Apple Mint Jelly, No Pectin Needed

What is it with the wildly varying proportions in recipes for making mint jelly?!

I made apple mint jelly once before, using a recipe from a Reddit thread because I had a lot of gleaned apples that year and could make the recipe that involved cooking the apples down, extracting juice, and adding vinegar. Yes, this is extra work, but a number of mint jelly recipes call for this approach. Apple juice as medium, essentially.

Right now it isn't apple season but boy, do I have mint (as one does), so I decided to make it using some bottled apple cider I have on hand.

Various recipes call for cooking the mint leaves in water or juice, then going forward with the recipe. I don't want to use pectin so I'm going to lean on apple juice plus some added lemon juice. I remember doing this with the previous batch and getting a good jell.

The proportions thing, though.... After cutting all the mint in the yard, stripping leaves, and setting the small leaves aside to dry for mint tea, I have 2 cups. Do I start with a recipe based on one cup and scale everything up accordingly? If I do that, which one-cup recipe do I start with—the one that has a 1:1 ratio of mint to liquid or the one that has 1:4?? (That one just sounds weak-ass, if you'll pardon the term.) The National Center for Home Food Preservation does a lot of testing, particularly for whether the ratios are food safe, so I'm inclined to stick with them and ignore their use of pectin. Below my recipe I list the sources I consulted with their varying ratios, what liquid they used, and whether pectin was involved.

Ingredients

2 cups packed mint leaves, roughly chopped
3 cups apple cider (I used commercial cider because I had it on hand and it's time to use it up; this could be apple juice instead)
2 cups sugar
2 T. lemon juice
~1 T. dried mint leaves, optional

So my starting ratio is 2:3:2, plus 2 T. lemon juice.

Instructions

Read the National Center for Home Food Preservation on canning basics if this is your first time on the merry-go-round.

Sterilize your canning jars and get everything ready. 

  • I put my jars on a big roasting pan in the oven at 200 degrees for at least 10 minutes. Timing this right gives you warm jars when you're ready to put hot product into them, which is important; hot jelly going into a cold jar can crack it.
  • Put a small plate in the freezer to use for your jelling test.
  • Get that big pot of water warming. If you're using a full-sized canning kettle it will take a while. I sometimes use my soup pot for a smaller batch, placing a metal trivet in the bottom to keep the jars from touching the heat directly. I may also speed things up by using my hot-water kettle for a faster heating of a smaller quantity and pouring that in, maybe doing this a couple of times.

Extract mint-flavored juice. Bring the chopped mint and apple juice or cider to a boil in a large pan such as a Dutch oven. You can muddle the leaves a bit with a potato masher if you like. Once the juice has come to a boil, cover and set off the heat to steep for 10 minutes or so. Strain the leaves out and toss them in the compost.

Make the jelly. Place the minty juice in a Dutch oven or other large, heavy pan. Stir in the sugar and lemon juice. On high heat, bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Cook until the liquid runs together when you lift the spoon, or test on that plate you put in the freezer to see if the liquid will wrinkle when you run the tip of a spoon through it. This will take a while because we're not using pectin in this recipe. I used a thermometer, but I find that even when I don't hit the recommended 220 degrees if I've gotten over 205 my products will set up.

Optional mint intensification. Taste the liquid early on (carefully! It's very hot!). If you'd like the flavor to be a bit more minty (mintier?), place the dried mint leaves in a teaball and put that in the liquid to steep while it's coming to the jelling stage. I did that for this batch and my official taste tester said it's the perfect mintiness, meaning it's very minty.

Canning step. Pour the hot jelly into hot, sterile jars, leaving ¼ inch headspace. Wipe the rims with a dampened clean paper towel; put the lids on. Process 10 minutes in boiling water, timing it from when the water returns to the boil after putting the jars in.

Yield: 5 quarter-pints that jelled beautifully with zero pectin. Picture below only shows four because one has already been used up by Chief Taste Taster, aka my Sweet Hubs.

What I don't do that you may find in other recipes. 

  • I don't add a drop or two of green food coloring because I like the natural golden color. That commercial mint jelly looks like Jell-O to me. If the bright green is important to you, by all means go for it.
  • I don't save some fresh mint leaves to chop fine and stir in at the end as the jelly goes into the jars. Some people like little things floating in their jelly. I don't.
  • I also skip skimming the foam in some recipes. I stir it down and mix it in. If it really looked foamy all across the top of the pan I might skim it. When I do, I put the foam in a little jar to go in the fridge because it's perfectly good! In peak canning season I might end up with a jar of mixed flavors from three or four different recipes and it can be delicious, a sort of bumbleberry jam by proxy.

