Outsiders are often surprised to learn that beyond fishing and hunting, many Alaskans grow, forage, can, dehydrate, ferment and freeze many different foods to stock their pantries before the snow flies. But we do and I dare say it isn't because it's trendy or even that it can save our lives in the winter. There's another, deeper reason: It ties us to our family roots, times spent with our loved ones, the traditions of our past, and we honor the memories of our families by sharing their wisdom with the newest generations.
One of my favorite things to put up in my pantry is a good highbush cranberry jelly. I know you're probably thinking those berries taste terrible, and at first I felt the same way. When I was 23 years old with a 6-month-old baby, my then mother-in-law said it was time to make highbush cranberry jelly. I kept the "Ew, disgusting, no one eats those!" thoughts to myself and instead packed every single thing a new mom might need to go into the woods at Russian Jack Park to pick berries for an hour. A stroller, snacks, water, a back pack, sanitizer, sling, full diaper bag and extra diaper bag, just in case. Imagine a 1986 Eagle Wagon packed to the ceiling and you'll get a feel for what I mean.
We parked in a sunny lot filled with gorgeous September light shafting down through yellow birches. I stepped out and inhaled a deep, crisp breath. The smell was something I had never identified—it just smelled like fall, but now I know it was the deep musky smell of highbush cranberries filling the air. We stepped into the woods and began filling our buckets with an abundance of berries. I'd left all the junk that I'd packed in the car and just wore my son on my back. It was simple, quiet, reverent. I was somehow moved that day, picking highbush cranberries, because of all the days of my son's first year, that day stands out as one I clearly remember.
I'd never made anything with highbush cranberries before. My mother, who kept our pantry so full with canned salmon and moose meat, smoked salmon, jams, jellies and relishes, had somehow missed out on highbush cranberries. Probably growing up with the hustle and bustle of life on a dairy farm in Palmer had something to do with it. My grandmother was doubtlessly just too busy to make jelly from stinky berries.
And the jelly making does stink. It isn't something that makes you want to eat it.
But add heat, sugar and time, and highbush cranberries can make a magical transformation into a jelly that is equally perfect as a side note to a rich meal or simply served with toast. Fragrant and delicate, it's like opening a jar of autumn in Alaska. Breathe deep, inhale, remember that fall day harvesting berries. No other pantry item I've made can trigger such a strong emotional tie and leave me straddling my life, one foot in 1993 and the other planted firmly now, in the present.
The recipe I put together calls for liquid pectin but you can use any kind of pectin you happen to have— simply follow the directions for making crabapple jelly using highbush cranberry juice instead. Highbush cranberry jelly can also be made without pectin, using equal parts sugar and juice, boiled together until they reach 220 F on a jelly thermometer. I don't recommend making it this way unless you're practiced at it or you don't mind a little failure in the kitchen.
Highbush Cranberry Jelly
Makes 8 1/2 pints
8 cups highbush cranberries
Water
1 pouch liquid pectin
Sugar (refer to pectin directions for crabapple jelly)
You will need:
Deep, heavy-bottom pot for cooking down berries and for jelly making
Potato masher
Large mixing bowl
Cheesecloth, 4 layers, thick enough for straining berries
String
Baking rack
A place to hang the berries to drain (*I have hung the cheesecloth filled with berries off of an upper cabinet hinge or even from a conveniently placed cup hook or, worst case scenario, I've placed a kitchen chair on my dining table and hung the bag there to drain.)
8 1/2-pint jars with canning rings, canning lids
Large-mouth funnel
Jar tongs
Canning pot deep enough to cover the tops of the jars with an inch of water
Juice the cranberries
Wash and pick through berries and discard any debris. If you happened to pick any wild currants out in the woods, don't worry; they will blend just fine with the highbush cranberries.
Add your berries to the deep, heavy-bottom pot. Cover them with an equal amount of water. Bring to a simmer over medium heat and then increase heat to bring the berries to a rapid boil.
Using a potato masher, crush the berries while they are boiling to release their juices. Then turn off the heat and let the berries cool slightly; this makes pouring a little less dangerous.
Wet the cheesecloth and wring it out and then line the large mixing bowl with it. When the berries have cooled a little, pour them into the cheesecloth-lined bowl. Gather the four corners and tie them securely with the string. Hang them over the bowl and let them drip for a few hours.
Hot tip: Lay a baking rack over the top of the bowl. It will prevent a lot of heartache if, for some unknown reason, your bag slips and falls.
Once the juices have quit flowing, it's time to start making jelly. Resist the temptation to squeeze the bag to get out the last of the juice—it will make for cloudy jelly (trust me on this one).
Turning juice into jelly
Set some water to boil for sterilizing jars. Fill the canner deep enough to cover your filled jars and put it on to boil. Wash the jars, fill them with boiling water and set aside.
Wash lids and rings and set them in a small saucepan of water over low heat.
Once the jars are ready and the canner is set to boil, it's time to make jelly. Follow the crabapple jelly recipe on the pectin packaging.
Once you've got finished jelly, skim off any foam and set aside. (That foam makes a great treat for any kitchen helpers—we call it chef's delight.)
Pour the water out of the jars. Fill jars with hot jelly using the wide-mouth funnel. Wipe the rims with a clean cloth to remove any jelly. Place a hot lid and ring on each jar, tighten and repeat with remaining jars. Use the jar tongs to lower the jars into the water canner. Make sure the water in the canner covers them by an inch. Put the lid on and return to a boil. Let it boil for 10 minutes.
Use the tongs to remove the jars from the canner and place on a heavy layer of dish towels or even a clean bath towel. Let them sit undisturbed until cool. If you did it right, you'll start hearing a little ping each time a jar lid seals.
Once cool, check for sealed jars by pressing on the middle of each lid. If the lid moves, the jar isn't sealed. You should put those jars in the refrigerator and use them right away.
Sealed jars can be put in the pantry to open and enjoy all winter long.
Laura Sampson is a lifelong Alaskan, born and raised in Palmer, where she now lives with her husband and three sons. She currently writes the food blog Hey What's for Dinner Mom?, which focuses on getting good food on the table with a minimum of expensive fuss. When she isn't writing or developing recipes she can be found barefoot in the garden, or volunteering in her boys' school or working on her new project, the Palmer Food Swap, a food swap group that meets the second Saturday in Palmer.
This article appeared in the Winter 2015 issue of 61°North. Contact 61°North editor Jamie Gonzales at jgonzales@alaskadispatch.com.