I've never been much of a cook. But, even before we bought Content. I always imagined myself in a kitchen. I love the idea of wearing a ruffle pipped apron and effortlessly flitting from fridge, to stove. Unfortunately, for John, I wasn't dreaming of producing elaborate steak dinners, kept warm for his grand entrance at the end of a hard day. Rather, I had my mind set on making pretty cakes, dozens of perfectly golden cookies and, for some strange reason, canning and jarring.
When we lived in our Hoboken apartment, John and I would take classes at the Lower East Side Whole Foods in Manhattan. One of the classes that we took was 'Preserving the Harvest' where we learned how to pickle, mostly, but also learned the basics of canning.
In class we learned to chop the vegetables, just so, produce a brine, drink the wine pairing, silently wonder where I could purchase our teacher's hippie caftan, drink the wine pairing, and then snap back to reality just in time to hear, "So, with those basic precautions, you prevent Botulism."
Assuming I'd work out the food poisoning-kinks when the time came, I eagerly added a canning stock pot to our wedding registry, received one at my shower and promptly put it in storage where it's remained for the last 3 years.
But, as surprises tend to come-round here at Content., for whatever reason, this was the year our fig tree decided to catch up to the renovation.