Today, to channel my inner woman of 1910, I made chutney. I am absolutely certain that, had I been me in 1910, I would have made chutney. I might even have used the same recipe - I know it was around because my cookbook's author (Sally Butcher) inherited it from her grandmother. (On the other hand, until Sally released it to the world it was a fiercely defended family secret - so maybe I am channeling a very specific woman of 1910.)
Chutney, I have discovered, is basically vinegar and brown sugar boiled up with a little fruit, onion and spice. It is emphatically not wartime food - unless you saved your sugar ration for several months. (But then, the war hadn't started in 1910.) The rules say you have to make large quantities and give it to your entire family. This entails certain hazards. First, the huge volume of sticky goo tends to try and burn on the bottom of the pan so frequent stirring is needed. But it also boils very gloopily so that when you stick a spoon in to do the stirring, hot steam spurts out all over your hands.
While managing this dangerous mixture. you have to sterilise jam jars. This involves dipping them in boiling water. This should not, I have discovered, be done with pliers as the wire cutter part breaks the glass, leading you to have to steal more jars from your housemate. When all jars are sterilised, with only a few burns acquired, it's time to transfer the chutney into them...
I think if I'd been doing this a hundred years ago I'd have been more skilled and the kitchen would have ended up less sticky.
