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Tomato Lemon Marmalade -- From Meg's Garden, Put Up for Winter

Ice in the water troughs every morning. Break it, refill, repeat. Cattle work this week. Patrick rode in the truck. He pointed out two heifers I had not noticed. He sees things I do not. The work is shared.

Patrick on the porch in the afternoon. Coffee in the good cup. The cottonwoods.

Elk chili in the dutch oven. Tomatoes from Meg's garden — Mom's old garden. Dried chiles. Non-alcoholic beer. Six hours low. Same recipe as always.

The sky was the sky. It held everything.

Hauled three bull calves to the auction yard Wednesday. Got a fair price. Came home. Counted the cash. Put it in the ranch account.

Drove to Billings for parts Friday. Stopped at the cemetery on the way home. Stood for ten minutes. Came home.

Drove the back fence line Saturday. Two posts down from elk. Replaced them in the morning. The fence held the rest of the week.

Truck started cold Tuesday. Twelve below. Battery is the original. I will replace it before next winter. I always say I will replace it before next winter. I never have.

Mended the chute hinge Wednesday. Welder was finicky. Got it on the third try. Patrick used to do this. I do it now.

Mr. Whelan from down the road came over Saturday with a story about a horse he sold in 1979. The story took an hour. I listened. He needed someone to tell it to.

Storm came through Friday night. Thunder. The dog hid under the bed. The kids slept through it. The cattle bunched up by the windbreak. Standard.

Hank, the dog, herded the chickens by accident. He apologized in the way dogs apologize — eyes down, tail low. The chickens were unimpressed.

Wrote a blog post Friday night. The first one in two months. About making chili in a snowstorm. Short. Practical. Posted it. Forgot about it.

Worked on the truck Saturday afternoon. Plugs and wires. Two hours. Hands black with grease. Came in. Showered. Ate.

Took a walk to the river before supper Tuesday. The cottonwoods were silver. The water was running. I did not think much. I just walked.

Listened to the cattle market report on AM radio while I worked the shop. Beef is up. Feed is up. The math is the math.

The barn cats are doing their job. Down to one mouse this week, in the feed shed. The cats brought it to the porch as proof. They are professionals.

A neighbor's heifer was choking on a corn cob. I drove over with my emergency kit. Cleared the cob with a length of garden hose. The heifer recovered. The neighbor brought a pie the next day.

The Musselshell was clear Sunday. Could see trout in the deeper pools. Did not fish. Just watched.

The Tuesday Roundup AA meeting was eleven this week — three new guys from a referral. The room was full. The coffee was strong.

The wood pile is half what it was at Thanksgiving. I will split another cord on Saturday. The cord will be ready by next winter. The wood always is.

Three days of horses this week. The work is meditative. The horses know. The owners pay. The cycle holds.

A reader emailed about the elk chili recipe. Asked what beer to use if non-alcoholic was not available. I wrote back: any beer is wrong if you don't drink. Use stock.

The tomatoes I used in the chili were the last of what Meg planted in what used to be Mom’s garden — I used the big ones for the dutch oven, but there were smaller ones left over, starting to go soft. I don’t let garden tomatoes go to waste. This marmalade is what I do with the rest: cook them down slow with lemon, put them up in jars, and let them sit on the shelf until February or March when you need to remember what summer tasted like. It’s not chili, but it comes from the same place.

Tomato Lemon Marmalade

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 55 min | Total Time: 1 hr 20 min | Servings: Makes about 5 half-pint jars (approx. 80 tablespoon-sized servings)

Ingredients

  • 3 lbs ripe roma or paste tomatoes, peeled, cored, and roughly chopped
  • 2 lemons, zested and juiced (about 1/4 cup juice)
  • 2 1/2 cups granulated sugar
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
  • 1 packet (1.75 oz) powdered pectin

Instructions

  1. Prepare the tomatoes. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Score the bottom of each tomato with an X, blanch for 30 seconds, then transfer to an ice bath. Peel, core, and roughly chop. You should have about 4 cups of chopped tomato with juice.
  2. Zest and juice the lemons. Using a fine grater or microplane, zest both lemons before juicing. Set zest and juice aside separately.
  3. Cook the base. Combine the chopped tomatoes and their juice in a wide, heavy-bottomed saucepan or dutch oven over medium heat. Add the lemon zest, lemon juice, salt, and red pepper flakes if using. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer.
  4. Add pectin. Whisk the powdered pectin into the tomato mixture until fully dissolved, about 2 minutes. Raise the heat to medium-high and bring to a full rolling boil, stirring frequently.
  5. Add sugar and boil. Add the sugar all at once and stir until dissolved. Return to a full rolling boil that cannot be stirred down. Boil hard for exactly 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and skim any foam from the surface.
  6. Test the set. Place a small spoonful on a chilled plate. Let sit 1 minute, then push with your finger — it should wrinkle and hold its shape. If it runs, return to a boil for another minute and test again.
  7. Jar the marmalade. Ladle the hot marmalade into sterilized half-pint jars, leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Wipe the rims clean with a damp cloth, seal with lids and bands finger-tight.
  8. Process if canning. Process jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Remove and let cool undisturbed on a towel for 12 hours. Check seals before storing. Properly sealed jars keep in a cool, dark place for up to 1 year. Refrigerate after opening.

Nutrition (per serving, approx. 1 tablespoon)

Calories: 32 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 18mg

Ryan Gallagher
About the cook who shared this
Ryan Gallagher
Week 508 of Ryan’s 30-year story · Billings, Montana
Ryan is a thirty-one-year-old Army veteran and ranch hand in Billings, Montana, who cooks over open fire because microwaves feel dishonest and because the quiet of a campfire is the only therapy that works for him consistently. He hunts his own elk, catches his own trout, and makes a camp stew that tastes like the mountains smell. He doesn't talk much. But his food says everything.

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