Strawberry Jalapeño Jam
- 2 cups strawberries
- 1/2 cup jalapeño pepper (minced)
- 1/8 cup lemon juice (use prepackaged, not fresh for safe canning purposes)
- 3.5 cups sugar
- Rinse and hull strawberries. Food process until you reach the consistency you like.
- Add strawberries, jalapeños, lemon juice, and pectin to a saucepan. Stir in sugar to dissolve. Over high heat, rapidly bring to a boil. Once boiling, cook for 1 minute. Turn off heat and let sit. Remove foam.
- Optional: I read that during the boiling phase you can add butter to help descrease the amount of foam. I did not try this with vegan butter, however, if you try, I'd love to hear your results!
- Sterilize 4 half pint canning jars by boiling the jars, lids, and rings for at least 5 minutes. Remove jars from boiling water with tongs. Turn off heat. You can leave the rings and lids in the hot water.
- Fill jars, leaving only a 1/4" headspace. Run a knife around the inside of the jar to remove air bubbles. Try not to touch the rim of the jar. If you do get jam onto the rim, wipe it off with a wet paper towel. Use tongs to remove the lids from the hot water and place them onto the jars. You can add the rings with your hands.
- Process jars in boiling water for 10 minutes. Place a kitchen towel in the bottom of your pot to prevent the jars from touching the bottom of the stockpot.
- Allow to cool for 24 hours. Test that your jars sealed correctly before storing at room temperature. You can test by pressing the middle of the lid with your finger. When you release your finger, look to see if the lid springs up. If it does, the jar is not sealed and you should either reprocess in a water bath or store in your fridge.
Blk Girl Solider
That jelly is fucking delicious. Eat it by the spoonful delicious. It's perfectly sweet and irresistibly hot. Kinda like the ultimate woman, huh?
Most weeks, I end up at a little Greek diner for dinner on Thursdays. I don't know why it's always a Thursday, but the trend is undeniable. Every time I go, MSNBC illuminates the dining room. This has never seemed like a good idea.
The other day, the broadcasters interviewed minority women—most were millenials—and they expressed their fears about a Trump presidency. I understood. On November 9th, I woke up afraid of being a woman.
"These kids. They 'don't feel welcome'? Give me a break; what a joke!", said the fat fuck two tables over as he stuffed his white privileged mouth full of beef. He felt my death stare. He looked up and we locked eyes.
When Trump got elected I vowed I would stand up for minorities when I saw them disrespected in public. I vowed to deafen anyone that stood against equality. Silence is an answer and, damn it, I'm Hermione Granger.
When I made the vow to stand up for equality, for some reason, women slipped my mind. Yet there it was. That very disrespect I imagined—directed at people I hadn't prepared to fight for. And I said absolutely nothing.
25% of the blame goes to fear, 75% goes to anger. I was so fucking mad. I burned like a lit cigarette. Begging for a moment to burn skin. What do I say? Where will the bite hurt the most?
"YOU'RE the joke. With your hairy ass crack hanging out because your shirt is too small to fit over your 400 pound belly. Or your silent wife who said nothing to you while you expressed your ignorant, selfish, and competely-fucking-ridiculous opinion because she's knows you're a dumb fuck. [I would have loved to insert a penis insult, too]."
And then the logic kicked in. If I make it biting, will he instantly shut down? Will he hurt me? How can I open his mind? "Do you have daughters, sir?"
As women, we are expected to be polite, especially with our opinions. I've never been good at that. I try to change. To respectfully present my opinions in bite-size pieces of undeniable logic. It hasn't gotten me anywhere. Probably because I'm still doing it wrong.
But, look around! Pay inequality, rape culture, objectification, the constant struggle to look how we're "supposed to". Everyday we encounter battles, big and small, that make being a woman almost impossible. I don't have the energy to be polite when I have to worry about things like, oh, who will conrol my body.
I don't want to catch more flies with sugar anymore. I'M VINEGAR. I don't want to be anything else.
I LOVE being a woman. I love that I can bring life into this world—or not. I love that my body is a work of art. I love that I have something very special in common with Rosa Parks, Susan B. Anthony, Harriet Tubman, Jane Adams, Eleanor Roosevelt, Maya Angelou, Angela Davis, Gloria Steinem, god, the list is endless. Knowing who has my back, how could I ever be afraid to make space for us again?
I am proud to be a woman and I will not be afraid.