Meyer Lemon Chutney
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The first time I tasted chutney, I spit it out. What did I know? I was a Texas naif who subscribed to Bon Appetit. One month (don't ask when--just sometime right after the crust of the earth hardened), a recipe called for a bit of mango chutney. At the time, I was in graduate school, living in Madison, Wisconsin. Let's just say that Madison--yah, sure, you betcha--wasn't really a hot spot for East Indian condiments. (Lutefisk and mashed rutabagas, anyone?)
Undaunted, I went down to my local grocery store, located a dusty bottle Major Grey's on a top shelf, and brought it to the check-out. The clerk fingered the bottle, eyed it suspiciously, eyed me even more suspiciously, pulled down her goose-neck microphone next to the register, and hollered, "Price check."
Wow, this bottle had allure! I, a pasty white TA, was apparently exotic for even buying it. I got it home, wrenched off the lid, took a taste--and blech. I couldn't figure it out. What in the world was this stuff? Sticky sweet goop without any tang, any heat. I promptly tossed it out. Boy, was I an idiot!
A few years and quite a lot of food experience later, I moved in with Bruce, an unabashed chutney maven. One of my first memories of our life together is of him standing at the stove around midnight, canning a big pot of banana chutney because, well, he was bored at midnight.
All of which oddly brings me to the end of our Meyer lemon abundance. For days, we juggled them, rolled them on the floor for races (boys will be boys), cut them open, squeezed the juice, made marmalade, made vodka cocktails, made buttermilk sorbet. And the fate of the final few Meyer lemons after that excess? Chutney.
Here's how it went down:
We quartered three medium Meyer lemons, then seeded and thinly sliced them. We also peeled, seeded, cored, and chopped 4 small Granny Smith apples.
We talked about using plums (rather than apples) for our complementary, secondary fruit--but we decided that the taste of plums would be too present. We wanted this chutney to be about those sweet/tart Meyer lemons. A plum chutney is a divine thing, but it needs its own platform.
We scraped the lemon slices and the apples in a big pot and added all of the following: 1 1/2 cups golden raisins (regular raisins would have introduced unwelcome black bits into the chutney), 2 minced medium garlic cloves, 1 1/2 cups apple cider vinegar, 1 1/2 cups packed light brown sugar, 3/4 cup granulated white sugar, 3/4 cup sweet white wine (we used a late-harvest wine, but you could also use a sweet Riesling, an Auslese, or a Spätlese), 1 tablespoon grated peeled fresh ginger (grated through the large holes of a box grater), 1 tablespoon yellow mustard seeds, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, and 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes.
We put the pot over a medium heat and stirred constantly until the sugar dissolved and then less frequently until the mixture came to a low simmer.
After that, we just let it go over low heat until it was thick and jam-like, about 45 minutes. No candy thermometer this time around--just a soft set, sort of like really good apricot preserves.
We ended up with about 5 cups of chutney. Using the same method as we did for the Meyer lemon marmalade, we put it into just-out-of-simmering-water, sterilized bottles, set on the sterilized lids and rings, tightened the rings, turned the bottles upside down for 5 minutes, and then righted them to let them cool to room temperature.
For dinner tonight, we've got the last two pork chops from Wilbur, our pet pig from last year (now there's a story). I'm sure the chutney will make a fine condiment to their simple sauté.
Reader Comments (2)
I really am enjoying your new blog - i think it is fantastic!!
Oh, that sounds so good with pork. I bet the chutney would really dress up plain ol' roast chicken, too.