Photo of 4 glass quarter-pint jars holding a golden jelly, label that reads Apple Mint Jelly From the Kitchen of Barb Chamberlain 2026

Mint Jelly Recipes

List below has the recipes I consulted and the proportions, along with whether or not they add any lemon juice or vinegar (another element that varies widely) and whether they use pectin.

Ratios listed are in cups for mint:water:sugar, with a note if the recipe calls for apple juice instead of water. I'm listing them in order by the volume of mint leaves and liquid. If the recipe calls for apple juice then it shouldn't need as much sugar for sweetness, although it needs it for jelling action.

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Mixed Citrus Ginger Marmalade Take 2

Keeping a bag in the freezer labeled "Future Marmalade" ensures that citrus doesn't go to waste in my household. The mixture grows in its own good time, at a pace determined by meetings that offer mandarin oranges, Arnold Palmers and other beverages that come with a slice of lemon, an orange slice decorating a dinner eaten out somewhere. It grows in its own eclectic direction based on what I'm cooking, or think I'll be cooking; this year's mix included 2 limes, a couple of lemons I know I bought for a recipe I didn't get around to making, and a blood orange I don't quite remember acquiring, along with the usual oranges and miscellaneous slices.

Photo of a large blue Dutch oven holding a bright orange-yellow mix of citrus peels and flesh.

This year I used a different technique, following Food in Jars' technique of boiling the fruit and then letting it cool rather than macerating overnight, then slicing the peel into tiny ribbons. I also took her 1:1:1 fruit:sugar:water to heart. When the water you use is the water you boiled the fruit in, it's retaining all the citrusy goodness.

Ingredients

~4 lbs. citrus peel and flesh (I neglected to measure volume; I'd guess this was somewhere around 6 cups)
6 cups of the water the fruit boiled in
3-1/2 lbs. granulated white sugar (this was chosen based on coming close to matching the citrus by weight and not exceeding it; the last batch was a bit too sweet)
2-1/2 ounces crystallized ginger, chopped
2 T. ginger paste from a tube (feel free to grate and chop if that's your thing, and you can leave this out if you don't want much gingery goodness)

Instructions

Honestly, read Food in Jars for good instructions, or the National Center for Home Food Preservation. This is my abbreviated description of what I did and the options I considered. 

Prep the fruit: Your choice on handling the fruit. You can boil it all together in plenty of water for an hour, then let it cool. If you do this, you then slice the zest into tiny ribbons, save the seeds and pith in cheesecloth so they can go for a swim in the cookpot to provide pectin, and chop the flesh. 

Or you do the zesting/cutting/etc. beforehand and soak the prepared fruit overnight in the water. You still have to boil it at that point so I don't know that you're really far ahead; it's more a question of whether you remembered to set things up the night before the day when you'll have time to cook and can the marmalade.

If you really want to spread the labor out, do the zesting and separate the pith and flesh as you acquire citrus, keeping the zest, flesh, and stray juice in one bag, the pith and seeds in another, both in your freezer. Defrost all, put the seeds and pith in cheesecloth that will soak in the cooking peel/flesh combo, then proceed with boiling for an hour to soften before adding the rest of the ingredients.

Prep jars and water bath: I sterilize my jars by putting them on a pan in the oven at 250 degrees for 10 minutes or more. At about the halfway mark of cooking the marmalade you'll want to get that going. You want the jars to be warm or hot when you put the hot marmalade in them to avoid a big temperature differential. 

I've also made use of the hot water bath, dipping one jar at a time in with the canning tongs, but that's slow. I mostly do this when I end up with a bit more product than I'd anticipated and need a couple of additional jars.

Or you can run them in the dishwasher, in which case you started that well before this point because you read the whole recipe before starting to make it, right?

Boil the marmalade: Bring all ingredients to a rapid boil in a heavy pan such as a Dutch oven with plenty of surface area. Stir frequently and keep it boiling.

At about 25 minutes start testing the temperature. You're aiming for 220 degrees. I didn't quite get there with my 2024 batch and it jelled just fine. Do a bit of a taste test here for the balance of bitter, sweet, and gingery. You may decide you want it a bit sweeter or hotter.  Add sugar or more ginger accordingly and cook a bit longer. Toward the end, pull the cheesecloth bundle of pith and seeds out and squeeze it carefully; tongs come in handy here. That pectin-producing fruit stuff is now ready for the compost pile.

