Perhaps because I've been watching Marilla and Anne in their cozy, old-fashioned farmhouse kitchen, I felt a particular urge on Saturday to hover over a stove for a couple of hours with glass preserve jars at hand. I have always wanted to make marmalade. Though in reality I usually sleep through the breakfast hour and rise in time to have a burger at one, there's nothing I love more than the idea of a sunny breakfast table set with steaming coffee, pots of jams, and piles of baked goods. And when you have a Saturday night filled with holiday parties to attend, what gift for your host could be more charming than homemade marmalade?

Marmalade becomes instantly less wholesome-seeming when you are measuring out an obscene amount (7 1/2 cups to be exact!) of sugar into your pot. And sealing up your Ball jars seems much less romantic when faced with sterilization and the word botulism is ringing in your ears. As fearless as the pioneers, forge on you will, and if you're kicking it old school with nary a candy thermometer in sight, you may be somewhat flummoxed by the "sheet test" or the "wrinkle effect." These are not obscure terms in physics, but ways of knowing if your marmalade has set. You will feel, perhaps, that maybe you have botched the whole process and surrendered hours of your life to tedious foam-skimming and wrinkle-testing.

But then you will put on your holiday finery and arrive at your host's door. While others are toting bottles of merlot, you come bearing a jar of homemade marmalade topped with bright, modern fabric and tied up with a bow. You may think for a minute, that this is an exercise in style over substance. But then, Monday morning, as you open up the jar you kept for yourself and spread some on top of toast with peanut butter, all is forgotten. You may even think it was worth it.



Orange Marmalade

2 navel oranges
2 cups fresh orange juice (from about 2 pounds oranges)
2/3 cup fresh lemon juice (from about 2 lemons)
7 1/2 cups sugar

1. Rinse oranges under hot water and quarter lengthwise. Then slice crosswise as thinly as possible.
2. Over medium-high heat, bring the orange slices, orange juice, lemon juice and 6 cups of water to a boil in a large saucepan. Reduce heat and simmer until orange peels are translucent and tender, about 1 1/2 hours.
3. Add sugar and bring mixture to a boil again, stirring constantly until sugar is dissolved. Continue cooking, skimming foam off the surface and stirring often. If you have a candy thermometer, the marmalade has set when the temperature reaches 220 degrees. If you don't have a thermometer, try the old wrinkle test. Place a little bit of marmalade onto a chilled plate. Let cool. If the marmalade wrinkles when you press the mixture, it has set. If it's still gloopy, continue cooking. Mine cooked for about half an hour and then I bottled them up the way Fanny Farmer told me to.

Posted by sarah at 7:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

Wouldn't holiday shopping go down a lot easier if you could skip chain stores entirely and browse handmade goods with a cocktail in your hand while bobbing your head to Le Tigre? As if you were looking for another reason to love Bust magazine, they brought us the Holiday Craftacular for the second year in a row.

Hosted at the historical Warsaw in Brooklyn (such a great place for a show!), the Craftacular solves the eternal holiday quandary of whether to merrily deck the halls or cross another item off your shopping list. The djs were spinning songs so good it was like listening to a mix tape made by your coolest friend. The atmosphere was jolly and frenetic with more than sixty vendors selling gorgeous calendars, notebooks, cards, knit and sewn clothing and accessories, yoga mat bags, jewelry, and bath products.



I don't get starstruck very often (Hilary Swank shopped next to me at Anthropologie a couple of weeks ago and I barely bat an eye), but meeting the Bust team was a sighting like none other. These women were so dynamic, energetic and kind, it made me curious about a day in the Bust offices. They produce a magazine with a unique and invaluable voice. But do they also nurse pony-necks while proofing pages and run craft ideas by each other? Do they drop off homemade baked goods by the water cooler? Do they have a water cooler?

And then I met editor-in-chief and co-publisher Debbie Stoller. In addition to being the author of some indispensable books on knitting and crochet, she is a supporter of woman owned and run small businesses (just look at the ads in Bust!). Rather than chilling on a chaise at the helm, she is amazingly tuned in to the happenings of the magazine's demographic. She even took the time to talk to the people from a little blog called Pink of Perfection!





