I was recently gifted an overload of strawberries: I bought four baskets from a vendor at the market, whose booth I shop at often, and he threw in two extra baskets for free, the equivalent of a carte de fidelité (loyalty card) in Paris. So I’ve spent the past few days washing, hulling, cutting and cooking my unexpected bounty.

I’ve been making a number of things with the gorgeous strawberries. But I also realized that while I have a Strawberry-Rhubarb Jam recipe on the site, I didn’t have a strawberry jam. So here it is.

Although I’m giving you a recipe for the amount of strawberries that I used, you can use the same proportions if you have just a basket…or a bushel. You’ll just need to do a slight amount of math. Only the cooking time will change, so keep an eye on things.

Jam-making is not something you walk away from and you need to rely more on look and feel, rather than exact times. Another thing about jam-making is that fruit and berry jams are always better made in small batches; the shorter the cooking time, the better the flavor. So if you have more than 2-pounds (900g) of strawberries, consider making jam in a couple of batches rather than one big one.

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Strawberry Jam

Many traditional recipes use an equal amount of sugar to fruit, by weight, but I find it’s okay to decrease it to these proportions. Sugar is both a thickener and a preservation agent. If you reduce it too much more, your jam may not thicken and won’t keep for a long time. (Which is okay if you want thinner jam, you keep it in the refrigerator, and eat it relatively quickly.) This recipe can be scaled up or down, depending on how many strawberries you have. But if you want to make a lot more, best to make it in a couple of batches. To prepare the jars, pour boiling water into them, as well as into the lids. Let them sit 5-10 minutes, then carefully pour out the hot water and set them upside down on a cooling rack until ready to fill. Since I keep my jams in the refrigerator, I don’t put them up them in a traditional sense. I usually just overturn the jars and let them cool, which provides a reasonable seal, then refrigerate them. I find my jams keep well this way for up to one year. Check the National Center for Home Food Preservation website for instructions on how to can fruit jams. Note: Last season strawberries tend to have less natural pectin than ones that arrive earlier. So your jam may be less jelled. One strategy is the finely grate a green apple into the strawberries before cooking them, which adds pectin. (There are guidelines here for using liquid and powdered pectin.) I don’t mind the slightly runnier jam and it’s terrific on yogurt or served with fresh goat cheese for dessert.

Ingredients

• 2 pounds (900g) strawberries
• 1 1/4 pounds (2 2/3 cups, 580g) sugar
• one lemon organic or unsprayed
• optional: kirsch (or eau-de-vie, or crème de cassis)

Instructions

• Wash and hull the strawberries and cut them into quarters. If some are larger or smaller, just make sure the pieces all about the same size.
• 2. Toss them in a large pot, such as a Dutch oven casserole made of a nonreactive material, with the sugar. Cut the lemon in half, squeeze the juice into the pot, and add the lemon halves to the berries. Stir well, cover, and let sit a couple of hours (up to 8 hours) at room temperature, stirring one or two times while they marinate.
• Put a small plate in the freezer. Turn the heat on under the strawberries to medium-high and cook the strawberries, stirring occasionally, as they reduce and the juices thicken. If a lot of foam rises to the surface, skim it away. When the syrup is the consistency of warm maple syrup – it will take about 10 to 15 minutes or so, depending on the pot and berries, turn off the heat and put a spoonful of the jam on the frozen plate and return the plate to the freezer. Check it in a few minutes; if it wrinkles when you nudge it, it’s done. If not, return the plate to the freezer and cook the jam a little more, testing it again. It may take a few times before you get it to the right consistency.
• When the strawberry jam is done, remove the lemon and stir in a few drops of kirsch, if using, then ladle the jam into the prepared jars.

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Apparently I’m not the only one who loves polenta cake. The Italians like it so much that it’s called Amor Polenta. Which means “Polenta Love.”

Well, at least that’s what I thought it meant, because amour in French means “love.” And I assumed that it was the same in Italian. (Another reason for finally getting on that life-long ambition to live in Italy and learn Italian.) But for now, checking in an Italian dictionary, I found out that “amor” means “sake.” (As in, for the purpose of.) So I’m not sure how it got its name, but this cake makes a pretty good argument for the sake of whisking polenta into a cake.

I’m one of those people who is completely crazy for anything with cornmeal, from corn bread to even a kind of kooky polenta ice cream that I’m sure no one else has ever made, because I used a completely obscure polenta that very, very few people can get their hands on. But I felt compelled to make it, for the sake of using up a little bag of that polenta that I had.

Fortunately, polenta is available just about anywhere. I like to buy stone-ground polenta, which has a crunchier flavor. But you could use instant polenta for this cake, normally something I avoid. But I found myself with a bag of it and was looking for ways to use it up. And here’s where the rest of it landed.

