Tomato Jam

Some combinations defy logic and good sense. Avocado ice cream. Quiet children. Easy puzzles. Shadeless windows. Smooth transitions. Lowfat cheese. Small problems. Four season porches in the upper Midwest. My husband and me (almost 40 years of opposites attracting).

Recently, I stumbled upon another interesting combination, tomato jam.  I vaguely remember some such jam recipe many, many years ago in an attempt to tame a bumper crop of tomatoes. Blame it on a poor recipe or an unrefined palate, the jam never made it to the table. Fast forward thirty plus years and I am back at the stove watching a burbling mass of tomatoes, onions, sugar and ginger work its way into a jammy concoction. I am skeptical and intrigued as I taste and retaste. To be sure, this is not your mother's toast topper. The crimson jam's savory sweetness is best reserved for its true destination, meat. Lamb, to be precise.

I am on a determined quest to conquer the world of lamb, despite no background whatsoever with the bleating little hoofers. My protein needs as a child were provided by our farmstead homies, chicken, beef, pork and an occasional pheasant. Not a lamb in the herd. It wasn't until I ordered lamb chops at a restaurant that I discovered there was nothing to fear from the sheep. In fact, the taste was delightful and I needed more.

Thanks to the lamb procurement adventures of my brother-in-law, I currently have a freezer filled with lamb options. Marinated lamb chops, braised lamb shanks and Moroccan lamb stew deliciously warmed our bellies this winter. The lamb spareribs were tested and will not make another appearance on our table. The leg of lamb surprised us with less flavor than expected and challenged me to look for a flavor punch.

Enter, tomato jam. And an adventurous husband. We sliced the leg of lamb leftovers and layered them on homemade focaccia bread with a generous helping of the peppery sweet jam. Munch. Taste. Determine flavor profile. Nibble. Another bite. More jam. Add a little cooling yogurt sauce. Taste again. One more bite. Heads nodding. Mmm, leg of lamb sandwiches with tomato jam and yogurt sauce. Add it to the recipe repertoire.

And here is the best part. Old people can try new things. And like them. We may look longingly at the pasture across the fence and wonder if that is where we should be spending our time. But deep down inside we know that we still want to nibble on a little tomato jam once in awhile.

Keep your gates open. You never know which herd is going to show up.

Falling Star

One joy of living on the prairie is space. As much as I enjoy trees, mountains, oceans and lakes, my heart always settles when I am back on a grass studded landscape and my eyes can relax into a sea of subtlety. It is a place where shades of green, brown and gold are punctuated by a wildflower or two. It is a place that can be much maligned or valiantly revered. It is a place that sets forth no pretense of being flashy or instantly gratifying. Its harshness rasps off the unsubstantial and its gentleness nurtures the delicate. It is, most assuredly, not a terrain for the faint of heart.

Finding treasures on the plains is about contrast. Scanning a calm night sky can result in a gasp inducing falling star. Tromping through knee-high vegetation can stir up a circus of jumping grasshoppers. Listening to silence is quickly accompanied by a meadowlark's lilting ditty. Abandoned country roads are traversed by pickup trucks bobbing along with a determined purposefulness.

Perhaps one lesson of the prairie is learning to appreciate the mundane. Despite a steady stream of Facebook posts and Twitter feeds to the contrary, I suspect many of us live relatively flatline lives. We do laundry, dust furniture, go to work, sit in the dentist's chair, watch television, unload the dishwasher, mop up spills and make soup. Our eyes scan another ordinary day with a sigh. We wonder if a life of duty will make us dull. We long for a falling star.

It is time to embrace our inner prairie. Do not be afraid to rejoice in the balm of the ordinary. Celebrate duty as an opportunity to serve and obey. Smile when a bird sings. Fling open the curtains to peek at what will paint the sky today. Send a real birthday card and sign it in cursive. Drink two cups of coffee in a row. Skip a week of dusting, or two, or three. Eat cheese curls in the car. Play the piano. Sew on a button. Water a plant. Read casserole recipes. Buy a new broom. Pray.

Give the prairie a chance to send down deep roots and do what needs to be done. And, hey, if a falling star comes your way, stop and enjoy a moment even Pinterest cannot duplicate.