Apricot Jam

Confiture d'Abricots (apricot jam) teaches the preserve-maker's decisive lesson: the clock doesn't decide when jam is finished, evaporation does. Very ripe apricots grown in the open carry enough perfume to survive a quick boil, and the clear sugar syrup concentrates them to amber-gold without added pectin. The one true thing is this: take the pan off at nappe, the sheeting stage, because the jam continues to tighten as it cools.

The original formula assumed a broad preserving pan, a moderate live fire, someone free to skim and stir without pause, and glass pots closed with glycerine-soaked paper. One cook, one stove, one evening gets a wide heavy pan, a cold saucer and thermometer for judgment, and heat-processed canning jars. The paper covering is obsolete scaffolding and goes; the three-quarter-pound sugar ratio, clear syrup, quick concentration, and off-heat almond finish are the dish and stay.

The book also cracked every apricot stone and returned its skinned amandon, the inner kernel, to the jam. A home cook cannot reliably distinguish a harmless sweet kernel from a bitter one rich in compounds that release cyanide, so I replace them with blanched sweet almonds. They preserve the nutty finish without gambling with it. Near the end, stir across the entire pan floor without pause; if you catch the first scorch, ça se rattrape, and the method shows you how.