Internet marketplaces have done so much to enable crafters to sell their wares, but there's nothing like real time interaction under one roof to bring a group together. Mutual admiration among crafters and shoppers ran as high as the holiday cheer. A huge thanks to Bust for making it happen (an extra special thanks to Dawn!) and for managing to get so many of us into the spirit of the season.

Posted by sarah at 7:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

I am not a foodie. It is true that I walk through cookware stores with my fingers touching each and every white gratin dish, and that I am in possession of a palate keen on sea urchin and internal organs. But foodies are starting to remind me too much of hipsters. What started as a descriptor I could get behind (sure, I have shaggy hair, like indie rock, gravitate towards dirty bars), has morphed into a word that has become, I fear, sneeringly self-satisfied and a bit pretentious.

To be sure, foodies aren't all bad by any means. I greatly admire someone who can pick out several subtle notes of spice in a dish, or succeeds with a cool head and hand at executing complicated, delicate dishes. When I say that I am not a foodie I mean that I am not a born critic, that I want my food to be a means to an end, rather than a point of scrutiny.

I just want to make life, as I live it, lovelier. That's why I frequent two great coffee shops in my neighborhood but have probably not yet sampled the "best" cappuccino in the city. For me, the pleasure of food, the table, and morning coffee have everything to do with fortifying in the face of depletion, communing in the face of disconnection, and living with just a bit of grace and care.

That is why I am a champion of the simplest suppers. This fall, there were several unassuming dinners of soup and fruit and salad that Sebastian and I ate our round kitchen table. I am not embarrassed to admit that the soup often came from cans or that we also sometimes unwrapped squares of dark, bitter chocolate my boss brought back from Lyon. The food never upstaged the talk those nights. The talk was sweet and sustaining.

Last night we had scrambled eggs with lots of tiny chopped grape tomatoes, and buying these eggs from the farmer's market was one of the highlights of my week. I had forced myself out of my computer-bound inertia on a Monday afternoon and stepped into the cold sunshine. People were outnumbered by varieties of apples, and I saw the strangest, most fascinating broccoli hybrid. A foodie might have asked about its provenance and taken it home for dissection and experiment met with great results. I was too distracted by the next treat in sight, a distraction I regret.

If we must eat, then I would like to go about this necessity with as much art and joy as possible. Does this make me a foodie? Maybe in a looser definition of the word. So much of what is memorable at mealtime has little to do with the food itself. I know I made delicious vegetarian lasagna for a room full of my friends in college. But what is most memorable from that night was watching the low candlelight flicker on my friends' faces and the red walls behind them. It was probably snowing that night, but even in my drafty apartment we were warm and renewed. I thought then I would like to cook for them, or other such hungry, appreciative people, as often as possible.

Posted by sarah at 7:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

Some people adore the long holiday build-up: Christmas music in the drugstore, red cups at Starbucks, the trees and wreaths lined up for sale on city sidewalks. It's safe to say I like the rising action more than the day itself. I love the anticipatory excitement, running elfish errands, making delectable treats, all the ribbons and wrappings, and thinking hard what gifts my loved ones would like most to receive.

And while I loathe a braggy Christmas letter, I adore the the cards themselves. Stacked up on mantels and pushed in the rim of a mirror, they are a visual reminder of the people in your life who care enough to still use stamps. This year I received some artistic help from Stencil 1 for my outbound batch. This isn't the first time I've espoused the merits of stencils, but I'm happy to say it again: I can't draw, therefore, stencils save the day. You'll only need cardstock, pinking shears, a short stiff brush, and some tempura paints. I just held the stencils down, but you could use masking tape to keep the stencil firmly in place.

And look how durn pretty they are! I can't wait to send these out to the friends who are farther away than I'd like and to even the ones who live around the corner.

Posted by sarah at 8:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)