Tomato jam recipe

One of my favorite guilty pleasures when I was in preschool was ketchup on biscuits. I’m not sure how I got into the habit of doing this, but a bit of that old, strange love lingers on today when I eat barbecue: I won’t put sauce on the meat but I’ll dip those soft, spongy slices of white bread in a bucket of a tomato-based sauce if given the chance.

I realize this isn’t the most sophisticated thing to eat, heck, some of y’all might even say it’s downright gross. Well, fortunately, a reader asked me if I had a recipe for tomato jam. Now, I’d never eaten tomato jam but I'd certainly heard of it. I even have a T-shirt from the Tomato Jam café in Asheville, North Carolina that my mom sent to me. (I haven’t been to Asheville but I hear it’s the Austin of North Carolina, which means it’s probably a very cool place.) So when this reader asked me for a recipe, I told her I’d get right on it.

First, I checked my old recipe files to see if any of my grandmas and great-grandmas had directions on how proper tomato jam was done. They didn’t. So before I came up with one, I asked the reader what exactly tomato jam was supposed to taste like. She said it was a wonderful mix of sweet and savory; she ate it on her biscuits while her grandpa spread it on his rye toast.



A sweet and savory tomato spread that isn’t ketchup? I was curious. I started thinking about how I would make my jam, and decided I’d do my usual citrus, sugar and spice blend as I do with my apricot jam.

A little research led me to Mark Bittman’s recipe in the New York Times where he had the same idea. I followed his approach with a few modifications and, I must admit, this tomato jam was curious. It looked like a cross between strawberry jam and ketchup. Which seemed odd. But once it cooled a bit and I could really taste it, I was hooked.

Tomato jam is indeed sweet, spicy and savory and, because I’m Texan, I also make it a little bit fiery. It’s like a more sophisticated ketchup, though it could certainly pose as a fruit spread as well. (Though I’m not sure if tomato jam is quite ready to be paired with peanut butter.)



Spreading it on my biscuit, I was a kid again dipping my biscuits into ketchup. But this time it was not only socially acceptable but a heck of a lot more sophisticated and delicious as well. I'm now a fan of tomato jam and I think it’s splendid on burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, eggs and, of course, biscuits as well. And if you try it, perhaps you'll find it splendid, too.

Do you eat tomato jam? What do you like to do with it?

Tomato jam (adapted from the New York Times)
1 pound Roma tomatoes, chopped and cored
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons lime juice
2 teaspoons lime zest
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 or 2 dried chiles de arbol, crumbled
Pinch of chipotle powder

Method:
Combine all the ingredients in a pan, bring to a boil and then simmer, stirring often until tomatoes have dissolved and jam is thick and glossy, about 45 minutes. Pack jam into a sterilized container. Keeps in the refrigerator for 2 weeks.

Yield: 1 pint

Note: Variations on this could be made by adding chopped jalapeños, chopped cooked bacon or I’ve even heard of people stirring in a bit of bourbon. And if you thinking this is close to chipotle ketchup, it is, though that has a few different spices and vinegar to give it that familiar tang.

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Cantaloupe ice cream

I didn’t think I liked cantaloupe.

I know, I know, how can this be? Texas is famous for its cantaloupes, especially Pecos cantaloupes, which hail from this West Texas town situated between Odessa and El Paso.

The soil around Pecos is salty and sandy. And even though cantaloupes aren’t native to Texas, in the early 1900’s farmers started planting them there and they realized that special soil produced especially juicy and sweet fruit. A Texan fruit star was born.



Pecos cantaloupe is in season right now and while they don’t often travel outside the border if you do get your hands on one you’re in for a treat. For a few years, Blue Bell even produced a limited-edition flavor in the late summer called Pecos Cantaloupe ‘N Cream. It hasn’t been made for the past two years, however, and this has made people sad.

When I first learned about the flavor, however, I shrugged. Cantaloupe had not been something I’d eaten for quite a while as one I had eaten made my mouth tingle and my lips swell; I assumed I was allergic.

My grandparents, however, used to grow these melons. And when I was in college they’d drive up to Sherman and share them with my friends and me. “I don’t like cantaloupe,” I said when my grandma recently told me her memories of these late-summer deliveries. “Yes you do,” said my grandma, “And you said that our cantaloupes were awesome.”



Having been reminded that there was a time in my life when I did eat cantaloupe and intrigued by the notion of a cantaloupe ice cream, I recently tried the fruit again. Now I can’t get Texas cantaloupe here in New York, but the one I did eat was juicy, sweet and creamy. I was again hooked.

