It needs more elderberry jelly.
April 13th, 2016
Today is a dark day, indeed. When my parents came out to visit us last month, they brought a sample of my mom's homemade elderberry jelly. This jelly was made using free-range elderberries, gathered from an abandoned plot of land near the desiccated husk of one of my former employers' buildings by my parents, and lovingly refined into the single most flavorful jelly you've ever tasted.
Well, maybe not the most flavorful you've ever tasted, because it's likely you've never had the unmitigated joy of it. Elderberries rule you, after all, as does just about anything homemade. And it's truly tragic that you've never gotten to spread some of my mom's elderberry jelly all over a peanut butter sandwich, preferably with peanut butter whose sole ingredient is 'peanuts'.
The raw deliciousness of this jelly hit me like a proverbial truck when I first had it again last month, it'd been so long since I'd had that simple joy. I've been trying to stop myself from just inhaling the stuff since, spooning it into my gob with reckless abandon, but this is a lot more difficult than it sounds. You have no. Idea.
But as it turns out, no matter how conservative in my elderberry jelly consumption I have attempted to be, the jar is running on fumes. Alas, poor homemade elderberry jelly my mom makes, we hardly knew ye. And yes, I used the word 'ye' again. Someday, if fate is kind, perhaps we will meet once again, your exquisite sweetness gracing my tongue another day.
Oh wait, it will. We have two more jars of the stuff. Disregard.