]]>
Damsons - Capturing the Essence Beyond Season:
The deep, rich flavour of damsons need not be confined to a specific time of the year. Through the art of preservation, particularly in the form of jams and preserves, we can savour the sweet and tart notes that damsons bring to our palates. The process of making damson jam not only allows us to extend the enjoyment of this jewel but also retain its vibrant colour and nutritional value.
Blackberries - A Sweet Escape in Any Season:
Blackberries, often described as nature's candy, are a burst of sweetness and health benefits. Though the brambles may not be yielding fresh blackberries in the UK winter, the joy of blackberry jam can fill that void. Packed with vitamin C, vitamin K, and antioxidants, blackberry jam provides a guilt-free snack, reminding us that the essence of these berries is not confined to a specific season.
Blackcurrants - A Nutrient-Rich Winter Treat:
Whether enjoyed in jams or jam added to muffins, the nutritional benefits of antioxidants, vitamins, and fiber are retained. Preserved blackcurrants not only contribute to our overall well-being but also infuse a burst of flavour into our winter recipes.
Embracing the Preserved Goodness:
Preserving fruits in jams allows us to extend the seasons' bounty, ensuring that we can relish the flavours and nutrients all year round. The process of making jam not only captures the essence of the fruits but also retains their nutritional value, making them a reliable source of goodness even when they're not in season.
So, as we navigate through the rest of January and beyond, let's celebrate these preserved fruits. Whether spread on toast, layered in a parfait, or swirled into ice cream, the preserved versions of damsons, blackberries, and blackcurrants offer a taste of summer that can be enjoyed even in the coldest months.
Spread the love through the seasons and the jams
]]>
Although it's what's inside that counts, looking good never hurts, and we think our jams are as good on the eye as they are on the tongue.
The beautiful patterned labels that wrap around our vibrant jars of joy have become the raison d'etre for countless Instagram posts we get tagged in.
The designs all come from the Curwen Press, a former printing publication who specialised in designs for book jackets, advertising posters, sheet music, and typography.
We have our friends at Here Design to thank. When searching for a change in branding, they introduced us to the Curwen Press and we knew right away that they were perfect for our preserves.
The Curwen Press was founded in 1863 by the Reverend John Curwen to publish sheet music.
It wasn't until the early 20th Century that the Press became popular for its artistic output, spearheaded by Harold Curwen - John's grandson. With Harold at the helm, the Press' focus shifted towards artistic expression.
The company did not train the artists but simply encouraged them to explore their creativity within the restrictions of a brief. Creative limitation can improve creative results. Harold believed the imagination of the artist would benefit the Press' output while simultaneously recompensing the artist with skills to take back to their own practice.
Due to mental health difficulties, Harold Curwen went into early retirement before the Second World War, but remained involved with the board until his death in 1949.
During World War II, the Curwen Press was led by long-serving employee Oliver Simon. The Press' building was bombed several times during the war and went through considerable rebuilds.
Simon died in 1956, passing the chairmanship to his younger brother Herbert (Bobby). The Press continued to facilitate independent artists for decades, assisting with the avant-garde printmaking movement in the post war years.
The Press closed in 1984, after more than 120 years in operation. It was, and still is, synonymous with 20th Century fine art and printmaking in Britain.
The Curwen Studio, an independent workshop on the site the Press used to occupy, remains to this day. Its legacy survives, and we are so proud to place these truly special designs in the hands of our customers every morning.
During the interwar years (1919-1939), the Curwen Press encouraged many independent artists who went on to have renowned careers. Three of the biggest names of this generation are Paul Nash, Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden who all met at the Royal College of Art.
Nash (1889-1946) is considered to be one of the most important landscape artists of the 20th century, and a key figure in the rise of Modernism in English art. It was during his time as a teacher at the Royal College of Art that he met his students Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden. Nash's woodcut self-portrait (1922) is reminiscent of the design that is used as the label for our London Marmalade. The design is Sky's favourite. "Considering it was designed in the early 20th Century," she says, "it looks so modern." He's considered one of the godfathers of Modernism for a reason.
Ravilious (1903-1942), an acolyte of the British countryside who is particularly known for watercolours of British landscapes, posthumously stars on Twitter. During lockdown in 2019, @Ravilious1942 began posting daily paintings by the late British artist, earning him countless new fans. Those semi-circle blue swirls and splashes of green that make our Blackcurrant Blighty label are typical of Ravilious' pastoral tendencies. It is one of our most beloved jams and the label is a big reason why.
Both our Bermondsey Bramble and Redcurrant, Rhubarb & Vanilla labels were designed by Edward Bawden (1903-1989). Bawden's impressive portfolio includes illustrations for leading companies like London Transport, Twinings, and Penguin Books, as well as posters and garden metalwork furniture. If you'd like to see Bawden's work in the flesh, see his tile work depicting a foot ferry on the River Lea on the Victoria line platform at Tottenham Hale tube station.
The former Royal College of Art trio worked together one day a week for the Curwen Press by 1930. Nash went onto describe the pair as "an extraordinary outbreak of talent."
Fancy trying these jams? See the links below: |
Laura Cumming describes the great portrait photographer E.O. Hoppé as "intensely famous is his own time, almost forgotten in ours." You'd be forgiven, then, if you've not heard of him.
In his heyday, Hoppé hopped from place to place, relentlessly following his curiosity. He was exceptionally interested in people and the diversity of social behaviour. As Cumming explains, he camped with Romanian gypsies, dwelled with Australian aborigines, photographed members of the royal family and disappeared for months on end to capture life in unfamiliar nations. It is perhaps this diversity, this profusion of characters and settings, that makes E.O. Hoppé's work inconspicuous. There was no set style. No quintessential Hoppé aesthetic. He embraced difference so keenly, yet captured humanity with such clarity.
Hoppé, despite his popularity, shied away from the limelight. In 1954, the German-born, London-based photographer disappeared from the public eye after selling five decades of his work to a London picture library aged 76.
His pictures, which gained him a reputation as one of Britain’s most influential international photographers for decades, joined the ranks of what’s known as “stock” photos, which aren’t searchable by name
To us, he's the summery sparkle behind our Strawberry Days and Gift Boxes. Hoppé's pattern may not feature the human face, but - like his photography - it perfectly captures something beautiful: picnics in the park, glasses of fizz, afternoon tea, strawberry jam.
E.O. Hoppé's jam: |
If Hoppé is considered a forgotten figure, the name on our Cherry Amour label, Carter, hides in plain sight every day.
Harry Carter (1901-1982) was an English typographer, translator and writer. While writing for the Fine Press Book Association, Michael Barnes admits that he almost never buys a book "because it was written by Harry Carter," but his name "crops up discreetly" in lots. For Carter, this is not about under-appreciation but rather an appreciation of going about his work quietly. Carter preferred to remove himself from the limelight. He became friends and colleagues with Stanley Morison, creator of Times New Roman, and assisted him on his John Fell (1967) book. Carter's contribution was so significant that Morison was willing to list him as the principal author; Carter refused and his name displays, discreetly, as 'assistant' on the title page.
Even today the Carter name hides in plain sight. Harry's son, Matthew, has been described as "the most widely read man in the world." This is not because he authors books read in schools, nor does it mean he's read more than anyone else. It is because he is the designer of some of the most widely used digital fonts: Verdana, Georgia, and Tahoma stand out among many others.
Elizabeth Friedländer (1903-1984), designer of our Raspberry Deluxe, also survives through a popular font. A designer of book jackets, logos, and calligraphy, Friedländer designed the typeface 'Elizabeth' which is still used digitally today.
