Tomato Jam

Tomato Jam

I loved Mom's spiced grape jam. I loved her red raspberry jam (more than the seedy blackberry). I loved her strawberry jam too. But I think even Mom would love Mark Bittman's Tomato Jam best. I had it on a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch today, and it would also be great with biscuits or cornbread, and maybe lemon sorbet. The other night I served it with crackers and soft goat cheese. My neighbor who tasted it begged to take home what was left in the bowl. You might like it too. It's worth a try -- and it's so simple!

Here's Mark Bittman's recipe, which I got from the New York Times cooking app. He says Roma tomatoes are best, and I'm not even sure what they are. I've made it three or four times already, using the biggest, ugliest farmers market tomatoes I can find -- about three to a batch.

Mark Bittman's Tomato Jam

Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds tomatoes, cored and coarsely chopped
1 C. sugar
2 Tblsp. freshly squeezed lime juice
1 Tblsp. fresh grated or minced ginger (I minced mine -- it gets stuck in the grater.)
1 tsp. ground cumin (I use whole cumin seeds and grind them with my mortar and pestle -- I swear this makes a lively difference in taste!)
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/8 tsp. cloves
1 tsp. salt
1 jalapeño or other peppers, stemmed, seeded and minced, or red pepper flakes or cayenne to taste. (I use the flakes, and I go light. You can add more at the end if you like.)

Step 1
Combine all ingredients in a heavy medium saucepan. (The heavy part is important, to avoid burning.) Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring often.

Step 2
Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until mixture has consistency of thick jam, about an hour and 15 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning, then cool and refrigerate until ready to use. (I let it come to room temperature before serving.) This will keep at least a week.

All ingredients, waiting to become jam

Sunday: spiky vegetables and bright woven rug

Written last night:

Dear Family,

Sunday is free — I do what I please — mostly.

I heard there was an Asian farmers market near the big one under the freeway, and late this morning I found it, a cluster of white tents near 4th Street off Broadway. Since it was almost noon, prices were going down. I asked about some pointy green fish-shaped vegetables. The farmer told me their name, which I forget, and he said I could either boil them with meat or slice and fry them. “Here, take these to try!” he said, and he gave me a big handful. “They’re bitter!” he warned. 

What are these vegetables?

Later this afternoon Zing and I went to an art fair at nearby Curtis Park. It’s a bare, grassy space surrounded by comfortable homes. Today it was almost too hot. Some vendors were packing up an hour early, and the crowd was thin. We made a quick tour, seeing little of interest until I spied a loom and bright carpets made by Sergio Martinez. He told me he’s been in Sacramento 12 years, and I forget the Mexican area he calls home. Oaxaca, I think. Many of the designs are indigenous, he said, and some are his interpretations. He said sometimes he makes his own dyes, like grinding red bugs for color. (Just yesterday I read that artists did the same thing in Turkey in the 1500s; it surprised me they did it then, and it surprises me even more that this man does it today. I hadn’t told him about my reading.) I bought this small wool rug, and I’m looking at it now, on the floor beside my bed.

Love,

k

Neighbors become friends

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Tonight was the condo crawl, and it’s midnight -- two hours past my regular bedtime. 
A crawl means  you crawl back home.
I did manage to stay upright — by drinking half of each drink and I skipped the liqueur, but I am feeling relaxed and happy. It was wine, sangria, and liqueurs. Also food — delicious homemade hummus (this couple is vegan), something (dates?) wrapped in bacon with an almond in the middle, my tomato jam and candied pecans with crackers and mellow blue and goat cheeses from Trader Joe’s, a variety of things on crackers, and pastries (brownies, lemon bars, little pies … ) from Freeport Bakery. Not exactly a balanced meal, but delicious. My neighbors are interesting and so are their homes — each a variation on the same floor plan, with touches so individual that you’d never think you were in a cookie-cutter place. (I love mine best.) 

Love,
k

Properly, the tomato jam recipe belongs here, but I promise it's coming -- got to hurry to the Saturday farmers market before it closes. (Got up 2 hours late today -- Saturday!)
k

Too busy to read???!

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today was filled with short necessities: training Zing, 5 minutes at a time (I feed him a good bone, go to the outside stairwell, stand on one foot as long as I can, then on the other foot, then repeat, then return to check the audio for every whine and bark), shopping Capitol Mall farmers market for figs (three weeks left, the farmer said) and those sweet strawberries that I cannot believe are still here, house chores, making candied pecans for the condo crawl tomorrow, visiting the vet with Zing. 

And I had hoped to finish reading a book: My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk, a favorite writer, was discussed at the Crocker Museum this afternoon, but I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t find big chunks of time for reading. Blame computers, the varied demands of my new life, my short attention span. I am going to spend more time reading!

I hope you snatch time for reading and other pleasures too!

Love,

k

We met as seniors -- and we still are!

