Enter the Jamsman

I’ve been fooling around with preserves lately. Don’t believe me? I have an instagram account solely for jam. It’s that serious.

I moved house last year, and the new place came with a secret fruit garden. That is to say, when spring came round, up popped the blackcurrants. And the raspberries. And the plums. And the rhubarb. This year, I found pears that I hadn’t even noticed before. And some kind of apple? The neighbourhood birds are idiots and leave everything for me to harvest. I’m no gardener, but you don’t just stand idle when something like this happens to you: you grab a maslin pan and start caramelising*.

I’m going to be as honest with you as I possibly can: the results are good. I begin to understand the Dapper Swindler’s oft-repeated claims about the similarities between cooking and music-making – or, rather, to recognise the shared theraputic value. Melting down fruit with Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell on my headphones, stirring in the sugar, I feel quite the domestic goddess, and it comes across in the final product (highlight so far: Pear and Lemon).

It’s not my intention to write more than ten or twelve songs about jam making, but I feel decidedly in the zone and presume that there will be knock-on consequences for my writing (namely, that I shall do less of it). Onwards!

*caramelising is actually a completely different process, I take this very seriously
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