Condiments are proof that life is good. They are the unsung heroes that add sparkle and zest, or crunch and color. They can elevate a one-note food to an elegant string quartet. The magical powers of condiments give me enduring hope. After all, the condiment and whatever it enhances add up to more than sum of their parts. Each alone? Not so much. But together? Much! You see?  The potential sits latent in our refrigerators and pantries. All we need to do is break out (or concoct) the right condiment, and we can generate goodness where there was none before. Condiments are like optimism in a bottle.

I come by my love of condiments honestly. My mother carried a bottle of Tabasco around with her always. It nestled with her calendar, wallet, and makeup in the giant Coach bag she was never without. When she was out and about, and ordered food that turned out to be boring, she would dive into that whale-sized bag, come up with the familiar red-capped bottle, give it a few shakes, and sprinkle some life onto her ho-hum fare.

To my way of thinking, lots of foods are pretty much just vehicles for condiments. Consider the hot dog. The corn chip. The Thanksgiving turkey. Gasp! Blasphemy, I know. Don’t get me wrong. Turkey is okay. But it’s the piles of side dishes and splashes of condiment encircling the bird that keep me coming back. Isn’t it really the gravy that makes the turkey worth eating? Or is it the cranberry chutney?

You can make this chutney a week in advance. And hey, Thanksgiving is next week! The chutney gets better the longer it sits. It’s quick. It’s easy. It screams magenta. That’s a lot of fine qualities for a condiment to have, right? Best of all, this chutney packs a three-ring circus of flavor. The cranberries are their shockingly tart red selves. The onions remain unapologetically oniony. But together they are tamed and enriched by a perfect complement of vinegar, sugar, ginger, chili flakes, and garlic.

Cranberry chutney adds some dazzle to pork or poultry. It also makes a festive appetizer dolloped on a cracker with cream cheese. And though I haven’t tested this yet, I suspect it will make an ordinary leftover turkey sandwich into yet another heartening reminder of life’s potential for goodness.

CRANBERRY CHUTNEY – inspired by this recipe in Gourmet
makes about two cups

1 tablespoon olive oil
5 ounces shallots (about two whole medium-sized shallots), peeled and sliced thinly
½ teaspoon chili flakes
12 ounces fresh cranberries
½ cup brown sugar
¼ cup sugar
¼ cup cider vinegar
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 ½ teaspoons minced peeled fresh ginger
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper

Heat olive oil over medium heat in a medium saucepan.

Add shallots and chili flakes. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are very soft, about fifteen minutes.

Add all the other ingredients and stir. Reduce heat until the chutney is barely simmering. Simmer for fifteen more minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings.

Chutney can be stored in the refrigerator in an airtight container for a week or more.

I typically put preserving food in the same category as changing my own motor oil, or cutting my own hair. That is to say, not worth the effort, since I’m likely to botch the job at high personal cost. Preserving food scares me.  I’m afraid of poisoning people with botulism or mysterious molds. But once I heard how easy it was to make preserved lemons, I was emboldened. If I can do this, people, anyone can.

I should probably warn you that I’m not objective about citrus. The truth is, I have a big crush on citrus. If I met citrus at a party, I’d angle to sit next to it. Citrus would crack surprising jokes. It would be soft-spoken and witty. It would be complicated on the outside, sweet and sublime within. Plus it would smell like flowers. Fascinating.

I swoon a little when I taste citrus in just about anything. Cocktails? Oh, yeah.  Pie crusts and cakes? Yes, please. Chicken or fish? Uh-huh. Citrus can throw a little pop rocket into just about any dish.  So you see, forces larger than myself drove me to preserve lemons. Not only do I find citrus charismatic and beautiful, I also love pretty little jars, and the color yellow, and salt. Salt is right up there with citrus as the unwitting object of my affection. How could I resist chopping a lemon, and salting it heavily, and leaving it to marinate in its own briny juices?

Preserved lemon is an alchemist. It’s one of those magical secret ingredients with the power to add depth and dimension to an ordinary dish. It’s impact is subtle but profound. Together, the salt and the lemon add up to much more than the sum of their parts. Come to think of it, I should maybe set my hopeless crushes aside and graciously applaud the union of salt and lemon. They’re such a cute couple.

