Once, in San Francisco, I bought some jam from the Ferry Building farmer’s market to bring to T. At home, he spread it on toast.

“I like my new jam,” he told me.

Something about that phrase charmed me: “my new jam.” So I bring him jam from my travels now, all the time, hoping he’ll say it again.

This weekend, I had a bowlful of runt peaches from my Schnepf Farms stash and decided to make him some new jam myself.

First, I boiled some water, gave the peaches a bath, and slipped them from their skins.

My mother used to make strawberry freezer jam in the summers, and I loved watching her dip jars into hot water, then stir sugar into fruit.

This was my first try, and the ritual brought back all those memories, my mother at the stove.

Ty was on the phone with his mother while I was doing this, and she suggested that some of the peaches should be smashed, and others should be chopped up. (His mother is a kitchen genius.) I followed her instructions, smashing the ripest fruit through my fingers.

I love gushy jobs.

You need only peaches, sugar, lemon juice, and pectin — which looks like this:

The recipe I used was also a no-cook freezer jam, to preserve that fresh peach flavor. It was really easy, but I wish I’d bought the pink box of low-sugar pectin — because YIKES. There is more sugar than fruit.

While I waited for the jam to do its thing, I made a pair of lazy tarts with the rest of the peaches.

Then I ladled the jam  into jars — some to keep, and a few to share.

And this morning, I had Tyson’s new jam for breakfast:

It’s gorgeous stuff.

(Hinge-top jars from Ikea, Weck jars from Crate & Barrel.)