Hostilities commenced
with the Great Refrigerator Purge of February 2011,
but scholars agree the battle lines
had already been drawn the previous Autumn.
~The History of Gluten Freedom, 1st Edition
During the opening salvos of any anti-gluten campaign there comes the realization that in each new recruit's refrigerator lurk jars and jars of condiments loaded with hydrolyzed wheat protein, caramel color, and glucose syrup. Forced to dump them in the sink and employ the glass vessels as receptacles for paint thinner, the inexperienced gluten guerrilla is left with a conundrum. What fruity accompaniment can she use to adorn her organic breakfast super-yogurt? What substance is suitable for bathing grilled pork or salmon? How is she going to dress her salad greens or gussy up plainly-cooked chicken?
Not with any factory-bottled sauces or spreads, that's for sure - the rather informal nature of the USDA's labelling guidelines makes it all but impossible for a gluten gladiator to know exactly what's in all those jars of processed pleasure. The internet as a potential source of wisdom in this regard? Don't get me started.
The only foolproof (and I mean that literally) way to guarantee there are no hidden dangers lurking in one's culinary accoutrements is to make them one's self, and I confess that in the time it takes to say, 'Where's my gingham apron?' I have become an enthusiastic - if not downright obsessive - home canner. I can now be found searching out the best bargains in seasonal fruit and spending happy Sunday afternoons laboring over my maslin pan and vacuum seals, content in the knowledge that I am producing virtuous, all-natural, gluten-free preserves for anybody who'll take them off my hands.
When preparing for combat, of course, it is essential that the wheatless warrior gird herself with suitable armaments. My jars of choice? Ball eight-fluid-ouncers for everyday use. They're cheap, plentiful, traditional, and not unattractive if you buy the quilted ones. For special occasions and gift-giving, I swear by Weck's glass-lidded/rubber-seal offerings: they always elicit gratifying oohs and aahs from fortunate recipients. The books I have found most useful are Ball's Complete Book of Home Preserving and Mary Anne Dragan's Well-Preserved. Of Christine Ferber's magnum opus Mes Confitures, well ... let's just say my relationship with Madame is nuanced, and leave it at that.
When preparing for combat, of course, it is essential that the wheatless warrior gird herself with suitable armaments. My jars of choice? Ball eight-fluid-ouncers for everyday use. They're cheap, plentiful, traditional, and not unattractive if you buy the quilted ones. For special occasions and gift-giving, I swear by Weck's glass-lidded/rubber-seal offerings: they always elicit gratifying oohs and aahs from fortunate recipients. The books I have found most useful are Ball's Complete Book of Home Preserving and Mary Anne Dragan's Well-Preserved. Of Christine Ferber's magnum opus Mes Confitures, well ... let's just say my relationship with Madame is nuanced, and leave it at that.
It's a proud moment for any cereal-free combatant when she receives her first battlefield honors - in my case, an azure-hued ribbon for my now-famous blueberry jelly, presented at the Great Allentown Fair in September.
But of course, winning the fight is its own reward.
But of course, winning the fight is its own reward.
- Origin of the Conflict: The Great Refrigerator Purge
- Choice of Weapons: jam jars
- Into the Fray: early studies, the banana jam campaign, and the pectin question
- Telling Friend from Foe: Christine Ferber and the French connection
- Battlefield Rations: apricot & raspberry conserve; apricots in syrup; banana & date chutney; banana jam; blueberry butter; blueberry jelly; butternut jam; carrot jam; cherry & pistachio chutney; chestnut jam; clear apple jelly; fig jam; fig & lemon chutney; fridge-a-lade; praline milk jam; puree des pommes; sweet blueberry chutney; tomato and apple relish; very bitter lime marmalade
- Appendix: medals of honor, incl. blue ribbons