With the Sun pouring into the kitchen and some agreeable tunes on the radio, we removed the stones from a kilo of dates. Having only just escaped their bergamot bath, we plunged them back in again and turned up the heat.
I noticed that Adam had taken on a forlorn countenance as he stared into the cauldron. ‘I’m troubled by the woodiness that we encountered with the last batch of this particular preserve, but what is to be done?’ His worry was not without validity, for the last batch of date jam was indeed a little woody upon the tongue.
At this moment I poured us both some coffee which we downed, the caffeine jolted our minds and led Adam to pronounce, ‘Why don’t we blend them?’ At this I immediately took up the hand mixer, ‘What a splendid idea indeed!’ I exclaimed as our friends, who were once said to be coarse, took on a smoother aspect. The cogs had not stopped turning quite yet, ‘Adam, throw me a lemon,’ I said with an air of certainty that was subsequently failed by my poor hand-eye coordination, as I scrambled to the floor to grab the yellow thing I had failed to catch.
After this debacle I squeezed some lemon juice into the pan, ‘the woodiness shall be further countered and indeed lifted by the sharp contrast,’ I vowed. A quick taste had affirmed my citrus thought, and we managed to fill fourteen jars of the stuff, our biggest yield to date. A sense of accomplishment stuck to the atmosphere like jam to a spoon, we celebrated with cheese sandwiches and fennel tea.