We love Friedländer's vibrant pink and green geometric design that adorns our Raspberry Deluxe. The acidic green encapsulates the sourness of raspberries perfectly.
Fancy trying these jams? See the links below: |
When selecting the design for our Piccalilli, we needed something that would be as striking as the relish itself. Oh, and it needed to be yellow. Graham Sutherland's (1903-1980) dazzling yellow and pink pattern that graces our Piccalilli is as vibrant and energising as the piquant, mustardy pickle.
Sutherland is another of the more famous names found on our jars. A prolific painter, Sutherland spent much of his career as a reputable portraiture artist. Perhaps the most high-profile portrait in Sutherland's portfolio is of the Prime Minister Winston Churchill.
The portrait was presented to Churchill on his 80th birthday ceremony in Westminster Hall, during his second tenure as Prime Minister. Churchill deeply disliked the portrait. He found it unflattering, and complained that it made him "look like a down-and-out drunk who had been picked out of the gutter of the strand."
Sutherland maintained that his depiction was simply a recreation of how he saw the Prime Minister at the time of painting. However, Churchill was not easily persuaded. The portrait was taken back to his home, Chartwell, where it was eventually destroyed on the command of Lady Spencer-Churchill to not disturb her husband. The artist condemned the destorying of his painting, listing it as an act of vandalism. It did not, however, put off future high profile clients from commissioning Sutherland. He became an unofficial state portrait painter after the Churchill incident, going on to paint the Queen Mother and Konrad Adenauer, among others.
Piccalilli is perhaps our most divisive product. So too, clearly, was Sutherland's work, making him the perfect designer for our sharp, crunchy (but ultimately delicious) pickle.
One of the wonderful things about the Press was its faithful support to independent and up-and-coming artists. While figures like Nash, Ravilious, Bawden & Sutherland went on to have renowned careers, many of the Press' employees never achieved the same recognition. Despite this, many artists that worked for the Press were quiet masters, diligently pursuing their craft and achieving excellence in the shadow of the spotlight.
Take Sarah Nechamkin (1917-2017), for example. Her eye-catching design on our Darling Damson jars (which literally looks like an eye) is representative of her vibrant designs which made their way onto many book jackets, including a selection of poems by Byron published by Penguin, but her name is largely unknown.
Or Thomas Lowinsky (1872-1947), whose prestigious education at Eton, Trinity College, Oxford, and later the Slade School of Fine Art, propelled him into an excellent yet modest career as a portrait painter. His pattern for our Gooseberry & Elderflower jam shimmers like a gooseberry bush shifting in the breeze of a warm summer's day. We also use one of Lowinsky's patterns on our Pear, Date & Ale Chutney.
Margaret Calkin James (1895-1985) opened her own gallery in 1920. Named The Rainbow Workshops in Bloomsbury, Margaret's gallery was one of the first to be started by a woman. Her beautiful design dutifully decorates all of our seasonal preserves, such as English Apricot, English Greengage, Blood Orange & Campari Marmalade, and Sicilian Grapefruit Marmalade. Calkin James suffered a stroke in the late 1960s. However, her stoic character left her undaunted by her paralysis, as she started a series of wool embroidery designs using her functioning left hand.
Sadly, there is little information out there on Diana Wilbraham, designer of our Red Onion Marmalade. Calling back to Hardy's quote, sometimes language arises without the use of words but through the eye. The beautiful pattern Wilbraham designed perfectly describes our Red Onion Marmalade. We're honoured to share her name with our customers and to celebrate her outstanding work.
Fancy trying these jams? See the links below: |
If you've loved learning more about the artists behind our label designs, be sure to check out The Curwen Studio. Originally founded as a subsidiary of the Curwen Press in 1958, the workspace continues to tell the Press' story, and, more importantly, provides independent artists with the facilities to create beautiful work and kindle their passions.
]]>You might be forgiven if you believed time travel exists in West Yorkshire. If one wandered seamlessly across the fields between Wakefield, Morley and Rothwell and stumbled across some peculiar, creaking sheds, it would only be natural to question your imagination. Are those farmers really entering these sheds with burning candlesticks? Either that or you've just interrupted the West Yorkshire yoga & meditation society gathering for a guided meditation with lots of, wait what... rhubarb?
Well, there is a practical and scientific reason for the burning candlesticks. You haven't stepped back in time in West Yorkshire, but you are witnessing the very same practice Victorian farmers introduced into agriculture nearly 150 years ago.
There is a saying in Yorkshire that goes I could eat an oven door if it were buttered. It means, and I know the feeling all too well, I'm absolutely starving! While our supermarkets are now laden with 'fresh' produce all year round, step back a few years and this wasn't the case. People were genuinely starving and, in the winter, it was difficult to produce fresh vegetables. This is where the magic of forced rhubarb begins.
Using cheap coal from the surrounding mines, farmers in West Yorkshire created the forcing sheds. The rhubarb is grown outside for 2 years, exposing it to the seasons - warm summers and frosty winters. The crop is then pulled out of the ground in November, and placed into beds within the forcing sheds. They are given heat from the coal and water to survive.
By placing it in complete darkness, the rhubarb reaches out in search of light which, of course, it will never find. The result is long and straight rhubarb; its stalk bright pink and its crown acid yellow as it avoids photosynthesising (hence the low-light candlesticks). The forcing process essentially imitates spring: in the dark the rhubarb rises and searches for light. In doing so, the crop is harvestable in January, February and March, at a time of year when fresh vegetables in the U.K are scarce.
By the early 20th Century, forced rhubarb was in bountiful supply. Hundreds of farmers produced hundreds-of-thousands of rhubarb and it was a mainstay and reliable crop during the winter months. At one stage, Yorkshire produced 90% of the world's winter rhubarb.
But times change. After the war, the demand for housing continued to accelerate and, by the late 1960s, the majority of the land that once housed the forcing sheds had been sold. The hundreds of farmers soon became just a handful, and the regularity of forced rhubarb almost entirely disappeared from the British food scene.
Of course, these days forced rhubarb is considered by many in the British culinary scene to be a linchpin ingredient during the early months of the calendar year. Step in to any high-end British restaurant that champions British produce during these months and you'll stand a good chance of seeing it on their menu.
While it may be considered a delicacy for its rarity in supply and largely expensive labour costs, we regard it as a delicacy for so much more. This ingredient is a star. Capable of being the main character. Take our Forced Yorkshire Rhubarb Jam - it needs little support. We simply make our forced rhubarb jam with just a little sugar. The sugar accentuates the rhubarb into a floral, delicate and sweet centrepiece - delicious even when simply served with toasted bread or natural yoghurt.
The jam is an exceptional addition to baked goods. Below, is a Drożdźówki (a Polish sweet-roll) with lashings of forced rhubarb jam.
It is most commonly used when making desserts and pastries. Sky's Forced Rhubarb & Custard Tart is a mouthwatering pudding that evokes childhood memories of sucking on hard boiled sweets, while Ruby Tandoh's Rhubarb, Apple & Hazlenut Crumble is a sure-fire way to satisfy the family.
Forced rhubarb can also enhance meats and fish. Our friends at Hill & Szrok have partnered crisp, fatty roasted pork belly with forced rhubarb. Writing for The Guardian, Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall describes how the tartness of forced rhubarb compliments oily fish as he shares his recipe for Oatmeal-coated Mackerel with Rhubarb.
Last year, we all became obsessed with Sky's Forced Rhubarb Gin Sour. A delicate, light pink appearance compliments its subtle flavours.
