonious smirks to each other.) “I use a pressure cooker to preserve it.” (Oh-do-you-now?-eyebrow lifts.)
Here’s my big secret: Though I finally figured out Tartine’s spicy carrots and can pickle the hell out of green tomatoes, cabbage eludes me. G doesn’t know, but I never made sauerkraut again; I just steal his from the 3rd floor kitchen.
For the curious ones, Mr. G’s recount of the making:
http://noveltimes.com/2009/09/09/hands-on-kraut/
[...] week we held a contest in partnership with INNA pickle INNA jam. To win a bunch of jams and pickles, you needed to tell us [...]