A little later that promised, perhaps, but this is what our finished apple jelly looks like.

The colour depends on both the variety of apple used and the length of time you boil the mixture. As we scrumped our apples from a tree down by the river we have no idea what they are, so can’t say at this stage whether the caramel colour we’ve ended up with is down to the variety or the way it was made, but we were careful not to keep the boil rolling after it had reached the required 105 degrees.

Our recipe made 15 pots like this.

We finally got time to make jelly with the apples this weekend. They were the ones we gathered two weeks back, from the tree we’d found down by the river when we were looking for elder flowers. Since then they’d been sitting in the outhouse, and despite the fact it’s much hotter in there than the rest of the house in the summer they’d kept fairly well. A few brown spots here and there on the skins, and a couple clearly off, but the rest were good to use.

Apple jelly differs from apple jam in the same way that any two jams and jellies differ: jellies are made using the juice of the fruit, while jams use pieces of the fruit themselves, usually pulped. As such, hard fruits like apples make particularly good jellies.

You extract their juices by boiling them up, then straining them through muslin, which is why making jellies requires a bit of forward planning, and a little bit of working time on two consecutive days.

The following recipe will make around 15 small pots.

Ingredients
2.7kg (6lb) apples
1.5 litre (3 pints) water
2kg (4.4lb) sugar (preferably preserving sugar)
Juice of half a lemon
25g of butter

Equipment needed
Very large, heavy-bottomed pan
Wooden spoon
Measuring jug
Scales
Muslin strainer
Muslin stand
Large bowl capable of holding 2 litres
Tray
Small plate
Thermometer (optional)

Method
Wash and quarter your apples. There is no need to peel them or remove the pips or stalks, as these and the skins will be caught when you strain the juice out of your fruit.

Put them into your large pan and add the water, then cook over a moderate heat until the apples are pulpy. You should be able to squash them very easily against the side of the pan using your wooden spoon.

Once they are mushy like this, set up your muslin so that it is supported over a large bowl, which itself should be stood on a tray to catch any overspill. Spoon your pulpy apples and water in to the muslin and leave them to dip overnight. Clean your pan and spoon thoroughly.

By morning, you should have around 2 litres (4.2 pints) of apple juice in your bowl. If it has stopped dripping, don’t be tempted to squeeze out any more, or you will make your jelly cloudy. Measure out the liquid, and add 1kg (2.2lb) of sugar for every litre (2.1 pints) of liquid. Return this to the pan and bring it slowly to the boil, stirring all the time until the sugar has dissolved.

When it has completely dissolved into the liquid, bring the mixture it to a rapid boil for 10 minutes, then add the lemon juice and butter to dissipate the scum that will form on top (you can skim off any that remains using a large flat spoon).

Boil for a further five minutes after adding the lemon and butter, then test for setting. Do this by spooning a little onto a cold plate. Allow it to cool for a few seconds, then push it across the plate with a finger or the end of a wooden spoon it. If it rucks up like jelly, you’re ready to pour it into jars. If you have a thermometer, you can double-check that it is ready by making sure that your mixture has reached st least 105 degrees Celsius.

They’re sealed and capped now, and just need their labels sticking on, which we’ll do tonight. We’ll post a photo of the results tomorrow.

Broad beans

We had our first proper harvest at the weekend. Three types of beans: French, runner and broad. Not a huge amount of any variety, but enough to cook ourselves a three-bean risotto for dinner.

Our totals for each crop, which have matured quickly in the last week, were:

When the broad beans had been shelled, the French beans sliced and the runner beans stripped, this was perfect for a two-person meal, which we’ll call:

Nik and Rich’s three-bean risotto

Ingredients
220g of beans of your choice
250g of risotto rice
1 glass white wine
1 litre vegetable stock
1 red onion
Quarter of a lemon
Grated parmesan or other hard Italian cheese
1 tablespoon of olive oil

Method
Prepare your beans as appropriate, slicing any that are eaten in their pods (such as French and runner) and shelling any that are eaten as seeds (such as broad beans). Blanch these by throwing them into a pan of boiling water for three minutes, then drain into a colander, and put to one side.