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

It’s been a year since Carol and Susan and I met for lunch in the little town of Winters, 40 minutes from here,  and today we did it again. Carol came from Napa, where she and her husband are visiting, and Susan drove from her home in San Jose. Susan asked me why I didn’t keep in touch with them for a while (40 or 50 years!) since high school. These two were my closest friends in senior year (I only spent that one year at Columbus Hartley High School), and I can’t account for the gap, but here we are again — laughing and talking over lunch like we did in the cafeteria long ago. I suppose we are each quite different now — but who cares!?!? We talked about books, the cost of housing, how Boise, Idaho, is growing, how San Jose is growing, children, grandchildren, getting old and older, (avoiding politics mostly), keeping things and throwing them away, expectations and new possibilities for women…. and on and on. To be continued next year, or maybe in October in Boise, Idaho.  

Afterward, I went to the butcher shop down the street to get bones for Zing, and a woman on the sidewalk asked me where I get my hair cut. Not in Winters? No, in Sacramento. “I only get up there a couple times a year,: she said. “But I like your hair. I think I’m going to let my hair go gray too.”

Back in high school I never could have imagined such an encounter!

Love,
k

Art Expanding: Poetry + Quilt + More

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I’ve been meaning to explore Brickhouse, an art complex the next neighborhood up, which is called Oak Park. I guess it is the resurgence of a declining area, with coffee shop and brewery, etc. What drew me was the poetry and the quilt exhibit — both in the same building this morning.

I got lost because there are diagonal streets as well as the grid I’ve internalized, so I circled the block several times before stopping. Nothing seemed to be going on — I mean, 10 a.m. on a Sunday? And I didn’t want to be this gray-haired lady walking where I shouldn’t be. 

But it is exactly where I should be — an expansive, tall-walled gallery that shows quilts better than anywhere I remember, with a garden/patio beyond, where a man was at a table reading. In a side room a small group was preparing to record a Coffee and Poets podcast interview with the poet Frances Kakugawa  I stayed for that, and then saw the African American History Legacy Juried Quilt Exhibition, highlighting two quilts by Alice Beasley. (Check out her photo — the lenses of her rimless glasses are two different shapes.) The Brickhouse is another place to love in Sacramento.

Love,

k

Frances Kakugawa answers an audience question

Miles Ahead 

Miles Davis by Alice Beasley

Unidentified Black Male

Alice Beasley

Power to the People

Rosita Thomas

Ho-hum wonderful

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

It was a ho-hum, wonderful day in ho-hum, wonderful Sacramento:

Rosa was in the car wash, so Zing and I walked the block. We came upon the same wall art that was starting up last Saturday -- part of Sacramento Wide Open Walls, which puts public art all over the city. Then we explored  a midtown neighborhood with charming painted houses. Then Steph and Patrick came to dinner and we ate tuna and noodles on the balcony. I also cleaned the house, but even so, it was a perfect day. 

Love, k

Yosemite -- Up, up, up

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Maybe you’ve been to Yosemite. Surely you’ve seen the photos. Now I’ve been there too, with my own photos to prove it. Even though it’s only four hours away, I didn’t want to go. I was scared to drive up the mountains — petrified of the drop at the edge of the road. I'm used to Florida’s straight, flat ways; I thought I might get around to driving on a slant someday, just not yet.

But my visiting Tallahassee friends Lori and Andie insisted. They wouldn’t let me say no: they would go and I would drive ... Eeeek!

I feel Clark’s presence at the oddest moments, and he was there Monday morning, as I was driving my friends into the hills and California Route 120 started to rise. I felt Clark’s arm around my shoulder and I began driving like he would — confidently, with my eyes on the road and absolutely NOT glancing over the edge. And surprise! We made it to the top.

The park is stupendous, awe-inspiring, welcoming. If you’re into rock climbing, this is the place. Actually, come here if you love anything about rocks. (It’s also very crowded.) I can’t wait to return.

Love,

k

Our tram guide is a geologist

Visitors created these rock towers

Zing meditates and finds public art

Written last night: 

Dear Friends,

Zing and I are relaxing on the balcony, waiting for my friends’ 7:30 p.m. train from San Francisco. Today I got to paint and draw. I drew my shoes and painted a board: Love it. Zing slept under my bed in the studio, but he noticed when I left; the video camera recorded him whimpering the whole 10 minutes it took me to buy some cream at the corner store. Maybe Zing needs yoga. He’s already into meditation.

A block from the farmers market this morning, painters were spraying a mural as part of Sacramento’s Wide Open Walls public art event. When I wondered what the swirls were going to turn into, a woman pushing a baby carriage beside me leaned over and said “Fish.” She’s a friend of the artist. 

Love,

k

Vino vacation

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I forgot what it’s like to be on vacation — you do something new every day and go,go,go. Today I took my Tallahassee friends Lori and her daughter Andie to wine country. And now we are all tired! 

