Curing Jars Novels & Stories

The rabbit will be eaten today, Yohan said it will be alright for them to feast a little. While the deer will be cured so that it’ll last a little more. I didn’t know what that meant until Yohan explained it. Apparently curing meat would entail that using some of the old jars this family has, pour some salt into it, place the meat, then cover it with more salt. Curing it would last them two, at most three weeks.

Unable to wrench my morbidly-curious gaze away. Severed hands, cut off at the wrist, floated in large jars. Each jar was plugged with a wide cork stopper, sealed with wax that had dripped and hardened around the rim. They were lined up along the many shelves on either side of the aisle, until all I could see was row upon endless row of pale puffy hands, floating like ghostly apparitions under the dim Vault lights. Each hand was suspended in clear fluid, although in some of the jars further down the aisle, the outer edges of the hand blurred in a haze of cloudy liquid, as if they had been here for some time.

Written in elegant cursive, the label contains the following information: "Whole Brandywine Tomatoes, - 84" As in 1984? There's no way the food in this jar is nearly forty years old. Placing the jar back on the shelf, I wandered down the length of the wall examining the other items stored on the shelves in a pleasingly organized manner. There's a wood crate filled with tapered beeswax candles, neat stacks of paper wrapped ivory soap bars, metal tin boxes containing borax and washing soda, large beige ceramic jars featuring stamped labels for flour, sugar, salt, oatmeal, rice, coffee along with smaller ones containing various spices and ingredients. I huff out a chuckle while reading an elabo

When she saw that a foam is forming, she instructed them to skim off as much foam as they can, and stir in the calamansi juice, add the rest of the sugar, and add the small whole strawberries. When the strawberries cooked, she give them jars and as per requested, she gives them different type of jars to distinguish their own jam. They fill each of their jars to a quarter inch of top, then wipe rims clean, and place the lid on jars and screw it tight. Then, she let them place the jars in a large pot filled with water until it covers the jars by at least an inch and let it boil. “Just let it cooled down and we’re done.” She said then walk to the oven and check that both the galantina and creme

“Let me get you something.” Kendrick watched as Grandpa went to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a small jar from the far back of the middle shelf, and brought it over. It was a glass jar filled with expensive medicinal ingredients, like ginseng, soaking in amber-colored liquor—clearly something that had been aged for some time. Kendrick quickly stood up to help, taking the jar from Grandpa’s hands and placing it on the small dining table. He thought Grandpa was going to drink it with him, so he opened the jar and was about to pour for Grandpa. But Grandpa stopped him with a hand.

After the jars had lost its function for that, the runes were pulled off, and the jars were returned to the Water Kingdom. At that time, he actually asked why would they need to return the jars since they only used the rune, and the Major answered because the jars were made specially to store the amount of magic used for it. This led him to think that only certain things made by certain materials that can withstand runes. He assumed the sprinkler used in the village's farm was also made as such to be able to stand the runes placed within it.

Sybil took the jar to give it a try. She was right, at least with what she found to use. There wasn’t enough and had only managed to make four cures, she needed to go back home. She didn’t have the time to search the tome and read all the descriptions to find a suitable substitute. If she did she’d stay. This room had an amazing amount of items in it. She’d love to work in here and add to the stores.

Working in perfect harmony, Madissa hovers nearby with a cloth-wrapped lid and a protective leather mitt, ready to seal each jar, while Nerissa expertly wields the forging tongs, carefully holding the jars in place. After securing a woven cloth over the opening to prevent spills, Nerissa positions the jars upside down, allowing the rushing water from the vent to sanitize the containers and infuse the harvested food with the desired probiotics. With precise and graceful movements, Madissa swiftly seals each jar, ensuring freshness and preservation. The filled jars are then gently placed by the forge, the surrounding area thoughtfully built up to protect them.

This has to be the key to reaching whatever part of Elara is still buried beneath all that careful politeness. “These are our premium storage jars,” the merchant says, lifting a set of glass containers with tight-fitting lids. “Perfect for preserving dried herbs. See how the glass is slightly tinted? That protects the contents from light damage.” I nod, though I have no idea what “light damage” means. “I’ll take a full set.” “Excellent choice. And these”—she moves to another display—“are our grinding mortars. This one is made from volcanic stone, perfect for breaking down tough roots and bark.”

Each jar felt like a small, meaningful gift—a symbol of the life and love they had planted in Port Haven. By the afternoon, they had prepared an entire collection of jars, each one carefully filled, labeled, and packed with care. Just as they finished, they heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Clara arriving, carrying a basket filled with jars of her signature strawberry-rhubarb jam, freshly made that morning.