Tomatoes

Tomatoes have been around farmers markets for a few weeks already, but it seems it's just been in the last few days that they have started appearing in great quantities. I've been eyeing them, trying to figure out how we would be able to afford to purchase enough tomatoes--even at their cheapest, they are about a dollar a pound. I have absolutely no problem with paying farmers fairly, but since I've only had two weeks of employment this summer, money is getting tight. In order to really put up enough salsa, soup, marinara, and just plain tomatoes to last us a full year, I need over a hundred pounds. I couldn't bear the thought of a tomato-less winter, so I kept looking around for slightly damaged or over-ripe tomatoes in bulk. As luck would have it, I found out that the University of Tennessee Organic Crop Production has just this--plenty of tomato "seconds." This is what I hope to be only the beginning of the tomatoes for the season; I'm using the very last of the tomatoes from these boxes this morning, and will be getting a couple more boxes on Friday.

As I've been making my way through the tomatoes, I've also been thinking about my purpose in putting up. Although I love preserving fruit, even in its most utilitarian form--in extra-light syrup--fruit still doesn't seem quite as necessary as putting up tomatoes, soups, stock, and other savory items. And because putting up tomatoes--and other vegetables--creates something which will sustain us in the winter months, there is more urgency in the process. The relative fleetingness of the tomato season makes the tomatoes precious, and I almost have a reverence for the jars of tomatoes in my pantry. I'm trying to say something that I can't quite vocalize, or perhaps something that I understand so well, that there are no longer words for it. Why do I preserve? Why do I make the effort to obtain such a heavy load of fruit and then spend several full days in the kitchen monitoring the simmering, and the processing? Because this is what there is here and now. Even though I did not have a hand in growing these tomatoes, they are of this land, and with my efforts, they will last a year, until the next tomato season. Preserving emphasizes the value of what is in season; there is an aspect of making do with what one has here and now, rather than seeking the same food on an as-needed basis. Anyone can go to the store and purchase almost anything--salsa, tomato sauce, canned tomatoes--on a whim. Preserving is deliberate. I have to plan for the full year when I put up; prior to canning, I'd never really thought about how many jars of marinara we go through in a year, but now, I could tell you an exact number. Last year, I only canned a dozen jars of plain tomatoes, and by early April, we'd run out; we ended up buying a couple cans of tomatoes throughout the spring, but it was not the same. The flavor was flat, and there was no satisfaction in opening them. This year, I know better. I know that to many, these kinds of efforts sound a little crazy; but just you put up a few jars of roasted tomatoes, open one in the middle of January (to eat on toast, pizza, or in soup), and you'll know where I'm coming from.

Pickled Radishes

Pickled watermelon radish.

Last year, the nice folks over at Beardsley gave me a couple giant black radishes because they thought I'd like to experiment with them (and probably because they had no idea what to do with it themselves). They were beautiful and unusual, and after a little poking around, I found out that it was a Black Spanish Radish. To be honest, I didn't really know what to do with it, either--and the radishes were big, bigger than even a good-sized turnip; so I pickled them, just as an experiment. When we opened a jar of the pickled radishes a few months later, we could hardly tear ourselves away from it: the radishes were softer, but still crunchy; briny and spicy; savory in a way that is hard to describe, too. This past weekend, we had some friends over to the house, and we finished off a 24 ounce jar of those same radishes--all in one evening.

After eating that first jar of pickled radishes, I decided that I would not only try to grow the Black Spanish Radish (I'll be trying my hand at this in the fall--ordering seeds from the Sand Hill Preservation Center), but that I would also try pickling other radishes.