Needless to say, forced rhubarb is an extremely useful and tasty ingredient to keep in your arsenal. Its delicate, slightly tart yet sweet notes can elevate many dishes, not to mention that its stunning, bright-pink appearance takes the serving plate to almost dreamlike levels of visual pleasure.
You can shop our Forced Yorkshire Rhubarb Jam by clicking here
While contemporary farming is capable of spectacular things, there's a good chance forced rhubarb will soon become a candy-pink, nostalgia-ridden memory of a previous time. The fact is, while it is a delicacy, the demand for forced rhubarb is uncompetitive alongside other more popular fruits and vegetables.
The process of farming forced rhubarb is already highly laborious and expensive. Not to mention, it is notoriously fickle to harvest. It requires cold winters but can't be planted if it's too wet; too hot and it'll refuse to grow. Heating the beds and paying workers to manually rip the stems from their roots costs the farmers a fair whack, which is why they charge a reasonably high-fee for customer purchases.
Unpredictable weather patterns? Rising energy prices? Can't be good news. Its dedication from farmers is dependent on the demand. But the demand should remain: it is beautiful, delicious and good for you (excellent levels of oxalic acid which is your best friend when it comes to detoxing).
Either way, while it's here, we will continue to preserve its legacy for as long as we can.
Sky & Kai
]]>Agriculture is an ever-changing industry. Carmelo's family have been active on the foothills of Etna for over 90 years - those years have seen some changes! The demands are changing, consumers' tastes are changing, technologies are changing - hey, people are changing too.
While some modern technology may be efficient in terms of production, it can simultaneously be harmful to our planet. But there are wondrous resources available that encourage sustainable and natural agriculture. "Our policy is to keep the work simple and natural," Carmelo says, "we avoid the usage of chemicals and we use beneficial insects to keep the farms clean from pests and eventual diseases". Carmelo also keeps a keen eye on the latest developments in solar panel and irrigation technology, and frequently updates his facilities to ensure his farm operates as sustainably as possible.
As mentioned, Carmelo farms on the very same land his ancestors tended to more than 90 years ago. Although Carmelo benefits from the progressive technologies of the 21st Century, he dutifully works with the same ethos that has been handed down to him by his father and grandfather.
The story of Laudani stretches back four generations. Carmelo's great grandfather, Antonino, laboured the fields of wealthy landlords in Sicily. It wasn't until his grandfather (whom Carmelo is named after) started to earn a living that the passion for fruit farming accelerated. With more accessible and affordable land to rent, Nonno Carmelo started harvesting watermelon, saving up until he could buy his own land. Once he did, he planted oranges and the zest is history. Sorry.
History is a resource to learn from and Carmelo insists that his methods must stay true to the "peculiar ways of farming" that he has inherited: to stay close to nature and to gracefully collect its rewards.
There's a saying in Sicily which (roughly) translates as lemons are not real lemons unless they're Sicilian. We asked Carmelo why fruit from the area tastes so damn good. "Etna gives us lots and lots of help," he appreciatively explains, "the peculiarity of the soil makes a real difference between our citrus fruits and other varieties from different parts of the world".
Further, have you ever wondered where blood oranges get their distinctive blush from? Well, Carmelo tells us how Sicily's extraordinary geography of having both the sea and mountains in such close proximity means that the days are very warm and the nights are very cold. "This gap," Carmelo explains, "makes the oranges blush".
Believe it or not, the Laudani company does not use any storage. Everything that gets picked gets shipped. Of course, as Newton observed, fruit has a tendency to fall from trees. Surely this means there's waste? Well, Carmelo tells us that this "waste" is actually pretty handy. Once it drops, it can help with fertilisation and boost next year's production.
Any excess fruit gets hand-collected by Carmelo and his team and is delivered to local companies. When these people are given lemons, they make limoncello, or use it in cosmetics. We use these wonderful lemons to make marmalade; we do the same with their blood oranges and grapefruits.
Thanks for reading, folks! There's something so comforting about the brightness of Sicilian citrus. The winter days are short, cold and dark. However, seeing pallets of radiant citrus fruit arrive through our door always brightens our day.
When making our Sicilian marmalades, we wanted to capture this sparkling beauty and share it with you. We do hope you love eating them as much as we enjoy making them.
The advert humorously demonstrated the importance of having mustard close at hand, so much so that poor old Jarvis started to trundle out into the sea without a second-thought after the group displayed their disappointment. However, revisiting the advert today makes for very topical viewing. France is in the midst of a mustard crisis. There is, to quote the ad, "no moutarde", and the reasons behind the shortage make for harrowing insight.
Despite being known globally for Dijon Mustard - the sharp condiment essential to French cooking - the majority of mustard seed cultivation takes place some 7,000 kilometers away in Western Canada. A heatwave and subsequent drought that took place last year in Alberta and Saskatchewan slashed seed production by 50%. The drought, alongside a series of abnormally wet and cold winters in the domestic growing region of Burgundy, has seen France's supply of Dijon mustard significantly drop, resulting in a 10% price increase and, in some shops, a limit of 1 jar per customer.
These weather patterns may be described as 'abnormal', but they are starting to become more and more frequent with each passing year. 'Unpredictable weather patterns' is perhaps a more suitable description, and it is this unpredictability that is causing so much concern for farmers.
You do not have to look far for comparisons. In 2022, Britain has experienced its driest start to the year for 46 years. As Guy from Riverford rightly points out, agricultural practice is "built on" predictable weather patterns. Remove regularity and you can be in serious danger, as farmers across the UK have experienced this summer.
According to The New York Times, heatwaves such as the ones seen in North America and the UK are virtually "impossible" without climate change. Temperatures have been rising since the start of the industrial era and will continue to do so unless significant changes are made by governments around the world.
The absence of mustard from French supermarkets may seem like a trivial loss; an inconvenience to one marking steak frites or mayonnaise. But its significance is far greater than that. With weather patterns becoming increasingly difficult to predict and more extreme in their nature, we can expect to see incidents such as the mustard shortage in the years to come.
There are further reasons behind France's mustard crisis. France had initially planned to import mustard seeds from Russia and Ukraine in anticipation of a reduced harvest. However, since the invasion this has not been possible. In fact, in May this year, the United Nations predicted that the invasion may create a "global food crisis" that could last for years.
Back in Britain, we have seen a dramatic drop off in the supply of sunflower oil which most commonly comes from Ukraine. Supermarkets - such as Tesco, Waitrose and Morrisons - have implemented a cap on the amount of cooking oil an individual is allowed to buy, as consumers seek out alternatives to sunflower oil.
Our very own Kai & Sky saw France's mustard shortage first hand as they visited Île d'Oléron - an island off the west coast of France - for a family holiday earlier this summer. "There was mustard in the supermarkets," Kai explains, "however, it certainly wasn't French - you would see shoppers wearily reach for a jar of what I believe was German mustard."
According to Bloomberg, the crisis accelerated due to customers stockpiling the stuff much like we experienced in our supermarkets at the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. As mentioned, this resulted in many stores limiting customers to 1 jar of Dijon per person.
Back in our own factory, we have experienced some of the ripple effects from the crisis in France. Just last week, a customer knocked on our door frantically asking if we had any mustard. "I'm off to France tomorrow and they don't have any mustard," she explained as Jack from operations fetched her a jar of our English Mustard. "On second thoughts, can you grab me two more?"
While we are of course more than happy to sell our mustard, particularly as we have just updated our formula (more on that later), it does raise concerns as to whether this issue will affect us.
The truth is, we don't really know. Mustard consumption in Britain is lower than it is in France. Further, we have a greater degree of infrastructure in place for domestic cultivation: the primary source of English mustard-seed agriculture takes place in East-Anglia, the home of Colman's.
