Pectin-palooza

It is my belief that the decision not to use commercial pectin in jam-making is a political choice.

That is the only possible explanation for Christine Ferber's steadfast refusal to include the boxed product in any of her recipes, preferring instead to put us to the trouble of fabricating home-made gelling agent from green apples. Apparently, in La France, it is a simple matter to acquire unripe fruit for such purposes. Indeed, near her home in Alsace I bet the same places that sell green apples also offer happy home-making badges with a depiction of a proudly-flapping tricolore and the motto, Yankee Pectin: Just say 'Non!' 

There are no such pectin compunctions on this side of the ocean. For one thing it is not so easy to get hold of green fruit, unless one fancies sneaking into orchards in the early summer and stealing it off trees. Additionally, the pectin distributed by such estimable folks as the friendly people at Ball is the same stuff that's been used for about a zillion years, which means it's traditional. Since it's made from apples anyway and is fairly pure, I'm not sure what all the fuss is about. Sure, it's nice not have to use it for setting preserves - but it's not something upon which I ever felt the need to stake my reputation (such as it is).

Except that over the weekend, Sir bought a bag of organic Granny Smiths by mistake. Well, not by mistake, exactly, but he got home and decided they were too tartly challenging for his delicate tastebuds' enjoyment. He bestowed them upon me with a shrug and the sort of heartwarming confidence I have come to expect: 'I'm sure you can do something with these,' he said, before returning to the supermarket for a bag of his preferred Galas.

What else could I do except try my hand at some home-made pectin?

Here's how I did it:

I quartered and stemmed 3.5 pounds of Granny Smith apples. It felt strange to be leaving the cores and seeds in, but I always make apple sauce without peeling the apples (Julia's method, of course), so this was only one or two steps beyond that. The bits we usually throw away are where the pectin is, after all!

I plopped the chunks in my pan, then added seven cups of water so they were just covered. I brought it all to a boil and simmered the mixture, with the lid on, for about 40 minutes.

I lined my favorite colander with my trustiest piece of cheesecloth (folded over four times), set the apparatus atop my steep-sided stainless steel bowl, dumped in the cooked apples, and allowed the lot to drain overnight. I was careful not to press on the apples or agitate the bowl in any way, as prevention against subsequent cloudiness.

The next day, I strained it all once more, then decanted four cups of the juice back into my pan. I added the juice of one lemon and four and two-thirds cups of sugar. I melted the sugar over low heat, then boiled the jelly briskly until it was set (I used both my thermometer and a freezer test, just to be sure). 

I poured the result into my jars and processed them for ten minutes.

When all was said and done, I could hardly believe my eyes. What I had was clear clear jelly through which daylight pleasingly streamed. It was kind of amazing.

There were some issues arising, naturally.

In true Ferber fashion, no yield had been offered for my original apple quantity. Since she always calls for seven ounces of apple jelly (by weight) in her pectin-requiring recipes, I had assumed that's what I would end up with. The fact that this seemed like a ridiculous amount of work for one batch of future preserves didn't really strike me at the time: Madame is French, after all (see above).

But after I had panicked sufficiently with my too-few prepared jars, at the end of the day I stood in possession of forty-eight ounces of crystal-clear goodness, ready and able to serve as a gelling agent for raspberry and lychee preserves with rosewater; strawberry with passionfruit; pear with caramel and spices; spiced beer jelly (oops - that one's not gluten-free); or any number of Madame's other recipes - up to nine in all (by which I mean seven).

I must confess, the urge to eschew the commercial product has become very strong.

Home-made pectin Americaine? Just say 'Oui!'