Mix up a litre of vegetable stock and put to one side, then heat a tablespoon of olive oil or other cooking oil in a heavy-bottomed pan. Use this to soften a finely-diced red onion. You’re not looking to brown it here - just to make it soft. Keep it moving so that you don’t burn it, and once it has softened pour in 250g of arborio or caranoli risotto rice and stir, watching carefully for the point at which its outer husk starts to go slightly translucent. Once it does, pour in a glass of white wine and keep stirring until the wine has evaporated.

Now add your stock, one ladleful at a time, stirring all the time. Only add your next ladle once the current one has been soaked up by the rice. Expect to spend around 20 minutes stirring to absorb all of the stock; the longer you stir, the more you disrupt the husks of the rice, and the more gloopy your finished risotto will be.

Once all of the stock has been used, test the rice to ensure it is cooked (there should be no crunch when you bite into it). If it is not ready, add some more stock and continue stirring until it is done. If it is ready, stir in your blanched beans and a good measure of grated parmesan. Squeeze in the juice of a quarter of a lemon to give it a little bite.

Serve, eat and enjoy with crusty bread or a green home-grown salad.

Nik and Rich’s three-bean risotto

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risotto, recipe, cooking

On Monday I picked the last of the leeks, bringing the total up to 5.01kg. Only trouble is, that’s far too much of any single vegetable to eat before it starts to go off, so some kind of preservation was in order.

Blanching was called for.

In theory, it’s very easy. You dig out your two largest pans and half-fill one with water. Put this on the stove to boil while you clean and chop your veg, and then get ready for some speedy action.

The key to successful blanching is to have everything ready in advance so that you can create a kind of one-person production line. You throw the first batch of vegetables into the pan and return it to the boil for two minutes, then you strain the water through a sieve into the second pan. Put this back on the heat to get up to boiling point again as you empty the sieve of vegetables into a bowl of freezing cold water to stop them cooking any further.

Make sure they’re properly cold, strain them from the bowl (you’ll need to replace this cold water anyhow as it will now be tepid), bag them, tie the tops and throw them in the freezer.

Now repeat the process with the next batch of veg. It’s a tiring, messy process, and by the end of the evening - it took almost two and a half hours - the kitchen floor was wet with spilled water and the worktops dripping where I’d been doing the bagging. I had leeks on my jeans and t-shirt, and my socks were sopping.

Still, with ten bags of freshly chopped leek now in the freezer they’re perfectly portioned out for two-person serving.

I’ll certainly do it again next year, but I don’t relish the thought.

Chilis not only taste great - when used appropriately and in moderation - they look good, too. Growing as colourful fruits on small bushes, they make an attractive addition to a windowsill or conservatory or, if you have a suitably sunny spot outside, a pot in the garden or greenhouse.

They’re also the perfect crop for the self-sufficientist without a garden of their own, as they take up very little space, and there are many handy ways of sowing and growing your seeds.

Our two favourites are seed matches, and the Pocket Garden. The seed matches (above) were bought back from Wahaca by a friend. Wahaca is a London restaurant specialising in Mexican market eating. They’re free to pick up at the end of your meal, and are a neat alternative to calling cards.

Although we’ve seen this idea used before for tomato seeds, it’s the first time we’ve come across it for spices, and it’s brilliantly simple. You simply poke the stick into a pot of fresh compost, water it and wait for your plant to grow. The black line half way up the stick marks the depth to which you should take it for perfect germination.

However, this year we’re growing our chilis using a Pocket Garden (below), which is the simplest method ever for getting your herbs and spices under way.

Pocket Gardens are foiled plastic packets about the size of the front pocket of a pair of jeans, ready-filled with rich soil and fertiliser. Tear open the top and remove a little of the soil, then shake in the seeds that you’ll find inside. Replace the soil and put it in a sunny spot on a windowsill, keeping it damp but not waterlogged.

In a couple of weeks you’ll get your first shoots, which you can then thin out, moving the weaker ones into pots of their own if you want to keep them going, and giving those that remain space to breathe. Let them continue growing until they reach maturity and start producing fruit.

Obviously with chilis the usual precautions about washing your hands whenever you’ve handled the fruit applies, and all the moreso when you’ve been touching their seeds. Whatever you do, don’t get them near your eyes.

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garden, gardening, self+sufficiency, self-sufficiency, vegetables, chili