Put in jars and process: Set your jars up on a towel or baking rack. Ladle the hot marmalade into each jar, leaving about a quarter-inch (halfway up the threaded portion of the jar). Wipe the edges of each jar with a damp cloth so there's no product to interrupt the seal, put on the lids so they're firm but not screwed super tight. Process in the boiling water for 15 minutes, starting your timer after the water returns to boiling once all the jars are in.

Yield: From the quantities listed above I got 12 quarter-pints and 7 half-pints.

My small-batch trick: I have a really big canning kettle. Holds a bunch of water, deep enough to process quart jars, has the nice rack for lowering the jars in. And it takes forever to heat to boiling even if I speed it up by using my hot water kettle to quickly boil 4 cups at a time and dumping that in. 

If I'm not going to spend the whole day making multiple things to can, I use my soup kettle instead. I put a metal trivet in the bottom so the jars won't sit directly on the kettle. I have to handle each jar going in and coming out individually with the jar lifter. That takes a bit of time and care, but I figure I'm saving energy by not heating more water than I really need for quarter-pints and half-pints.

Photo of a line of glass canning jars, mostly quarter-pints with a few half-pints, sitting on a wire baking rack over a red towel on a white countertop. In the upper right corner, two brightly colored metal birds oversee the canning, one a short owl and the other more of a bluejay, both painted in bright blues, oranges and yellows.

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Green and Growing: More Poems about Gardens and Gardening

The 2025 gardening season began for me in February when I pruned the raspberries and tayberries (oh, those wicked thorns!). I wasn't yet truly done with the 2024 season, in the sense that I still had berries and vegetables in the freezer waiting for me to turn them into something despite the complete canapalooza canathon canstravaganza I put up in jars in 2024.

I created a big garden bed full of poems I harvested along the way that same year. They just keep coming, the way the world keeps turning, the sun keeps rising, rain keeps falling, seeds keep doing their amazing thing and turning into plants that make more seeds. 

Now it's 2026 and I'm deep into another year of gardening. Heirloom seeds courtesy of my neighbor's generous daughter populate my raised beds. She shared her large stock and even started some plants for me: peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, five varieties of basil (Genovese, sweet, mammoth, Thai, ruby). Volunteer potatoes showed up early, telling me I didn't get all of them dug last fall. I relocated plant after plant into one raised bed that's now filled with a mass of greenery, the soil beneath where I hilled up the plants completely hidden. The new garden beds I created around a couple of trees give me more space for flowers. One of them bloomed with bulbs that I planted last fall. Those green shoots of hope poking through the soil shouted "Spring!", then died back as a reminder that I need to do more if I want color throughout summer and fall.

"Happiness"
Paisley Rekdal

I have been taught never to brag but now
I cannot help it: I keep
a beautiful garden, all abundance,
indiscriminate, pulling itself
from the stubborn earth:

Maya Stein

There are outlines of what will unfold in the beds.
That first tiny, ripe tomato. 


Curled carcasses of leaves all over the paths, kale stiff and starchy,
the basil stalks skeletal. What if, she wonders, I do nothing? A whole season
could pass this way, every death taking its own putrefying time and she
on the other side of the window, warming her toes on the hearth.

Joy Sullivan

I waited so long for love
and suddenly, here it is
standing in the garden, hands full
of heirlooms hot from the sun.

"In the Garden"
Fabiana Fondevila

There’s zeal ripening in the tomatoes
and purpose in the pumpkin vine
trampling its way to freedom.

There is inner city grit in the hydrangea
struggling to bloom
in its chewed up dress and tortured feet.


It is important for me to be down on my knees,
my fingers sifting the black earth,
making those things grow which will grow.
Sometimes I save a weed if its leaves
are spread fern-like, hand-like,
or if it grows with a certain impertinence.

"In Time"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

In soil not yet worked this spring,
two perfect rows of parsley emerge 
in a curly leafed celebration of green, 
vestiges from last year’s planting.