How to use them? I’ll post a recipe featuring preserved lemons soon. In the meantime, just pull a lemon wedge out of the jar. Rinse it off and add it to a braise or stew. Or discard the pulp and chop the peel into fine bits. Mix the bits with butter and toss with vegetables. Add it to grain salads and pasta dishes. You can sprinkle some on fish, or mix it into dressing or marinade. A little goes a long way. (Preserved lemons are salty. Bear that in mind when you’re seasoning.) 

Preserved lemons improve with age. I’ve read they’re best after six months or more.  I believe it. But I used some one-week-old preserved lemon rind in gremolata last night, and it was not half bad. The preserved lemon already had a notably different and more complex flavor than fresh zest. So here’s what you do:

PRESERVED LEMONS
(adapted from this recipe from Gourmet magazine)
makes four 8 ½  ounce jars

4 pounds small lemons (about 14 lemons – I used organic, for their thinner skins)
3/4 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup olive oil

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Blanch seven lemons in boiling water for five minutes.

When cool enough to handle, cut lemons into eight wedges each and discard seeds.

Toss lemons with salt in a large bowl. Distribute salted lemon wedges into jars.

Squeeze juice from remaining lemons. Add enough juice to jars to cover lemon wedges.

Close jar lids and let stand at room temperature for one week, flipping the jar each day.
(Did you get that? The jar sits on its lid every other day.)

 Add one tablespoon olive oil to each jar. Refrigerate. Keeps for a year or more.

The lazy days of summer may be turning chilly, and short. But there are still tomatoes, which means it is still summer, right? So there’s some good news. And here’s more: It takes just a few minutes of your time to put together a sparkling, spicy, tomato chutney that will be the envy of all your condiments. If you have a tomato glut at your house (or even if you don’t), this recipe is calling your name. There’s no use resisting.

Spicy tomato chutney is a crowd-pleaser. The sweet and sour do that dance they do with each other. Dress that up in  jewel-like red, and combine it with just enough heat from the pepper flakes, and you might just find yourself eating chutney by the spoonful. You can serve it on meat, spread it on grilled cheese, or have a dollop on your scrambled eggs. Truth be told, I did all those things in one 24-hour period. (Okay, okay. I ate a spoonful straight up, too.)  If you’re the kind of person who keeps nice little jars around (I’m not, but I’d like to be…), tomato chutney would make an excellent gift. I’m thinking it would be heaven on a cracker with cream cheese. I could go on and on. I guess I have gone on and on. Did I mention that I really love this spicy tomato chutney?

This recipe is pretty much foolproof. Take it from me, the fool. Just chop a few veggies and throw them in a pot with sugar, vinegar, and spices. Then simmer for a couple hours. All it needs from you is the occasional stir. How could you go wrong? Well, you might think you turned the burner off, only to find that you thought about turning it off, but in fact left it on (ahem). Not to worry. Just add some water to your now-very-thick chutney, and it still tastes incredible. Maybe even better, as some carmelizing might have gone on in this hypothetical over-cooking.  Not that I would know anything about that…

One note of warning to those of you who live in close quarters: When you simmer that much vinegar, it’s a strong-smelling proposition. Our house smelled like tomato chutney for hours, which was fine with me. But my five-year-old covered his nose and mouth in horror and shrieked that he could not live in this house. He’s a little dramatic sometimes. I tried to sell him the spicy chutney as “ketchup for grown-ups,” but he wouldn’t touch the stuff. The grown-ups, however, raved about it.

SPICY TOMATO CHUTNEY  - adapted from this recipe in Gourmet Magazine
makes 1 ½ cups

1 ½  pounds tomatoes, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
1/2 cup red-wine vinegar
3/4 cup cider vinegar
3/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon dried hot red pepper flakes
3/4 cup chopped green onions (just the green part, not the white)

In a medium saucepan bring vinegars to a boil with sugar, salt, mustard seeds, black pepper, and red pepper flakes, stirring occasionally. Turn heat down to a low simmer.

Stir in tomatoes, bell pepper, and green onion. Simmer mixture, uncovered, stirring occasionally, about two hours, or until thickened and reduced to about one and a half cups.

Cool chutney completely. Chutney keeps for two weeks, covered and chilled.