
Chef Thomas
Blackberry and Apple Jam
Wild blackberries and a couple of cooking apples turned into jars of deep, inky jam, the kind that holds the taste of a September walk all the way through to spring.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A spiced autumn chutney made from a glut of apples and a quiet afternoon, simmered down until the kitchen smells of October and the jars line up on the counter like a small, useful insurance policy.
Every October the apple trees give up more than anyone can eat. Windfalls collect in the long grass, the kitchen counter fills with bowls of slightly bruised fruit, and someone always brings a carrier bag to the door saying they thought you might find a use for these. This is the use.
A chutney is a way of catching a season and keeping it. You take a glut of something cheap and abundant, spice it, sweeten it, sharpen it with vinegar, and cook it down until it turns into a dark, glossy thing that lives in a jar for months. The apples lose their shape but not their character. The vinegar loses its harshness. The spices settle. By the time you open the first jar at the back end of November, the chutney has become something completely its own.
I make a batch every autumn and I never quite measure the spices the same way twice. A bit more cinnamon one year, a heavier hand with the cloves the next. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. What matters is the smell of the kitchen on the afternoon you make it: vinegar and apples and brown sugar and ginger, all of it bubbling away gently while the rain comes down outside. I wrote it down in the notebook once. October. Apples. Rain. Worth it.
The finished jars earn their keep all winter. A spoonful next to a wedge of cheddar and some bread. A dollop on the side of a cold ham sandwich the day after a roast. Stirred into a pan of sausages and onions to make a quick supper feel like you tried. There are few better feelings than reaching into the cupboard for something you made months ago and finding it exactly where you left it, ready.
Quantity
1.2kg
peeled, cored and roughly chopped
Quantity
500g
peeled, cored and roughly chopped
Quantity
2 large
finely chopped
Quantity
300g
Quantity
150g
Quantity
400ml
Quantity
2 fat cloves
finely chopped
Quantity
1 thumb
peeled and grated
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
half a teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
generous grind
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| cooking applespeeled, cored and roughly chopped | 1.2kg |
| eating applespeeled, cored and roughly chopped | 500g |
| onionsfinely chopped | 2 large |
| soft light brown sugar | 300g |
| sultanas or raisins | 150g |
| cider vinegar | 400ml |
| garlicfinely chopped | 2 fat cloves |
| fresh gingerpeeled and grated | 1 thumb |
| yellow mustard seeds | 1 tablespoon |
| ground allspice | 1 teaspoon |
| ground cinnamon | 1 teaspoon |
| ground cloves | half a teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | 1 teaspoon |
| black pepper | generous grind |
Peel, core and roughly chop the apples. Don't be too neat about it. The Bramleys will collapse into the chutney and the eating apples will hold a bit of shape, which is what you want. Some chunks, some softness. As you go, drop the chopped apples into a bowl so they don't sit on the board browning.
Tip everything into a wide, heavy-bottomed pan. All of it. Apples, onions, sugar, sultanas, vinegar, garlic, ginger, spices, salt, pepper. Stir it through with a wooden spoon. It will look like a mess. Don't worry, this is the right way for it to look at this stage.
Set the pan over a medium heat and bring it slowly to a simmer, stirring now and then so the sugar dissolves and nothing catches on the bottom. The kitchen will start to smell of vinegar and spice and apples, sharp and warm at the same time. That's the smell of an October afternoon worth staying in for.
Lower the heat so it bubbles gently rather than boils, and let it cook for an hour to an hour and a half. Stir it every ten minutes or so, more often as it thickens. The apples will collapse, the onions will turn translucent, and the whole thing will gradually darken from pale gold to a deep, glossy amber. Trust your nose. When the harsh edge of the vinegar has softened into something rounder and sweeter, you're getting close.
While the chutney is cooking, wash your jars and lids in hot soapy water, rinse them, and put them upside down on a tray in a low oven, about 120C, for twenty minutes. They need to be properly hot when the chutney goes in. Cold jars and hot chutney is how jars crack.
Take the chutney off the heat and let it sit for five minutes to settle. Spoon it into the warm jars while still hot, pressing down gently to get rid of air pockets, and right up to within a few millimetres of the rim. Wipe the rims clean with a damp cloth, screw the lids on tightly, and leave them to cool on the counter. You'll hear the lids ping as they seal. A small, satisfying sound.
This is the hard part. Put the jars somewhere cool and dark and leave them for at least a month before you open one. Six weeks is better. The vinegar needs time to mellow and the spices need time to settle into the fruit. Chutney eaten too young tastes raw and pointed. Chutney left to rest tastes of itself.
1 serving (about 15g)
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