Habanero Strawberry Jam

My week with the kids. Belle Isle Sunday. The whole east side at the park. Worked four shifts this week at the plant. The line ran clean.

Pop's in the recliner. Tigers on. Sugar in range this week. Sunday at Mama's. She made greens with hambone the way she has since 1985.

Ribs on the smoker. St. Louis cut. Dry rub developed in 2022. Six hours. The block smelled like dinner.

Aiden's 10. The youth basketball league. I'm coaching. He's the best player on the team and he knows it. Zaria's 7. Helps me cook on a step stool. Has opinions about the seasoning.

I sat on the back porch with a beer and looked at the smoker and thought about nothing for an hour.

Mama left me a voicemail Wednesday. She said, "DeShawn. Don't forget Sunday." I had not forgotten Sunday. I have not forgotten Sunday in twenty years. The reminder is the love. I called her back.

Plant ran clean this week. The line ran. The body held. The paycheck is the paycheck.

A song came on the radio Tuesday — old Stevie Wonder — and I had to sit in the truck for the rest of it before I went into the store. Some songs do that. Detroit is a city of songs that do that.

A reader wrote in about the smothered pork chops. Said her late husband loved them. I wrote back. I told her about Pop. We exchanged three emails. She's in Saginaw. She's coming to the city in the spring.

Filled the propane tank Wednesday. The smoker is the only appliance I baby. Wiped it down. Checked the gaskets. Checked the temperature gauge. The smoker is mine the way Pop's torque wrench was his.

Drove past Jefferson North on Tuesday. The plant is still the plant. The trucks coming out. I waved at the gate guard out of habit. He waved back even though he didn't know me. The plant is its own neighborhood.

Watched the Tigers Sunday afternoon. Lost in extras. Detroit reflex. I yelled at the TV the way Pop used to yell at the TV. The TV did not respond. The bullpen will probably not respond either.

The drive home Friday was the long way around. I took Outer Drive past the lake. The water was still. I do not always notice the water. I noticed Friday.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book about the auto industry. Half memoir, half history. Made me think about Pop and the line and the fragile contract that built the middle of this country. I underlined the parts that hit.

Mr. Williams across the street had a heart scare. He is okay. We are all watching each other now. I took him a plate of greens and chicken Wednesday. He said, "DeShawn. You're a good neighbor." I said, "We're even, Mr. Williams. You shoveled my walk in 2024." He laughed.

A neighbor down the street gave me a tomato plant Saturday. He grows them on his porch. Said he had extra. I put it next to the back step where it gets the afternoon sun. Detroit gardens are improvised victories.

The Lions on TV Sunday. Lost on a missed field goal. Detroit. The neighborhood collectively groaned at the same moment. You could hear it through the windows.

Truck needed an oil change Saturday. Did it myself in the driveway. Took an hour. The neighbor across the street gave me a thumbs-up from his porch. I gave him one back. Detroit men do not waste words on car maintenance.

Stopped at Eastern Market Saturday. Got chicken thighs, bacon, a watermelon, and a pound of greens that I did not need but bought anyway. The vendors know me by name now. Three of them asked about the family.

The ribs were already six hours in when Zaria climbed up on her step stool and started asking questions about what else we could put on them — she always has opinions, and that day she wanted something sweeter and hotter at the same time, which honestly is not a bad instinct for a seven-year-old. This habanero strawberry jam came out of that conversation: something we could cook together while the smoker did its work, something with real heat and real sweetness that holds up next to a St. Louis cut. She stirred. She tasted. She nodded once like a professional. That’s as high as the praise gets in this kitchen, and I’ll take it.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 32 (two half-pint jars)

Ingredients

2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and finely chopped
2 habanero peppers, seeded and minced (leave seeds in for more heat)
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon liquid pectin (optional, for a firmer set)

Instructions

Prep the peppers. Wearing gloves, seed and mince the habaneros. If you want a milder jam, rinse the minced pepper under cold water. Set aside.
Combine and macerate. In a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine strawberries, habanero, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, apple cider vinegar, and salt. Stir well and let sit for 10 minutes until the sugar begins to dissolve and the berries release their juice.
Cook the jam. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Once boiling, reduce heat to medium and cook for 20—25 minutes, stirring often, until the jam thickens and a spoonful dropped on a cold plate wrinkles when pushed with your finger.
Add pectin if using. If you prefer a firmer set, stir in liquid pectin during the last 2 minutes of cooking. Stir vigorously and return to a full boil for 1 minute, then remove from heat.
Jar and cool. Carefully ladle the hot jam into clean half-pint mason jars, leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Wipe rims clean, seal with lids, and let cool completely at room temperature. Refrigerate once cooled. Use within 3 weeks, or process in a water bath for shelf-stable storage.
Serve. Use as a glaze brushed over ribs or chicken in the final 15 minutes of cooking, spread on biscuits, or stirred into a vinaigrette. The heat blooms after a minute — start slow.

Nutrition (per serving)

Habanero Strawberry Jam — The Heat Zaria Approved