First stop was Napa, which Lori visited some years ago. She kept marveling at how it has changed — bigger, mostly. We had lunch at the ABC Bakery in Napa. which Mary Kaye and I discovered not long ago. (Once again delicious.) Then we went in search of wineries, and ended up at a place in St. Helena, recommended by a friend.  It was my second “tasting” experience, although today I didn’t taste anything but water. Lori and Andie did, though, as new visitors to wine country must. That’s the way I felt a couple of weeks ago. Now I’m feeling like an old-timer. This V. Sattui tasting room is different from my first experience -- cavernous, with a deli and picnic area as well. Someone said they serve 1,000 people on Saturdays. Today the place was booming and it’s only Wednesday. Their mix of gracious grounds, wine-making displays and friendly, persistent sales and tastings ($20 and $25 for four or five tastes — can’t remember which) seems to have hit the vino sweet-spot: an adult amusement park.

And for the second act. we lolled through the famous California traffic on the way home. 

What I noticed most today is how proprietary I feel about California — I cringed at any whiff of criticism and glowed at every praise.

Love,

k

This room smells like wine ... or raisins

Across the fence from the tasting room

Train station people

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I admire Terry Tempest Williams, and was going to hear her speak at the Presidio (not sure what that is — a park? near the Golden Gate Bridge??) in San Francisco today. But at the last minute I got an email that she’s sick, and the event has been postponed until fall. So I went to the train station a few blocks away from here to cancel my Amtrak ticket.

I love the train station. It’s big and historical. They let dogs in — just not on the trains. So Zing went with me and curled on the floor while I worked with the ticket seller. Then we looked into the big waiting room, with its clock and historical mural. You always see a great mix of people, and today this is what we saw. I leaned against the wall, well behind these young women, to sketch them.

Love,

k

Forget the quilts -- Let's go to Napa!

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Today's plan was to go to an art quilt meeting in Walnut Grove with my friend Mary Kaye. She couldn’t pick me up easily because police cars blocked some streets by the Capitol to free them for a walk — I still have to look up what the walk was for. Anyway, she did finally make it. 

Next we got onto I-80, and it was all mucked up because of construction (something involving a bridge — they’re working nights and weekends.) Cars were barely moving. After many stops and starts and turns and trials of alternate routes we decided, “Forget the quilts — Let’s go to Napa!”

We turned our backs on traffic and took the back roads. Rolling hills turned to curves, sharper curves, "don’t look over the edge" curves. It was gorgeous. Acres of grapes, golden grass, and nut orchards (Yes, they call them orchards, not groves, says Mary Kaye, who grew up on a Southern California almond orchard.)

We ended up in Napa (pop. 76,900) — a bigger town than Yountville or St. Helena, the other wine destinations I’ve visited. We chose a place for lunch because it had a parking spot out front. Inside there was live music, long, patient lines, and tempting baked goods. We stopped there by happenstance, but intense study couldn’t have found a better restaurant: Alexis Baking Company.

I insisted we couldn’t come back from Napa without a bottle of wine — so we stopped at a small wine tasting room at a crossroads in the countryside. There was an antique shop across the street, with rusting tractors out front, and next door was a restaurant with many patrons. 

I didn’t know what to expect — a long bar? little tables with samples in paper cups?  something involving a spittoon so you can swish and enjoy many sips? 

Perhaps they’re all different, but this tasting room (Vezér Family Vineyard) had the dim, cozy feel of a club or game room, with leather chairs and sofas and a small bar where a friendly tender offered tastes. You paid for tasting, but it was credited to the price of a bottle, I think. It all happened so quickly that I’m not sure. I had two tastes. Then I bought a bottle of red wine, which I’ve hidden in the cupboard by the stove. I’ve got a lot to learn.

Today turned out better than planned. We laughed all the way back home.

Love,

k

Walnut trees

Tidy for now, but not for long ...

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

You often read of artists who have studio assistants. I used to wonder what these people do. Now I know — they keep the place organized, they wash the paintbrushes, and they clean up the floor.

That’s what I tried to do today; it took all day and I’m still not finished. It’s like doing dishes— keeping the paints where they belong is a constant job.

I’m making my home my own. It’s phase 2. The first phase, which took a year, was to make it presentable. Now I’m making it mine. (Those paints won’t be tidy for long.)

Love,

k

Shelley's birthday is really August 4 -- my mistake!

Painting flowers while it's hot

Written Monday:

Dear Friends,

Do you ever get to tonight and forget the details of the day?
I can only remember broad strokes: exercise, buy coffee, talk with a new friend, paint. 

Today I learned the term “chemo brain.” Perhaps you’ve heard it; maybe you’ve even endured it. I learned it today from my new friend, a nurse. She said that people getting chemo are often not really themselves for awhile, maybe as long as two years after treatment. You don’t necessarily get a chemo brain, but you might. It’s a small price to pay for staying alive. 

I feel like my brain too shattered when Clark died, and is now reassembling. In some ways I may never be whole again, and in others I might be stronger. A simple example came today - I got a new toaster. But in Tallahassee we had four (yes!) toasters. For some crazy reason I was certain I’d never make toast again, so I gave them all away (you might have one … enjoy it!) My action did not make sense. 

I made many decisions in this fog, and I still am. Some gut knowledge guided me, and it seems to be working out. Thank you for helping me.

Tuesday

It was hot this afternoon. Very hot. I painted flowers.

Love, 

k

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18" x 20"