Homemade Organic Strawberry Jam
I love jam. Like I reeeeeally like jam. And strawberry, well, you just can’t beat it. I try to vary it up, but I always come back. I also have a special way of enjoying it. A toasted slice of dark gluten-free sourdough bread with three layers. The first is a salted ghee, smoothed perfectly over its face, followed by a smear of plain goat chevre, like a really good one by La Clare, and then plop that berry jam on top for the finishing spread. This tiniest little bit of heaven enters your mouth, and you just die. It pairs beautifully with an afternoon tea.
Sourcing jams from small independent grocers or freshly made batches from farmers’ markets is the ideal route here in the States, but I have to say the best jams I’ve experienced are from France.
The French do jam right. Whenever I’m there, I always find local jams to keep in my fridge for my toast treat. One of my most precious jam memories was when I was roadtripping along the western coastline. We had stopped by chance in a quaint holiday town called Trouville, and as I tend to do, I looked up the farmers’ market schedule. There was one just on the main road, a little walk from our hotel, so we strolled over and discovered the most delightful array of vibrant produce-covered booths. Locals were swarming about, selecting from the fresh fish and seafood that clearly had been caught straight from the shoreline sitting adjacent to the market. The aroma of garlic and rice and paprika wafted through the air and guided me to the largest cast-iron skillet I’d ever seen in my life, where the jolliest frenchman was skillfully scraping and turning a mountain of fresh paella. It was my first introduction to it, and I don’t think any other rendition has been able to beat it to this day. At the end of the market row was a table that instantly caught my eye. It was set apart, covered in a darling homemade tablecloth with a red and white paisley-like pattern. So perfectly cozy. A man sat behind it and couldn’t have looked more quintessentially french. Cheerful and kind he handed me a sample of his jam with a big grin. I was already in love with the classic jam jars and lids, but when I tasted it, my eyes involuntarily closed, and I may have let out a bit of a moan. It was diiiivine. You could taste the berry. The depth of strawberriness, the texture of the seed, the natural layers of tang and sweetness, and a fragrance that promised it came from a nutrient-dense and ripe batch of berries. I saved that jar and had it for many years on my mantle as a reminder of that moment. The high that a perfectly curated food can bring, a time of joy, a purity of taste. It all comes down to the cultivation of the berry and then the simplicity of the production. The less you do with good food, the better it will taste, in my opinion. It should be heavenly at the beginning, you’re only highlighting what is already present. And yes, I have many more stories from this adventure, so I highly recommend the sweet seaside town of Trouville and its neighbor Deauville, if you find yourself on the western side of France. Go get yourself a jar of that jam.
Until you go, try out my rendition of a pure strawberry jam, in honor of my french market inspiration. I can promise you will taste the berry.