I’ve seen the neighbors frown when they look over the fence
And see our espalier pear trees bowing out of shape I did like that
They looked like candelabras against the wall but what’s the sense
In swooning over pruning I said as much to Mrs. Jones and I swear
She threw her cane at me and walked off down the street

"Making Sense - or I Pledge Allegiance" (scroll down on the page to find the poem)
Carrie Newcomer

I lift up my face to the summer sky
The sound of larks
And the feel of dirt
To all that keeps making sense
In senseless times.

Related Reading
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A Rose Amidst the Thorns: Poems about Beauty Balancing Pain

In the face of horrors visited upon our world daily, in the struggle to protect our loved ones, choosing to let in joy is a revolutionary act. Joy returns us to everything that is good and beautiful and worth fighting for.
— Valarie Kaur

Poetry often gives us implicit messages. The takeaway is there if you think about it, as many an English teacher tries to convey, teaching us to read between the lines.

At other times it's right out there. This collection of poems falls into that category: poems in which the poet reflects directly on the stark contrasts between the many beauties in the world and its many agonies and cruelties.

John Ruskin, a prolific English author, poet, painter, philosopher, and social critic, wrote a book he titled The Duty of Delight. Critical of the Victorian Christians of his time, he wrote that they “dwell only on the duty of self-denial but exhibit not the duty of delight.”

Social activist and writer Dorothy Day used this phrase often, including as the title of a collection of her journal entries (*affiliate link). From a footnote in the book: "this phrase came to serve for Dorothy as a call to mindfulness in the face of drudgery and sorrow."

Or, as the Buddha said, "No mud, no lotus."

Sojourner Truth may have said it best: “Life is a hard battle anyway. If we laugh and sing a little as we fight the good fight of freedom, it makes it all go easier. I will not allow my life’s light to be determined by the darkness around me.”

These poems remind me of how incredibly fortunate I've been for the majority of my life, and how many don't have that same good fortune. 

They remind me to recommit to working for justice.

They remind me to pay attention.

As always, I've shared a brief excerpt from each poem. Follow the link to read the complete work.

"A Brief for the Defense"
Jack Gilbert

We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world.

"The News"
Emilie Lygren

Each morning we listen for what is breaking—

the sound of a thousand tragedies fills the air,
shattering that never stops,
headlines, a fleet of anchors tangled at our feet.

"Everything is Plundered, Betrayed, Sold"
Anna Akhmatova, translated by Stanley Kunitz

Why then do we not despair?
By day, from the surrounding woods,
cherries blow summer into town;
at night the deep transparent skies
glitter with new galaxies.

"Testimony"
Rebecca Baggett

I want to say, like Neruda,
that I am waiting for
"a great and common tenderness,"
that I still believe
we are capable of attention,
that anyone who notices the world
must want to save it.

"Adrift"
Mark Nepo

Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.
This is how the heart makes a duet of
wonder and grief. The light spraying
through the lace of the fern is as delicate
as the fibers of memory forming their web
around the knot in my throat.

"Fear and Love"
Jim Moore 

I wish I could make the argument that a river
and a sunset plus a calm disregard of the ego
are enough. But whatever comes next must include
tents in the parking lot, that homeless camp
on the way to the airport,
and the hole in your cheek
from the cancer removed yesterday.

"September, 1918"
Amy Lowell

Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.

"Prayer"
Teddy Macker 

dear lord in this time of darkness
may we be unafraid to mourn and together and hugely

may dignity lose its scaffolding
faces crumble like bricks

dear lord let grief come to grief

and then o lord help us to see the bees yet in the lavender
the spokes of sunlight down through the oaks

"Sometimes"
David Budbill

I know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be
taken from me, and therefore I've got to say, right now,
what I feel and know and see, I've got to say, right now,
how beautiful and sweet this world can be.

"Sweetness"
Stephen Dunn

Often a sweetness comes   
as if on loan, stays just long enough   

to make sense of what it means to be alive,
   then returns to its dark   
source. As for me, I don’t care   

where it’s been, or what bitter road
   it’s traveled   
to come so far, to taste so good.

"Please"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

We need you to remind us we can
be furious and scared and near feral
over injustice and still thrill at the taste
of a strawberry, ripe and sweet,
can still meet a stranger and shake
their hand, believing in their humanness.

"Thanks"
W.S. Merwin

with the animals dying around us
taking our feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
thank you we are saying and waving
dark though it is

A question for you: Do you have a favorite poem, or one that's painful to read, that belongs on this list? I have the memory of reading another one that has been reprinted many places that I now can't find so I'd love to get more titles and links.

Related reading

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