Blackberry and Apple Jam

September is a generous month if you know where to look. The blackberries are out along every lane and field edge, glossy and black and a little reluctant to come off the bramble without scratching you for the privilege. I went out on Saturday with an ice cream tub and came back with stained fingers and more fruit than I knew what to do with. The notebook decided: jam.

Blackberries on their own don't set well. They're low in pectin and high in juice, and left to themselves they'll give you something more like a sauce than a spread. The apple fixes that. A couple of Bramleys, cooked down to a fluff before the berries go in, do all the quiet work of holding the jam together. You don't taste them in the finished jar, not really. You just notice that the jam stays on the toast.

This is the kind of cooking I love best. A walk, a pan, a few jars on the windowsill catching the afternoon light, and something to give away. There are few better feelings than handing someone a warm jar of jam you made yourself. We're only making dinner. We're only making jam. The principle is the same.

I wrote it down in the notebook on Saturday evening: blackberries, apples, rain on the window, four jars. That's enough for a recipe and almost enough for a year.