When I saw the watermelon radishes at market a few weeks ago, I knew that they would make a beautiful pickle. I got a couple bunches, one of which included a radish that was the size of both of my fists put together (and trust me, I do not have small hands). I tasted them as I was preparing to can, and they were quite spicy and crunchy--perfect for pickling. Once I peeled and cut up the radishes, I stuffed them into three pint jars with garlic, ginger, whole coriander seeds, yellow mustard seeds, and black peppercorns. I used a brine solution that had slightly more vinegar than water (as radishes are in no way acidic), and about a teaspoon and a half of salt per pint. Once I processed the jars in a boiling water bath, the radishes gave off some of their brilliant pink color and tinted the brine--although not so much that I can't discern a little of the white and green on the outside of the slices. They're easily some of the most beautiful pickles I've ever made, and I think they'll be every bit as good as the Black Spanish Radish pickles I made last fall.

Small Batch Sour Cherry Jam

Earlier this month, when we were picking strawberries, I noticed that the pick-your-own place also had a few cherry trees. It's been over twenty years since I've picked cherries, but I have very distinct memories of my mother buying a bucket of cherries from the market in Dushanbe, and gathering the family in the kitchen to prepare and process them for jams and compotes. I was pitting cherries by the time I was four or five years old--sour cherries, mostly, as their sweet counterparts weren't valued for preserves, but for eating out of hand. I remember being quite fond of eating the sour cherries fresh then too, despite finding them a bit too tart for my present tastes. Sprinkled with even a little bit of sugar--which actually helps draw out the fullness of the sour cherry flavor--they are exquisite.

So when I spotted the cherry trees, I knew that I would be back to pick the cherries; and once I tasted them while picking, I knew that I wanted to make something simple, with just a touch of sugar. By the time I finished making boozy cherries, I had just over two pounds of un-pitted cherries left for this beautiful, low-sugar jam.

Sour cherry jam in the front, boozy cherries in the back

Sour Cherry Jam

Ingredients:

• 4.5 cups pitted and mashed sour cherries
• 1.5 cups sugar, divided
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 1.5 teaspoons Pomona's pectin*
• 1.5 teaspoons calcium water (mix included in pectin box)

Process:

1. Prepare jars, canner (or a medium pot, as this is a small batch of jam), and cherries. I started out with just over two pounds of fruit, and by the time they were pitted and mashed in the preserving pan, I had about 4.5 cups.

2. Add half a cup of sugar, lemon juice, and calcium water to the cherries in the preserving pan, stir to combine, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat.

3. Meanwhile, mix up the remaining sugar with the pectin in a medium bowl; set aside.

4. Cook the cherries on medium heat for 15 minutes; you want the cherries to fully release their juices, but you don't want to overcook the fruit. While cooking, skim off any foam that may form.

5. Once the jam has the desired consistency, add the pectin and sugar mixture, and bring the jam to a rolling boil for two minutes. If you want, check the set of the jam; my jam has a medium-firm set, but I think that this would be great even as a sauce, if you want to omit the pectin.

6. Pour jam into sterilized jars, leaving 1/4" headspace; wipe the rims and process for 10 minutes in a boiling water bath.

Yield:

Approximately 2 pints.

Is this jam worth the trouble for such a small batch? Absolutely. It's much more sophisticated than a simple strawberry jam, and unusual. This past weekend, in addition to the drunken cherries, I also made a sweet cherry-rhubarb jam, and I can safely say that the sour cherry jam is my favorite of all.

*Sour cherries have a higher pectin content than sweet cherries, so I kept the amount of pectin quite low.

Strawberry Season

I knew that it was going to rain today, and so I made time to go down to The Fruit and Berry Patch to pick the first (for me) strawberries of the season. Here in East Tennessee, strawberries have actually already been around for a couple of weeks, but I've been resisting buying them, even at markets, saving myself for the enormous satisfaction of picking them myself. So yesterday afternoon, putting down ungraded papers and leaving the landlord in the middle of fixing a window that was broken during last week's hail storm, I went to pick strawberries. I think this is the first time that I've ever been berry-picking alone. When I started out, I was alone in the strawberry field--it was mid-afternoon, and the sun made the berries practically radiate that ripe strawberry smell. It was a wonderfully sweaty and gratifying experience; I picked ten pounds of berries, most of which are already designated for various projects.

