Another year to heaven as of yesterday. Two friends gave me a beautiful copper pot the size of Kentucky.
They said it is for making jam. Have never made jam. Don't know the first thing about jam except it's sticky.
If making jam is like making consommé however, I'll be happy to start. Here's today's batch getting going:
It's really like giving a chicken a really good bath. Here by the way is a recipe for a good version by Jamie O. He says his mother's secret ingredient is a rasher of bacon. Hm. I've got meat in mine, down at the bottom where you can't see it - about a kilo of stewing beef. But I would say my secret ingredient is that I stuff the chicken with onion or leek - really stuff the hell out of it. I'd shove a carrot in there too if I could.
Finally, bravo to Robert McCrum in yesterday's Observer deploring "Ikea culture" fiction. I get so sick of hearing/feeling/breathing the idea that everything has to make money, that there is no other validity. Ironic, however, isn't it, that the thing Ikea is arguably best at is... bookshelves.