However, as we are all presently aware, the weather on our shores is no different to anywhere else. Unpredictable, extreme, and challenging. The question over whether we will experience a mustard shortage extends further. Being a company so reliant on the predictability of the agricultural year and its seasons, extreme weather events feel like a foreboding sign of things to come.
Just like Dijon, we believe English Mustard deserves a place in every kitchen. Its hot, distinctive flavour profile makes it versatile for cooking.
We've been fining tuning our English Mustard for a while. When we first began developing the recipe, we wanted to maximise the heat, so predominantly used oriental mustard seeds (very popular in Japanese cuisine). While we certainly succeeded in making the mustard hot, it lacked nuance and flavour.
We tried again.
This time, we created a blend with yellow mustard powder. Undoubtedly delicious and far more nuanced than what we tried before. However, it lost heat with time.
Back to the drawing board.
What was it that drove us to make English Mustard in the first place? Creating a condiment that packs a punch yet sings with flavour. It became clear that we needed to reintroduce the oriental mustard flour, yet ensure there was balance.
After several attempts, we finally nailed it.
Our new mustard formula is a delight. It is fiery, tangy and guaranteed to heighten any meal. Whether you're mixing it through sauces or dolloping next to cold meats, it's a winner.
The picture below shows Kai trying a teaspoon direct from the jar. It's certainly hot, but it's undoubtedly delicious.
It sometimes feels hard to welcome the rain in the summer. In Britain, we spend so much of our time complaining about it, especially if it becomes a reoccurring feature of our summers. However, this year we have needed it. Sure it's been nice to spend our days sunbathing on beaches and picnicking in parks. But just looking around London - our green spaces totally scorched - makes you presently aware of our changing climate.
Let's hope this summer acts as a wake up call.
]]>
One of the things that I love about gooseberry season is that it is still in its natural state. What I mean by that, is because it isn't a high value crop in huge demand, no one has bothered to try to extend its season.
The understandable passion for strawberries and raspberries means their season has been stretched to the maximum, enabling a fresh UK supply from May to September.
Not so for the humble gooseberry, with it's slightly furry, striped green suit. Its season lasts for a few weeks in June. And if nothing else but just for the pure alien fun of them, they should be top and tailed, simmered, baked, frozen and fooled.
Gooseberries also have a special place in the narrative of my family. As you can imagine, being born with a name like Sky in the 70s could only mean I grew up with parents perusing an alternative lifestyle. When they finally married, my mum was already pregnant with me. My sister (The London Flower Farmer ) and brother were already chasing chickens in the yard.
When they married, my sister was so disappointed by our mother's corduroy that she did a good job of dressing up as the bride herself. After the ceremony at the local registry office in Northallerton, our Granny Sarah made a celebration gooseberry fool. Their honeymoon took place that evening: a picturesque drive in the Yorkshire moors, with the kids in the back.
After a bit of flitting here and there, we moved from Hackney to a house with a garden in Tolleshunt Knights, Essex. This was my first memory of having a garden, and gooseberries were the first fruit I remember picking fresh. My first harvest.
Now, our Gooseberry and elderflower jam is my go to in the morning. A glass of natural yoghurt, a spoon of G&E Jam and perhaps some granola. It sets me up for the day and keeps me until lunch.
]]>Little did I know how fulfilling making jam can be. It traverses the tenses, capturing memories from the past and present, while opening the door to new memories long into the future.
]]>July means many things here at the jam factory. Perhaps most presently, it is strawberries and tennis. As this year’s finalists take to Centre Court over the weekend, hundreds, if not thousands, of attendees will have scoffed down our strawberry jam within the grounds in SW19. England Preserves to serve…
We’re busy here. Very busy. After producing a whopping amount of strawberry jam for Wimbledon, we’ve switched our brains straight back to creative mode. Pencil in hand, coffee in cup, jam in mind. ‘What’s next?’, Sky asked me in our first marketing meeting after production. What emerged from that meeting was a roadmap for a new product. You see, we have our jam, and we have our customers, but that can only get you so far. To keep pushing forward, you must innovate.
Sky, as she has an excellent habit of doing, created something with the best intentions for you - the customer. Her Jam-Making Kit (which you can purchase by clicking here) could be seen as something of a risk. It is, in a sense, showing the customer that you can make exceptional low-sugar jam at home. You guys could put us out of business, right?! Why buy the jam when you can make it at home? Hmm.
The reason why it works is because it is collaborative between you and us. Sky has a fountain of knowledge, with more than 20 years of endless experimentation, failure, success, and growth. Even now, as I write this, she is upstairs working on the most ridiculous Lemon Marmalade, which tastes like lemon sherbet. I think it’s perfect, but she is still fine-tuning. To put it plainly, to learn from her is to learn from the best. What is most exciting is that when you start to make your own jams with our kit at home, we can learn from you. The possibilities are endless.
During the testing phase of our product, one of our guineapigs made Strawberry and Rose Gin jam out of their love for gin. Creative, personal, and undoubtedly delicious.
So, here I am, writing a Strawberry Letter (aged) 23 - apologies for the naff Shuggie Otis reference - after making my first ever jam (with help from my mum), from the same strawberries I used to eat 20 years ago.
In many ways, life feels as though it has come full circle. With the delights of Wimbledon and the sight of seasonal strawberries, I have been transported back 20 years to my 3-year-old self. As a wee’un, I was nicknamed ‘Fluffy Tennis Ball Head’ due to my customary bright blonde bedhead that reminded my brother and sister of the whisker-like fuzz you find on old tennis balls. A nickname more suitable for Einstein if you ask me, but hey ho!
During these fluffier days, we would frequent the local ‘Pick-Your-Own' farm close to my childhood home in Yealmpton, Devon. It was a real treat. We’d saunter around the fields on a summer’s day, loading up punnets of strawberries and, of course, popping a few in to eat when no one was looking. On one of my more mischievous missions, I spent almost the entirety of the walk stuffing my face with strawberries direct from the leaves. Unbeknownst to me, the troublesome act had left a rather obvious red stain around my chops from the fresh strawberry juice. As we went to pay, we placed our punnets of strawberries on the scales and the chap behind the counter took one look at me, smirked, and asked, ‘you haven’t been eating any of my strawberries have you, young man?’. With confusion in my eyes, I shyly shook my head from side-to-side. ‘That’s alright then’, the man replied. I think I got away with that one…
Last week, I returned to Devon to visit my family and came equipped with Sky’s Jam Making kit. There was only one place I was heading: back to the Pick-Your-Own farm, back to my childhood.
Despite the overcast skies above, the fields ahead were as bright as bright as I remembered. Startling flashes of red amongst luscious green grass. Strawberries! Beautiful strawberries! I naively asked my mum, ‘why do you think strawberries are so popular?’; perhaps, at 23, I am a little too young to appreciate their magic. She gave me two suitable answers. Firstly, in season strawberries taste delightful and they’re a joy on the eye. Secondly, because they’re magical. She told me how she’d go hunting for wild strawberries in her Granda’s garden in Northern Ireland, beaming with joy when she and her brothers uncovered little red jewels amongst the foliage. My feelings towards strawberries are less aligned with excitement. They’ve always been there. All year round. Always in plastic punnets. Always flavourless.
However, as I plucked away at the branches, I noticed a familiar feeling of excitement. The moment your eye catches a particularly plump looking strawberry, you just know. That’s going straight in my basket, I thought. Of course, I did slip a couple down as we ventured through the fields. However, I masterfully equipped myself with a handkerchief before we set off; I am not taking that risk again.
