I make jam. A few years back I used to make a lot of it. As a novice jam maker, I did what any naive beginner does: I attacked the world of summer fruit with gusto. Raspberries. Strawberries. Peaches. Anything I could get my hands on was boiled up with sugar and stuck in jars. I even made fancy labels. My jam cupboard is still full of dark, sticky mysteries from that period of my life.
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What nobody tells you about jamming is the sheer danger involved. It’s lethal. I embark upon each batch with trepidation.
To get a jam to set, particularly the jelly-based ones like marmalade, you heat the fruit juice and sugar up to a rolling boil. Then you keep boiling it to reduce the liquid down until the setting point is reached; when a drop of jam placed on a cold ceramic saucer quickly sets and turns to jelly.
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