When Tea Together invited my boyfriend and me to visit their jam atelier, we found their terminology slightly overwrought. But upon arriving at the workshop in the village of St. Remy au Bois, in northern France, we were struck not only by how haute couture their jams and marmalades were (some of which we had already had the good fortune to taste), but by the truly artisanal nature of their utterly simple and entirely hand-made process.
Ben and I arrived at the gare first and sought shelter from the blustery morning wind in a cafe across the parking lot. A handful of men crowded around the bar, drinking kir and Pastis. They eyed us suspiciously, having all but quieted down, as we ordered Perriers à la menthe (with mint syrup that turns the water a magnificent artificial green). Luckily, just as we shrugged off our coats and sat down, Judith, whose gray hair stands up on end, burst through the door and ushered us towards the car.
As we drove through the undulating landscape and a scattering of charming villages, Judith and Nick, ex-filmmakers, told us how Tea Together came to be. Upon moving to northern France from England, Judith discovered her passion for preserve making à l'ancienne. The Giffords teamed up with a childhood friend of Judith's,
After a quick lunch of Shepard's pie and salad, the Giffords ushered us across the courtyard to the atelier. They no longer do the majority of the cooking themselves, as the business side of the operation has become increasingly demanding. They have enlisted Jocelyn, a lean and thoughtful man in his early thirties, who previously worked in an auto body shop and took care of children, to man the atelier. His apparent attention to detail and patience make him just the man for the job.
He stands at a line of gas burners, watching two of the four hammered copper cauldrons heat concoctions of 60 percent fruit, 40 percent sugar. (Most store-bought commercial jams today have the inverse proportion-or worse.) He cuts us wedges of blood oranges to suck on as we watch him tend to this afternoon's marmalades, Blood Orange and Lemon Ginger Cassis, both of which are jewel-toned and consistently lumpy-textured. Jocelyn explains that he never adds pectin, which is why certain jams made with lower-pectin fruits, such as strawberry, have such a loose-and I think lovely-texture.
After pouring each batch of jam into 30 heat-sterilized jars, Jocelyn shows us the on-site bed of herbs, such as angelica and lavender, which are added to certain jams such as Apricot Lavender Leaf. He tips a stash of rose petals under our noses and explains that he has been trying to perfect a recipe for and launch a new flavor, rose red currant. Sadly, although all of the ingredients used are organic, few of them are locally grown. As Nick explained, if the black currants from China are certified organic, consistently better tasting and one-third of the price of his neighbor's cassis, it makes little sense to buy French.
To test the readiness of the bright red marmalade, Jocelyn ceases stirring for a moment with his long wooden spoon and drips a little on the stainless steel counter top. He nudges the puddle with the side of his index finger, checking to see if the jam will wrinkle, as it should in its finished state, or if it will simply envelop his finger, still too loose. Next, the taste test-Jocelyn scoops the sample onto his finger and into his mouth. It's done.
Nick informed us over lunch that one of the reasons that Jocelyn is such a good jam-maker is because he always tastes the jam to make sure it's right. Jocelyn tells us that luckily he prefers the jam still-warm to cooled. He drips another drop for Ben and me to try. Delicious-a far cry from any cold marmalade I've come across.