Jigsaw puzzle

When I first moved to France, mealtime was a minefield of challenges. My mother and I cut our teeth on restaurants, where I now realize the proprietors were excruciatingly patient. There was the Alsatian hole-in-the-wall in Paris where we ordered nothing but first courses and salads, skipping the main course altogether, and the poor innkeeper at the Hotel de la gare in Tours, who very politely informed us that the plateau de fromage was not intended solely for us, and could we please finish up so other patrons might enjoy their one or two slices of cheese as well.

But at least in a restaurant, we had an idea of how many courses we would be served so we could pace ourselves accordingly. Once I started working, I was at the mercy of the lunch ladies employed by the French Ministry of Education. Their secret menu (forget about a monthly cafeteria menu--they wouldn't even tell you on the day) might be two, three, or even four courses, and any one of those courses might be so unappetizing (think tongue or brain) that I couldn't stomach it. Easy if the first course was unbearable, but a disaster if I had passed up seconds of the egg and pickles to leave room for it. Dessert might be fruit or cheese or a delectable flan; you just never knew in advance.

And then there was the baguette and wine puzzle. The point of this game was to make the wine and bread come out even, with neither too much nor too little bread or wine left over when the food was all gone. The natives always seemed to manage effortlessly (I also envied their aplomb at navigating cobblestones in stiletto heels), but I would often  have but a skimpy crust to my name when the cheese plate came my way or worse, a huge hunk of bread in anticipation of a cheese course that turned out to be mousse au chocolat.

I was reminded of this as I laid my plans for today's preserving. As the result of a visit to a farming friend Saturday, we had a paper bag of Mirabelle plums, a box of Damson plums, about four pints of blueberries and a Frisbee full of roadside blackberries. Add to that the apples dropping in the front yard, and it was clear that this long weekend would be the date on many jars on the shelf.

Last night, the golden yellow Mirabelles set off some blackberries nicely in a cobbler as the family cuddled together on the sofa for a campy movie. This morning, I snuck  out of bed before breakfast and got two small batches of jam going, pairing up blackberries with both blueberries ("black and blue") and more golden plums. What didn't fit in jars was happily drizzled on waffles. That takes care of the blackberries, and whatever blueberries avoid the kettle will move to the arctic confines of the freezer for winter morning muffins and pancakes and such.

Which leaves me plums and apples. We'll freeze a few cups of plums to join fruit that ripens later, and make a huge batch of plum jam--I'm thinking the sunny yellow and rich purple will make an interesting mix. The apples, Gravensteins as luck would have it, will require a child or two working the corer, and patience to cook down into applesauce, a favorite with steaming Milchreis and oily Latkes, and the ultimate comfort food for a child (or adult) recovering from a bout of tummy bug.

I also may put up a couple jars of grape leaves from the front yard (think dolmas in winter) and freeze some of those extra vegetables in the fridge from last week's CSA share. By Tuesday, we should have everything tucked away, ready for the next week. And if something doesn't make a full batch, I'm thinking a pot of autumn soup will be an excellent way to warm our tummies and make it all come out right.