Like many Italian cakes, which are unlike American cakes, this is not a buttery bomb of richness. True, there is butter and a few eggs in there. But the great flavor comes from ground almonds, which tend to make the cake much moister the following day as the nut oils soak the crumb, which is one of those baking terms (unlike amor) that pretty much seems to be what it is talking about. The polenta adds a bit of a savory quality to desserts, which draws me to use it a lot when baking.

This cake is a great snacking cake and I tend to walk around my apartment several times during the day, somehow landing frequently near the cake, where a serrated knife just happens to be stationed alongside. Ready and waiting to lop a slice off.

In addition to a collection of polentas, I found myself with a collection of eaux-de-vie on hand. Some were gifts, others were picked up on my travels. A few are anise-based, which pair nicely with polenta, and chocolate. I have a ginger one that is great when summer fruits are in season, like peaches, nectarines, and apricots. And the long bottle in the front right, the eau-de-vie of lees that I got in Switzerland, after I found out how good raisins in lie (eau-de-vie made from leftover grape yeast, and other stuff that falls to the bottom of wine vats post fermentation) was, after gorging on cauldrons of fondue.

As astute readers can see from the fill line of the bottle, that project never came to fruition. (I’m too busy trying organize my polentas and eaux-de-vie. And plotting a way to live in both Italy, and France.) But I did add a few shots of orange liqueur (not shown), which gave it a little boost of flavor. Not enough to be perceptible. But like that bag of instant polenta I’ve had for a few months, I was always conscious that it was there. You can use any kind of liqueur that you want – maraschino, limoncello, absinthe, kirsch, or even anise liqueur.

As much as I like this as a snacking cake, it can be dressed up with a fruit compote. I sectioned some tangerines, navel oranges, and pink grapefruits, drizzled a little honey over them, and served them alongside the cake. I had planned to spoon some warm sabayon over the cake and fruit, but decided that I had too many other things to do. Namely, get cracking on using some of those bottles of liqueur that I’ve been hoarding.

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Orange-Glazed Polenta Cake

For this cake, using fine-ground polenta or instant polenta will result in the smoothest texture, although whatever is available will work. I’ve made it with coarse polenta too, and enjoy the crunch. Almond flour is available at specialty stores, Trader Joe’s, and online. If you can’t find it, grind 7 1/2 ounces (215 grams) sliced blanched almonds in a food processor with the flour until the almonds are pulverized. Although cakes like this don’t always need adornment, I did glaze it with a dribbly orange glaze that firms up and gives the top a citrus-scented fruity crunch. For those wanting to skip the liqueur in the cake, you can leave it out and increase the almond extract to 1 1/4 teaspoon. For the glaze, you replace the liqueur with orange juice.

Ingredients

For the cake

• 8 ounces (225g) unsalted butter cubed, at room temperature
• scant 1 cup (180g) sugar
• zest of 1 lemon
• 3 large eggs at room temperature
• 2 tablespoons liqueur or eau-de-vie such as orange liqueur (Grand Marnier or Cointreau), kirsch or grappa
• 3/4 teaspoon pure almond extract
• 3/4 cup (125g) finely ground polenta plus additional for preparing the pan
• 2 cups (215g) almond flour
• 6 tablespoons (55g) all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder preferably aluminium-free
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

For the glaze

• 1 1/4 cups (170g) powdered sugar
• 1 tablespoon orange juice
• 4 teaspoons orange liqueur (such as Grand Marnier or Cointreau)

Instructions

• Butter a 9-inch (23cm) loaf pan. Dust the inside with polenta, and tap out any excess. (Note: The pan I used has a nonstick finish. If you want to make sure the cake comes out nicely you may want to cut a rectangle of parchment paper and fit it into the bottom of the pan after you prepare it, especially if using an unfinished loaf pan.) Preheat the oven to 350ºF (180ºC).
• In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, sugar and lemon zest at medium-high speed, until it’s light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. (You can also make this in a large bowl, beating the butter and sugar by hand.)
• Add the eggs one at a time, stopping the mixer after each addition to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Mix in the liqueur and almond extract.
• In a medium bowl, whisk together the polenta, ground almonds, flour, baking powder, and salt, until there are no lumps. Gradually mix the dry ingredients into the creamed butter mixture, just until well-combined. Do not overmix.
• Scrape the batter into the pan, smooth the top, and bake the cake until it is golden brown on top and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out almost clean, perhaps with just a few crumbs attached, 45 to 50 minutes. Let cool on a rack for about 30 minutes, then run a knife along the outside of the cake to loosen it from the pan and tip the cake onto the rack. Let the cake cool completely before icing.
• To glaze the cake, mix the powdered sugar with the orange juice and orange liqueur until the glaze is thick, but still runny – not too watery, but as thick as a milkshake. If necessary, add a bit more sugar if it’s too thin, or add a bit more liquid if it’s too thick. You can try smoothing a bit over the cake to see if it’s the right consistency for drizzling and dripping down the sides before glazing the entire cake.
• Spoon the glaze over the cake, encouraging the glaze to run down the sides by nudging it towards the edges with the back of the spoon or a metal spatula.