My mum and I headed home with our punnets of strawberries, eager to put Sky’s Magic Jam-Maker to the test.
When we came up with the product’s name, I asked Sky what she meant by ‘magic’. She told ‘making jam is relatively simple but making simple jam good is a whole lot harder’. ‘Use our formula,’ she said, ‘and you will make beautiful jam every time. It's like magic’.
Now, despite having a passion for eating and talking about food, I am no chef. My mother, too, has never made jam before. We are novices. However, our strawberry jam is delicious. Not too sticky, not too runny, not too sweet, not too tart. Just right.
Making jam is one of the most fulfilling processes I can remember having in the kitchen.
The excitement of collecting the fruit from the local farm, preparing the strawberries, applying love to the cook, adding the sugar, seeing the colours burst into life, filling the jars, leaving them to cool, spreading our own jam onto fresh scones (cream on first, obviously), and knowing that the time spent making it was worth it.
Because, within these jars, we have captured memories. Memories that traverse the tenses. You see, through using the same strawberries I so vividly remember eating as a child, we preserved the past. In joyfully preparing the jam alongside my wonderful mother, we preserved the present. And, in making something that will be enjoyed long into the future, we have opened the door to new memories. And that, to me, seems pretty magical.
Thank you for reading!
]]>England Preserves offers a positive way to engage with conscious consumerism. Sustainability, care, for the environment and the people that work for us have always been our life blood. We want to sit in a position that helps make the process of evaluation easier and more transparent.
We believe that the lines of both traceability and ingredients should be short.
Allowing our customers to find the information they need easily. We are working towards making this easier to access by publishing suppliers online. England Preserves as a company is committed to only sourcing energy from renewable sources and paying our colleagues at least a living wage.
We don’t want to underestimate how difficult these evaluations can be and do not believe that all the responsibility rests with the consumer, rather that the larger part of environmental care should be guided by government. As much as we desire to engage with the pertinent information, there is so much evaluation to be made as to make it unrealistic. The complexity of everyday life builds an environment in opposition to yet more evaluation.
Estimates point to the average person making a whopping 35,000 decisions a day!
Sky studied Food Policy at City University and it was this experience that made her realise that this process really had to be professionalised and industry should budget to employ and train people appropriately to give guidance.
An example of this could easily be a discussion on the sustainability of palm oil, over soya, over avocados. Do we evaluate on water consumption, habitat loss, land use change (a greater loss of stored carbon than deforestation)? How does the average person build a matrix to base a decision on?
Then, you evaluate that most of the soya is grown for cattle feed and, without this, the quantity of soya needed as a crop would be much reduced.
Then human nutrition needs to be considered. Palm oil is present mostly in foods that offer little or no nutritional benefit to humans, whereas avocados are packed with nutrition.
Then how are the agricultural workers employed, what other forms of agriculture have been displaced, how is the crop transported, does it need high energy processing or refrigeration?
It's a literal minefield. As a solution we would like to encourage everyone to try to buy from people. If you can find a real person to buy from with a genuine voice, it is likely that the lines of traceability and ingredients will be short.
We know that this isn’t possible for everyone, and for many of us it’s not possible for everything, some of us our struggling to find any time, or even to survive. But for those of us with the financial freedom to choose, hopefully we offer some thoughts on what to base those choices on. Apart from anything else, it can be far more rewarding and satisfying and if you are interested in finding something out, you can at least ask.
Best wishes,
Sky & Kai
]]>Ah, Piccalilli. How to describe it?
Bright yellow, startling, eye-popping, essential to life.
]]>Ah, Piccalilli. How to describe it?
Bright yellow, startling, eye-popping, essential to life.
Strangely enough, despite my adult commitment to this bizarre mustardy condiment, before making it myself I had never eaten it. I was a great consumer of Branston as a child. I've was always partial to a bit of cheap vinegar veg spread on my toast. Somehow, in my head, Piccalilli was confused with the other yellow jarred-paste that the school nurse spread on a particularly bad scrape. Of course, this was something never to be consumed.
However, in the early stages of our development, a close friend kept saying to us, ‘Piccalilli, you’ve got make a really good Piccalilli’. I was quite bemused by this, never having tasted Piccalilli, good or otherwise. But I cracked open Mrs Beaten and Eliza Acton and started to gather the processes of a ‘good’ Piccalilli.
Strangely, it wasn’t the hardest thing to make. It took time: the balance of spice, vinegar and sugar was pivotal to success. But the set was easy, and we never noticed any spoilage.
The other unusual thing about Piccalilli is that it is a constant reminder of how important it is to recognise a bad habit and break it quickly. I can’t look at a jar of Piccalilli without thinking how it is a product made at 2am. It’s not anymore, of course, and hasn’t been for a long time. But there was a period in the early days of England Preserves, when Piccalilli was always made at 2am.
At the time I was 23, and in my younger years lots of things happened at 2am, I was a greater stretcher of the day (there were never enough hours in them). Our rhythm was to make preserves all week and then try to sell them all at farmers’ markets across London over the weekend. I can never put my finger on why, but for what felt like a long time, Piccalilli was always being finished at 2am on a Friday night / Saturday morning. We would then come home, exhausted on a Saturday afternoon to a bright yellow kitchen.
Needless to say my heart started to harden against Piccalilli until I realised that it wasn’t the Piccalilli’s fault, just my incapacity to schedule. Thus began a long line of bad habits, that eventually I recognised and finally broke - only begin another one. Is this just the nature of bad habits? Or, just the nature of being too busy?
All that said, I do adore our Piccalilli. I recommend cutting some Hafod Cheddar into fingers and scooping up the Piccalilli with the cheese finger. It’s a sublime way to spend half an hour. I usually finish by wiping up the remaining sauce with my own finger not to waste any.
Anyway, here's to Piccalilli. Essential to my life and, hopefully, yours.
Best wishes,
Sky
You can try our Piccalilli by clicking here.
]]>In our first instalment, out next week, co-founder and London's very own Queen of Jam, Sky, guides you through making good marmalade at home. With a few tips and tricks, it can be a simple and delicious preserve to make. And now is the time to give it a go! Seville oranges are in season 🍊
We look forward to sharing, to the best of our ability, our knowledge with you. We can't wait to see what you gain from it.
Meet the Designer: Elizabeth Friedländer
We love German-born Elizbeth Friedländer for her vibrant pink and green geometric design that adorns our Raspberry Deluxe, Kai’s favourite jam, no less. Her sharp-edged pink flowers, from another Curwen Press pattern paper, screamed raspberries to us, as did that colour combo.
Friedländer, who fled Berlin in 1936, is fascinating but her name is less well known than her artwork, which featured on many mid-century titles from the likes of Penguin, Thames & Hudson, Italy’s Mondadori and Mills & Boons. She even invented her own font - Elizabeth - which was commissioned by the Frankfurt-based Bauer Type Foundry in 1928 and is still in use in digital form.
What we’re eating
Raspberry Deluxe, of course! Kai likes his spread thickly over salted butter on sourdough fresh from the bakery. The taste takes him back to his childhood: his father grew raspberries and would use each summer’s crop to make jam.
As we’re talking apples this week, Kai’s family also had an Egremont Russet tree, which made wonderful jam. It’s a little bit sombre, but we still have a jar of Mr Knutson senior’s apple jam dating back to 2008, which was the last batch he made, which we can’t bring ourselves to eat. It’s nice to see it there, well preserved!
|
After a stint in Milan, she wound up in London on a Domestic Service visa afforded to her by the Religious Society of Friends, or Quakers, who were helping people flee persecution, intending to make it to the US. Instead, she moved to Ireland in the early 1960s, living in Kinsale, in county Cork, where she died in 1984. Her archive, including a violin made in 1703 that had belonged to her mother, is kept in University College Cork. The instrument is loaned out each year to outstanding students at the Cork School of Music.
