Cranky jelly

I don't make a lot of jam or jelly.

It's not that I don't enjoy a PB&J sandwich or scones and raspberry jam every now and again.

I'm not worried that the jelly won't set or the lids won't seal or—God forbid—both.

No, it's because my parents make (more than) enough jam and jelly to keep themselves, friends, family, all of their Berry Street* neighbours and anyone else fortunate enough to cross their path well stocked.

J. & W. are partial to berry preserves. Blackberry jamelly
is the house specialty, with strawberry, raspberry and rueberry (raspberry/blueberry) close behind. They also dabble in peach and plum and, less often, grape and pear. Orange marmalade came and went a few years back, after the jars languished on the shelf too long. Occasionally, there's a funny one called Heavenly Jam that makes an appearance, but I just can't get on board with any jam that has the nerve to call itself heavenly (in caps, no less).

I don't think it's a coincidence that my favourite is one of the rarer Berry Street Jam & Jelly Co. preserves.

I'd always assumed it was a fruit sourcing issue. On the farm in Alberta, we had a crab apple tree right in the yard, but cranky apples are harder to come by here. Or so I thought, until J. delivered a box of the raw goods to me less than a week after I'd casually asked where to find some.

Now I'm convinced I'm just the only one who likes crab apple jelly.

Ah well, more for me.

Recipe: There's no recipe to be had here today. If you too have a hankering for cranky jelly: (a) ask nicely; or (b) buy your own Certo and follow the directions inside.

Full disclosure:
This jelly is actually 1/3 crab apple, 2/3 Granny Smith simply because I didn't have enough crab apples.

* I know!