During the final days of summer, melons are such a gift. Is there anything more satisfying then biting into a juicy wedge on a sultry day? You almost don’t need to do a thing to them, though a batch of cantaloupe ice cream is definitely a refreshing, luxurious dessert



I make my cantaloupe ice cream smooth, with a touch of lime juice, ginger and salt to bring out its delicate flavor. Though if you prefer some chunks of fruit in your ice cream you can easily change this recipe to accommodate that.

And yes, I’m happy that I’m eating cantaloupes again. Now I just need to get my hands on some Pecos cantaloupes, so I can have the best of the best.

Cantaloupe ice cream
Ingredients:
2 cups diced ripe cantaloupe (about 1 cantaloupe)
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups half-and-half
2 eggs
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2-4 tablespoons lime juice (depending on how tart you’d like it to be)
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt

Method:
In a blender, puree the cantaloupe with 1/2 cup half-and-half.

In a pot, cook the cantaloupe puree with the cream and remaining half-and-half on medium heat until warm—do not let it come to a boil. Turn off the heat.

Beat the eggs with the sugar, vanilla, lime juice, ginger and salt. Stir into the eggs 1/2 cup of the warm liquid and then pour egg and cream mixture into the pot.

On medium low, heat this mixture while stirring occasionally for five minutes or until it gets slightly thick. You’ll know it’s ready when it coats the back of your spoon. Cool in the refrigerator for four hours.

Freeze and churn according to your ice-cream maker’s instructions.

Yield: 1 quart

Note: I prefer my fruit ice creams to be smooth, but if you want some cantaloupe chunks, reserve 1 cup of the diced fruit and mix that in with the ice cream a few minutes before it’s done churning.

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Fried pickles

Last week, everyone was talking about fried pickles. Sure, fried pickles are good but why all the sudden interest? Well, apparently a popular TV show about New Jersey beaches (or something like that) had some of its characters eating this Southern delicacy for the very first time.

“Eating fried pickles was a life-changing experience,” said “Jersey Shore” cast member Snooki upon her introduction to said pickles.

Life changing? That’s quite a statement. Now, I enjoy a basket of fried pickles alongside a bowl of buttermilk dressing as much as the next person. But are they a revelation? Let’s take a closer look.



In Texas, we are known for deep frying anything edible. Butter, Coke, bacon, ribs, turkey, lattes, cookie dough, peanut butter sandwiches—all have been dipped in batter and hot oil in the name of making delectable food. Heck, after you’ve had a serving of fried bacon, a fried pickle might even seem rather mundane.

But, fortunately, they’re not.

If you’ve never had fried pickles, you’re in for a treat. I tend to find fried food a bit heavy, yet fried pickles are a tangy, crisp treat made just a tad more decadent with the crunchy breading. The acidity of the pickle stands up well to the breading and frying unlike some foods such as vegetables, which I feel often lose their flavor and snap once they’ve been fried.

Making fried pickles is easy, as long as you’re comfortable with some popping grease and sticky hands. I’d have to say that the most difficult decision is whether to fry pickle spears or chips—one of the most hotly contested issues in the world of pickle frying. Me? I’m a pickle-chip gal myself since they take less time to fry, are less likely to get mushy and—most importantly—they’re easier to pop in your mouth.



There’s also the question of breading. While I usually prefer a cornmeal dredge for fried vegetables, I find that it doesn’t work so well with dill pickles, so I go with a saltine cracker dredge instead. Of course, these are all my preferences and you may have your own as well. But the best thing about fried pickles is that you don’t have to limit yourself to just cucumber dills, even though they are the classic. Nope, you can fry up pickled okra, pickled jalapeños or any other pickle that you love. As long as they’re tangy and crisp, they’ll be wonderful.

And maybe even life changing.

Fried pickles
2 cups dill pickle chips
1 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon salt plus more to taste
1 teaspoon black pepper plus more to taste
1 egg
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 cups finely crushed saltines
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon dried dill weed
Salt to taste
Oil for frying

Method:
In a large plastic food-storage bag, mix together the flour, salt and black pepper. Place the pickle chips in the bag and shake until they are well coated.

Mix together the eggs with the buttermilk. Place the crushed saltines on a plate and mix in the cayenne and dill weed. In batches, dip the flour-coated pickles into the eggs and then lightly dredge in the saltines. Place cracker-coated pickles on a large plate or sheet. Repeat until all the pickles are coated.

In a large, heavy skillet heat 1/2 inch of oil on medium heat until it reaches 350 degrees. Cook the pickles for one minute or until golden brown, turning once. Depending on the size of your skillet will probably have to do in several batches. Drain on paper towels.

Serve immediately with your favorite buttermilk dressing.

Yield: 2-4 servings

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