Damson Plums

I missed these small gems on the first pass of the market, and by the time I got back, I was just in time to find the last pint available. Once common on the east coast, these spicy little cooking plums have more in common with beachplum and juniper in flavor than with their large snack-fruit cousins. Damsons to me evoke memories of England and jampots, or a glaze for pheasant.

A jam of damsons is no more complicated than softening and mashing the fruit in a minimum of water, sieving out the seeds and skins. I used a sieve, and then squished the remains through a jelly bag to get the last good pulpy bits -- my hands were blazingly red and sticky, but I got another half a cup, I think, out of a what yeilded about a cup and a quarter of jam from a pint of fruit.

Cook the crimson pulp to about 216-218 degrees with a proportion of 4 plum to 3 sugar. Stir it a lot at the end -- you'll swear it's trying to turn into fruit leather. Damson makes a thick and naturally spicy jam that is good with savories, but not beyond a dab with cream cheese on crackers.

In China, flavors are analyzed: sweet, sour, savory, salt, hot, and hsien. Hsien isn't fresh -- it more speaks to the essence of the thing. In shrimp, the freshest shrimp, still tangy with seawater, pink, and crisp are hsien. For damsons, which are hardly palatable off the tree, a jam brings out the hsien and delivers it, jeweled and intense, to the palate.