Plus apples. Lots of apples. Apples in crumbles (see The Jam #4 for Sky’s crumble tips), apples in pies, apples sliced up with pears to go with a cheeseboard for supper. Try the different textures, see which variety goes best with which cheese - we like ALL the cheeses from Neal's Yard Dairy - and see which one brings out different flavours. Or how about pan-frying some sliced apples with some shredded red cabbage, chopped bacon and a few wedges of black pudding for an easy supper? Yum. How about some toffee apples? Everyone loves a toffee apple, once a year, at least. We like Simon Hopkinson for a bit of classical direction but be bold! Go forth and create and please, do tell us what you’ve been making! |
Meanwhile, Kai and Sky are excited to be heading off to their family home in Ireland, where they'll be walking in the wind and rain, eating warm gingerbread with Spiced Apple Butter and hoping to cosy down with some good books. Their holiday reading list kicks off with John Le Carré's final novel Silverview before segueing to Dan Saladino's Eating to Extinction. Lubrication will be provided by Richard Godwin's The Spirits.
One last request: if you’ve enjoyed this newsletter, please forward it to your friends! And don’t forget to have a look at our webshop where you’ll find all our jams, chutneys, heritage fruit bags, books and MORE! Or - better still - come and visit us in Bermondsey any Saturday morning. You can stock up on cheese and much more from our Spa Terminus neighbours while you’re there.
Happy Jamming!
Sky and Kai xx
|
First, though, comes our Darling Damson jam, which has one of the most eye-catching labels. As ever, keep reading for more about Sarah Nechamkin’s brilliant design, which quite literally looks like an eye.
With the children back in school - finally - we celebrated by scooping up the jam hound and heading to Faversham in Kent to see David, who grows our damsons. (He grows them for other people as well, but we like to think of them as ours.) David has been growing damsons for 25 years, which is 24 more than he’d bargained for after buying some land that came with an orchard that was due to be “grubbed” - the technical term for uprooting trees.
“I was going to hang onto the orchard for one year, but I was so pleased with what we got off the trees we ended up expanding and getting some trees propagated to plant another orchard,” he tells us, after we’d loaded 2 tonnes of his damsons into our Landrover. And he hasn’t looked back.
|
After frost in April (which is almost the title of a novel by Antonia White), he’d assumed this year’s damson crop would be a write off but it turned out to be a “reasonable” haul. Unlike his Bramley apples, which were almost decimated by the cold spring, he adds.
Although damsons could do with their Nigella moment - “They need Delia or Jamie or Prue to make a damson muffin instead of a blueberry muffin” - David thinks the fruit is gaining in popularity. That said, while he was manning the stall he has three times a week in Faversham market, his pile of purple beauties did cause some confusion as well as delight.
“One person thought they were black grapes and someone else thought they were giant blueberries,” he says. Damons can be used for anything from gin and vinegar to jam and chutneys but David’s penchant is for damson crumble. “It’s fantastic.”
|
Damson Cheese
For a slightly different damson hit, our Damson Cheese is something pretty special. NB, this isn’t cheese in the traditional sense, but a thick fruit paste.
“We call this a ‘cheese’ because any food sustenance that was made into a solid form or a block used to be referred to as a cheese. Taking out the water is a very old way of preserving things, helping fruit to last throughout winter in some capacity,” says Sky.
In her encyclopaedic compilation of recipes, The Book of Household Management, published in 1860, Isabella Beeton includes a recipe for damson cheese, but the concoctions date back to Tudor times, when they would have been made in very ornate moulds. June Taylor, a perfectionist preserver based in Rockridge, California, is our favourite for ornate inspiration over on Instagram where you can find her making damson pastilles @jamwifey.
Pastilles, pastes, membrillos, cheeses: they’re all essentially the same thing. “When Kai and I used to work in farmers’ markets selling our fruit cheese, we’d get people telling us all the different names for it in different languages,” says Sky.
“Our damson cheese has a really intense, clean flavour and it looks really beautiful. It goes very well with younger lactic cheeses like a young goats cheese or with a blue cheese. Also, my kids love it for pudding if we haven’t got anything else.”
|
|
Meet the Designers
Ever noticed how much the print on our Darling Damson label looks so much like damsons? We’re not saying Sarah Nechamkin was thinking about fruit when she came up with that pattern paper for the Curwen Press but we’re not saying she wasn’t.
Born in London in 1917, Nechamkin was another artist whose vibrant designs were used for many book jackets, including a selection of poems by Byron published by Penguin. Her work as a book illustrator includes several collections of fairy tales, legends and nursery rhymes. One of her paintings, Landscape, 1960, has been part of the Tate collection since 1975.
Nechamkin’s parents were artists, as was her uncle. She studied under the influential art teacher Nan Youngman, and later at the Chelsea School of Art. As well as her work as an illustrator, Nechamkin also worked as a nurse and the West London Hospital and taught at the Clapton School for Girls. She moved to Ibiza in 1961, lured by the island’s vibrant colours, which she kept painting into her 90s. She died in 2017.
|
Slice of Life
MEET THE DESIGNERS
This time we want your eyes to linger on the label around our Blackcurrant Blighty. Those semi-circle blue swirls and splashes of green owe their existence to none other than Eric Ravilious, who became something of a lockdown hero thanks @Ravilious1942. For the past 16 months, the Twitter account has posted a daily painting by the late British artist, earning him countless new fans, who could do worse than line their kitchen shelves, especially visible ones, with jars of one of our finest flavours, made with 58.8% blackcurrants. We feel sure Eric, an acolyte of the British countryside, who is particularly known for his watercolours of British landscapes, would approve. Like all our label images, the pattern came from the Curwen Press, a now defunct printing press that spent the 1920s commissioning designs by many of Britain’s greatest artists. Ravilious studied under Paul Nash, who designed the black and white backdrop to our London Marmalade label.
For more Ravilious, head to Hastings Contemporary, where some of his images feature in Seaside Modern: Art and Life on the Beach, a fabulous exhibition that runs until 31 October. James Russell, best-known for the blockbuster exhibition ‘Ravilious’ at Dulwich Picture Gallery, curated the show, which dives into the popularity of the British seaside in the first half of the 20th century. Or wait until September, and head to Devizes where the Wiltshire Museum will host the first exhibition dedicated solely to Ravilious’ fascinations with the Downs of Southern England, again curated by James Russell.
|
BLACKCURRANT BLOWOUT
Still hesitant about trying Blackcurrant Blighty because, well, you’re here for the titbits about tents and toasties, while biding your time for the chutney special? You’re in the right place. Our favourite way to enjoy our blackcurrant jam isn’t on a conventional piece of toast for breakfast. No, it’s for lunch or even dessert, eaten in the Continental style with something like Fromage Blanc or Ricotta or a young goat’s cheese. Pairing a fruit compote with a young, lactic cheese used to be standard fare in England, when this type of cheese was common, but fell out of favour. Give it a try, perhaps with Kappacasein’s Ricotta, and let us know what you think @englandpreseves on Twitter or Instagram.
|
Tips for the perfect toastie:
|
We’re back with a specific jam today, for the second issue of THE JAM, Strawberry Days, in celebration of all the jam being scoffed at Wimbledon this past fortnight, which jam connoisseurs might recognise.