Notes

Serving: When the glaze has firmed up, serve slices of the cake with a favorite fruit compote, such as fresh citrus segments, caramelized pineapple, poached pears, or sliced and sugared peach slices (peeled) or nectarines.

Storage: The cake will keep for up to five days, if well wrapped, at room temperature. The cake will be noticeably moister the day after baking due to the oil in the nuts. It can be frozen for up to two months.

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I think I have something wrong with me. I seem to be afflicted with a particular malady that forces me to buy way too many summer fruits when they’re in season. It gets particularly dire when faced with apricots and cherries, two fruits whose seasons are much shorter than the others. The first fresh apricots I saw were back in upstate New York, around the 1980s, and I’d never seen them before. Someone brought us a basket of the tender, squishy little orange fruits to the restaurant that I worked at, and I remember being completely taken off guard, as the only apricots I’d ever seen were the dried ones. And while I loved the crinkly dried specimens, those fresh beauties with a red blush were a whole other taste entirely.

Then, when I moved to California, I discovered how abundant fresh apricots are (or can be), as they are in France. But no matter how abundant – or not – cherries are when the season is in full swing, I always consider them extra-special fruits and give a prominent place in my kitchen. At the beginning of the season, they’re incredibly expensive and rarely good. Then, as the season moves along, they start showing up in larger mounds at the market, and the prices get gentler, coaxing me to buy as many as I can heft.

This week, I was helpless when faced with an overload of summer fruits at the market. And in addition to a giant bag of apricots, two bulging sacks of tomatoes, and eight white nectarines, I bought 2 kilos (about 4 1/2 pounds, give or take a few cherries) of fresh cherries — and from the looks of the other shoppers, it was more than any normal person would buy. (Although I think I made the vendor’s day.) But I couldn’t help it. They were Burlat cherries and I’d bought a small bag from the same vendor last week at the market, and there he was again, tempting me with more. Once I got home, I got my cherry pitter out, and pitted half of them, saving the others to eat fresh. (Except I almost polished off the fresh ones I was reserving as I was pitting these!)

Fresh cherries are, of course, great fresh. But cooking them can deepen, and even improve their flavor, especially nice if you get home and find yourself with a bag of rather wan ones. Or ones that you might snag at the end of the market, when the vendors are trying to get rid of any extras that might not keep until the next market day.

In addition to being the answer to what the heck you (or I) are going to do with all those cherries, this recipe also deftly answers that age-old question: Can I freeze that? And the answer is a big, resounding, “Heck, yeah!” Once the compote has cooled, it freezes perfectly in zip-top freezer bags or other containers that you prefer to use, and will last up to a year. (You can also freeze pitted fresh cherries on their own as well.)

And let me tell you, it’s great to stumble upon a bag of cherry compote that may have moved to an unfavorable position in your freezer as summer shifted into fall – or winter, when they can become quickly forgotten. Once defrosted, and perhaps rewarmed, they’re terrific served with vanilla ice cream, plain yogurt, or alongside a cake, such as almond cake, gâteau de savoie, or angel food cake.

I like to boost their flavor with a handful of dried sour cherries, added midway during cooking, so they plump up and absorb the cherry juices, which add another dimension of cherry flavor. A shot of kirsch also dials up the flavor nicely.

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Cherry Compote

Be sure to use a larger pot that you think. For 2 pounds (1kg) of cherries, I used a 6-quart (6l) pan. Since the cherry juices will foam up as they cook, using a larger pot – and removing the lid from time-to-time – will keep your from having to clean up a sticky mess. I’ve didn’t use much sugar here, so you can add more to taste, if your cherries aren’t as sweet as mine were. If you can get sour cherries, feel free to add some in place of the sweet cherries. If so, you may need to increase the sugar a little, to taste as well.

Ingredients

• 2 pounds (1kg) fresh cherries
• 1/4 cup (50g) sugar
• cup (40g) optional: 1/3 dried sour cherries
• 2 teaspoons kirsch (or another fruit-based liqueur, or eau-de-vie)
• 1-2 drops pure almond extract

Instructions

• Stem and pit the cherries. Put them in a large, nonreactive pot or saucepan and stir in sugar. Turn the heat to medium, cover, and cook for 10 minutes, lifting the lid and stirring them frequently, to encourage juicing and to make sure the liquid the cherries exude doesn’t foam up and overflow.
• After 10 minutes of cooking, add the sour cherries, if using, and cook for 5 to 10 more minutes, until the cherries are wilted and completely cooked through.
• Remove from heat and stir in the kirsch and almond extract. Let cool before storing or serving. The juices will thicken as the compote sits.

Notes

Storage: The cherry compote can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. It can be frozen for up to one year.

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