Three girls with me on food pick-up; we had fun. Car a little sticky.
Later, stayed up too late; burned jam, burned pan; unwilling to add more sugar (also unwilling to use pectin); canned something you might call "sauce." Still a lot of "sauce" in the pan today, waiting for someone to buy more lids, add sugar, bring it to 220 already, and clean the fuck up.
But, there's not a single fruit fly in this house. Not yet, anyway.
Still so many many plums especially and I know I should bake, but generally I am annoyed that it is necessary to add sugar to the sweetest fruit there is to get it et. So stand at the sink and drip from your elbows. That's my plan.
Zelda (on board; drips from her knees) ate all three perfect white nectarines, plus two less than perfect peaches. Jeff, not a dripper, does not trust jam that won't stay on his toast. Perhaps Patrick has a use for stone fruit sauce?
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