]]>
STRAWBERRY SECRETS (FOREVER)
Sky doesn’t quite have strawberry jam running through her veins, but she did grow up with the scent of it in her nostrils: from the Wilkins factory in Tiptree, where she lived in, wait for it….. Strawberry Lane. With the vats bubbling away every June, the whole village would smell of strawberry jam. In Bermondsey, it’s more likely to be our chutneys perfuming the air (more on chutney in another issue), but you should smell our kitchen when we’ve got a batch of Strawberry Days on the go.
Thanks for sharing some of your jam-making tips on Instagram. (We’re @englandpreserves - come and say hi.) We learnt how @tcommt sometimes macerates the fruit, plus adds melted butter “to tame the froth” just like their mother and great grandmother. But @the_pam_the_jam prefers a splash of oil to butter “because it’s absorbed into the jam”, after poaching the berries first if they’re particularly juicy to drive off some of the moisture.
If you’re a jam-making newbie, don’t be shy: give it a go. Consider these pointers as “conceptual guidance” rather than a recipe, and please let us know how you get on.
|
|
TASTEMAKERS: THE RARE TEA LADY
As every British holidaymaker knows, there’s little better than a cream tea: we’re talking scones, jam, cream and a perfect cuppa. But how often is the tea element as good as it could be?
If you ask Henrietta Lovell, AKA the Rare Tea Lady, not often enough. She is on a mission to get everyone to improve the quality of their brew, for the sake of the people who grow tea as much as those who drink it. We’d agree, which is why you can find Henrietta’s recent book, Infused, Adventures in Tea, in the books section of our website. It’s also why we ditched tea bags years ago in favour of tea leaves. (We love everything Henrietta sells but we are also working our way through the selection at Fortnums & Mason, with Keemun a current favourite.)
Henrietta points out that as a nation, we only turned to the type of cheap, industrial tea found tea bags in desperation during the Second World War when it was all we could get. That’s also when we started sloshing so much milk in: it helped to hide the inferior taste. “Before then, people would spend more of their income on tea than alcohol - something people in China still do,” she tells THE JAM.
|
Slowly, slowly, we are rectifying our bad habits. “In 2004, when I started the Rare Tea Company, there was pretty much no loose leaf tea drinking in the UK. Now it’s not so esoteric,” says Henrietta. “There is such a big difference between industrial tea and something crafted by an artisan. It’s these same as with wine or olive oil.”
She’s anxious people shouldn’t get too precious about their cuppa, however. “You don’t have to know the name of some weird variety in Taiwan to be a tea connoisseur. If you like English breakfast, buy English breakfast, but buy the best English Breakfast that you can. There is no snobbery.”
And the reason tea goes so well with something sweet like bread and jam? That’s because the sugar balances the tannins. “It’s like making a cocktail, you try to balance all the different flavour profiles. Russians often add jam to their tea,” says Henrietta.
|
What’s on Henrietta’s tea menu?
|
Jam today, not tomorrow, has been our philosophy ever since 2001, when we first began bubbling up tiny batches of preserves on the hob in our flat in Wood Green. Which is why we’re excited to bring you THE JAM, today, in your inbox and again, not tomorrow, but soon depending on what else June has in store.
We want you to think of this newsletter as the literary version of our jars, packed with interesting snippets about food, fun, fine art, and feeling alive, especially after the hardest year since those early days in north London. We’ll have interviews with food writers and food makers, starting with our neighbours at Bermondsey’s Spa Terminus, home to the very best of everything from coffee and beer to cheese and kimchi - as well as jam, obviously. We’ll be telling you stories about the artists behind the designs on our labels, as well as giving you a glimpse of life behind the scenes in our Factory, which like Andy Warhol’s even has its own dachshund. (More on Monty later.)
]]>
We were fans of Jenny Linford long before she wrote about us in The Missing Ingredient: The Curious Role of Time in Food and Flavour, her brilliant take on what it really takes to reap the best from what we eat. Her book is one of handful of favourites we recently added to our online shop.
What was it about England Preserves that inspired you to include them in your book?
I've long been an admirer of their jams. I've always really like the way they capture the flavours and freshness of the fruit, in a way which so many jams fail to do.
For The Missing Ingredient, I sought out the food producers I really respect and admire in order to get an insight into the care and time they take. So when it came to the section on jam and marmalade-making, Sky and Kai were an obvious choice. It was so interesting to visit them and watch them at work
Are there any jams you make that conjure up your heritage and memories of people who are no longer with you?
I didn't grow up with a family tradition of making jams and marmalades. I do, however, love making marmalade - a very fresh, zingy one - which I give to my friends and family hoping they will enjoy it and think of me when they eat it! A great jam maker I often think of when I eat England Preserves' jams is the late Brian Haw of the Academy of Fruit. He was a lovely man whom I met through my work as a food writer and someone who inspired Sky and Kai through his own wonderful preserving, a real mentor to them. I like that connection.
How important a factor is time when it comes to preserving?
Preserving food is a way of fighting the deteriorating effects of time on food, so it is a big strand in The Missing Ingredient. Time is very complex and overlaps, so you have factors like the seasonality and the ripeness of the fruits which England Preserves choose to make into jams. Some have brief windows. I love the idea that that fruit is then captured in a sugared form which extends its life and allows you a taste of - say - golden, sun-filled apricots - on a dark, cold winter day.
Now it’s warmed up we’re dying to invite some friends over to share some Eaton Mess, oozing with our Strawberry Days. Or perhaps a tea party. Bloom can make her Victoria Sponge, which comes with our Raspberry Deluxe as standard. If we’re short on time but still need a treat, Tim’s Dairy Kefir Coconut yogurt fits the bill, topped with anything you like, and we like Raspberry Deluxe.
We’ve been surviving thanks to Sunday Swimming in the Park with Swans, to the musical accompaniment not of Stephen Sondheim but of horse hooves, geese honks, and feathers flapping on take off and landing. That’s the Serpentine in Hyde Park, our watery salvation, rules permitting, of course, and we all know there have been plenty of those.
Closer to home, gardening has kept us both busy (Kai is majoring on herbs this summer, while Sky’s focus remains floral) while gin sours have kept us lubricated, thanks to a well timed nudge from Richard Godwin, whose excellent The Spirits newsletter was a weekly staple during lockdown. We’ve planted some late fruiting raspberries, which are great and easy to jam. Recipe tips to follow.
When Sky told her father she was setting up a business making jam, he popped a parcel in the post with a £50 cheque and photocopies of the preserve sections of her grandmother’s editions of Larouse Gastronomique, Mrs Beaton, and Eliza Acton. One day, perhaps, we’ll add our own to the jam-making canon. We’d love to hear how *you* make yours.
Email, tweet or Insta us some recipes and you could find yourself jammed into the very next edition.
Happy jamming.
Sky and Kai
We’re excited to be finally making all of our products available to buy in one place. If you have found your way here, you may have tried one or two of our products that you have bought from your local deli. But what you won’t know unless you have come to visit us at Spa Terminus, is that throughout the year we make many special small batches that we are unable to offer through the usual lines of distribution. Now, however, everyone will be able to get their hands on them. English mustard that has a cult following. Our single varietals sourced from the national fruit collection at Brogdale. There will be regular little gems popping up for you to look out for, so sign up to our newsletter in order not to miss them.
We look forward to sharing our continued celebration of the harvests with you all.
]]>When I think about which products we like to make most, my head goes in different directions. Sometimes I am inspired by the incoming season, the next heritage variety, the brightest jewel like colour in the jar.
At other times I am inspired by the craft, making products that stand out for their excellence. Even though I truly believe we out jam other jams, we still make tweaks. Adjustments that develop the craft of our making and always improves the product for the consumer.
