Something comes over me in the waning weeks of summer. An intense, insatiable need save the best of the seasonal produce becomes too strong to fully ignore. Preserve, can, pickle, jam … anything that makes it possible to enjoy a little hope in the gray, dreary months of winter. I turn into a hyperactive Betty Crocker. In the last few years I’ve dialed it back a bit from the epic high of the Summer of 2010 when I worked for a fruit farmer and made colossal amounts of jam that I’m still trying to work through. But there’s something about tables piled high with flats of tomatoes that I find hard to resist.
STRESSCAKE 