Then of course I love to make for those I love. So I make raspberry jam because it’s the only jam my niece and nephew will eat. I bring home the freshest strawberry jam to watch my daughter dip around the pieces of fruit for the jelly and then pass it to her brother who pulls out the whole strawberries to drop into his yoghurt for breakfast.
Then there are some months my favourite thing to make is simply the one that sells the most because that’s the one that makes all the other making possible.
]]>Recently I had the opportunity to travel to San Francisco, with the international team from Neal’s Yard Dairy and two of their cheese makers. Sarah Hennessey from Durrus Cheese in Ireland and Tom Calver from Westcombe Dairy. We have a long history of supplying NYD, 15 years, and are exploring the potential reach of our products in the US.
It was an intense week of meeting potential customers, presenting the products of England Preserves.
One experience stood out, in it’s uniqueness, participating in The CheeseMonger Invitational. To describe in simple terms it is a two day competition of US cheese mongers. Prior to the event, the host and founder, Adam Moskowitz, had been much referred and in my minds eye was built into a notorious compare. I was unsure of what to expect from the CMI, except, maybe, a party.
However I ended up being really charmed and inspired. At the core of the CMI is a desire to create and nurture a community and culture within the cheese monger world. Imbuing each monger with a sense of dignity and satisfaction.
Having worked my adult life in some form of food retail, I recognise a hunger and desire for this stimulation of culture on this side of the Atlantic. Despite the food retail sector being a large employer in the UK, it is rarely seen as a career choice. Being English, I assume, this to be caught up in our class system and that although social mobility moves at a snails pace, realistic aspirations are also devalued and seen as inferior. AM seems aware of the seismic task, saying, ‘I want to change lives and inspire people’.
He also realises that an improvement in the satisfaction of the mongers improves the supply chain for everyone, including himself as the distributer. Recently setting up the Barnyard Collective, based at his warehouse in NYC, it is a cheese education centre for cheese professionals. It is a building of structural support within an industry, benefiting everyone.
For all of the brash bravado of the CMI, AM is lyrically eloquent and concise about his mission. After my return home and reading some of his story on line, he has a background in the arts and still values a time of personal development spent in the poetry cafes of NYC. Language is important to AM and he uses it to lead, ‘curriculum and lexicon, empowering people with words’.
This resonates with us all at England Preserves. We have always seen and felt the company to be imbued with a strong cultural identity that we harness language to connect to people. Because without cultural appreciation and identification, what do we have, but apathy? Leaving the final words with AM, ‘the more we are confortable with language, the more our civilization will grow’.
]]>As the gloom of January and February drag on, we have been saved by the contrasting nature of the season’s fruit. As we endeavour to live fully, though the sky is grey and we can’t leave home without our gloves. Wrapping children to stay warm on the cold cycle ride to school, somehow it is as though nature knows that we are going to need a little help. As our bodies ache for the warmth of the sun there is the arrival of the blood orange and forced rhubarb that remind us that without the dark and the cold, we wouldn’t have such splendour. The rhubarb grown in the dark creaking sheds of the Yorkshire Triangle and harvested by candlelight. The blood orange that needs the coolness of the nights in the microclimate that is created on the slopes of mount Etna to develop the deep redness within their flesh.
And perhaps it is just me, but these flashes of bright glory from nature are the truest antidepressants. I am awed by the wonder of nature and of course we choose to envelope ourselves within it and celebrate it. Our good fortune means that we are neighbours of the importers Punterella, taking their name from the Italian leafy vegetable, whom source the finest examples of both harvests. So we have had a few heady weeks, making small seasonal batch preserves of both fruits.
With a lightness of touch and care of process both fruits are transformed in a way that hightens and emphasises their own natural attributes. The Rhubarb becomes a preserve that looks like it could have been dreamed up by a child dreaming of jarred candy floss, so intense is it’s colour. The Blood Oranges combined with Campari which frankly could be mistaken for a summer holiday in a jar. And so our yearnings of comfort are sated for now until the tulips narcissi arrive.
]]>This is the time of year when most of us eat quince cheese.
]]>This is the time of year when most of us eat quince cheese, or paste as some call it. At England Preserves, we are hard at work, making sure we can meet all the festive demand in December. Journalist Susie Mesure came to visit us and wrote up what she saw:
It’s only October but it already smells like Christmas inside the magical railway arch that is home to England Preserves. Fruit cheese production is in full swing, ahead of the festive season, and the last of the quinces are bubbling away with some sugar and lemon juice in the giant silver vats in the kitchen at the back. I watch the alchemy underway as the ungainly green fruits metamorphose into a luscious pink lava. A few hours later, and the juices drip clear through the “little horse”, a sieve so named for its shape. Like a giant red tongue, the paste oozes out of the pan into tins and is left to cool before being wrapped in wax paper, ready for those discerning enough to serve quince cheese alongside their Christmas cheeses.
The sweet-savoury combination is very in vogue; the sharp, salty tang of a Stilton works particularly well. Or you can slice it and serve it as a petit-fours, like some of the top restaurants. Either way, Sky and Kai’s supplies won’t last long, especially as quinces were in short supply this year after a poor growing season. England Preserves is particular about English quinces, which are superior to their Continental cousins because they aren’t irrigated, so have a firmer texture and are more aromatic. Find this year’s quince cheeses at Neal’s Yard Dairy.
]]>England Preserves is delighted to have some beautiful gift packaging available to order alongside our preserves. The gift packaging will be dispatched flat so that it can be filled with your, or your customers choice of preserves. The assembly is intuitive and takes no more than a few seconds.
The packaging features our new pattern, again sourced from The Curwen Press and is designed by the artist Margaret Calkin James (1895 - 1985) a prolific artist and designer and the first woman to open a gallery. You will start to see this pattern on our seasonal specials for retail and food service products.
We think it is beautiful and hope you do too. If you are interested in having the gift packaging as part of your range, please contact jonny@englandpreserves.co.uk
I came accross this photograph in the back of an old diary and on the cusp of launching our new website it seemed like an appropriate time to look back to 2001 with a bit of bleary eyed nostalgia. This was literally the beginning for England Preserves. Tiny batches made on a domestic stove in our flat in Wood Green. Hand written labels and early mornings at the farmers' market.
Although still a small business, we have come a very long way and when I see this photograph perhaps it was Kai's literal wide eyed enthusiasm that kept us going. I remember, in 2001, leaving my job to begin to build stocks to attend our first market. The decision must have been taken on a whim because I remember my dad calling for a chat. "How's work", he asked. "oh I've given that up", I replied, "Kai and I are starting our own business, selling jam". Not sure that he was totally convinced a few days later I receieved a parcel containing a cheque for £50 and photocopies of the preserve sections of my grandmother\'s editions of Larouse Gastronomique, Mrs Beaton and Eliza Acton. So we had a start up fund and a reference resource.
We attended our first Farmers' Market in Ealing with a stall improvised from our dining table and a bed sheet. It was an experience not unlike falling inlove. The appreciation that almost bubbled over from the customers. The hard working, dedication of the farmers. Being surrounded by amazing produce. It was an inspiring place to begin a business.
From that begining, Kai and I have never rested on our laurels. Confident that we were making the best preserves available, we have constantly worked to improve our recipes with what can only be described as an obsessive zeal. At the begining they could have been quite dramatic changes. As we have perfected our craft the changes become more subtle. A tweeking of the texture. A slight adjustment to sugar fruit ration for a certain variety of fruit. Always aiming to create the perfect recipe that lets the fruit shine through and is a heady indulgent delight at the breakfast table.
]]>