After I learned how to can (only a year and a half ago?!), and then canned barbecue sauce in the fall, strawberry jam was my first spring project. It turned out fine, but it wasn't anything to write about (and I didn't, in fact); it was runny, and a little over-cooked, and a little too sweet for me. I liked it fine, but I think there's still a jar of it left. So I took it upon myself to try and make a strawberry jam that would translate the true flavor and excitement of the berries that I love so much. I looked to other bloggers for inspiration, and can say that the first strawberry jam of the season--strawberry-rhubarb jam--was a great success.

I didn't have a lemon on hand, so I substituted the lemon zest in the recipe with orange zest. This jam came out still tart, and even though I had slightly less rhubarb than the recipe suggested, it came out wonderfully. I can't quite tell that the rhubarb is in the jam, but the strawberry flavor somehow seems more genuine--maybe it's the sharpness of the rhubarb that carries it through.

I have some strawberries macerating in the fridge, awaiting another jam project; strawberries--I now know--signal the beginning of the full-swing canning season. After strawberries, the blueberries, blackberries, peaches, and plums come rolling in, one right after the other. And I'm looking forward to it all.

If you're looking for something to do with all these strawberries that are going to be pouring in for the next few weeks, and need a little guidance with canning (or if you would just like to try a new recipe), you can sign up for one of the upcoming canning classes--there's one next Saturday. Let me know if you are interested, and please--spread the word to your friends. There's very little that is more exciting than opening a jar of home-canned strawberry jam, and being reminded of the wonderful flavor of fresh-picked strawberries during the month of November!

Pressure Canning Adventures: Vegetable Stock

A month, or so, ago, I agreed to teach a pressure canning class in the summer; it sounded so easy--just teaching a single-item pressure-canning workshop with tomatoes. We'd just gotten a pressure canner, and it was gracing the kitchen with its shiny presence; I had read the instructions, and everything made perfect sense. I had seen fellow bloggers' posts about pressure canning, and the process seemed very clear. I felt ready. I felt ready, that is, until the pressure canner was actually on the stove, and I had to begin the process; then, at that very moment, some little voice inside of me commanded me to be terrified of pressure canners. Once I put the couple inches of water into the canner, once I filled the jars half-way with water, and began bringing the contents to a simmer, I understood all the fears of pressure canning. "What if it explodes," I said to myself, "what if it doesn't work and never achieves the pressure?" "What if my jars all break once it reaches pressure?" All those people who had come to my canning workshops and told me that they have a pressure canner, but are too intimidated by it, suddenly made sense. I swear, if I hadn't spent 4 hours making vegetable stock, I would have stopped right then and there...

The pressure canner, next to two 7-quart pots of stock.

I also knew that I couldn't back down because I had to learn how to pressure-can before I could teach others how to do the same--and overcoming my irrational fears of pressure canning meant that I could dispel similar fears in others.
(I don't know if the pictures quite portray the stature of this pressure canner. It's not only large, but it's also made of cast aluminum, and thus quite heavy. This model also doesn't have a rubber gasket to create a seal between the canner and lid; the six thumb screws hold the lid in place.)

One jar of stock among others.

The weight is on, and the pressure rising

So I took a deep breath, and started the process.

Just as with water-bath canning, it is important to get the jars hot before filling them. Jars are definitely made to withstand high heat, but don't do well with quick temperature changes and can break because of temperature shock. Jars are half-filled with water, and then placed into the pressure canner (which is filled with 1.5 or 2 inches of water); the whole thing is then brought to a simmer over medium-high heat. It's not necessary to sterilize the jars ahead of time, as they will become hot enough during pressure canning to kill off any and all unwanted bacteria.
Once the contents of the canner were happily simmering (not to self--this takes longer than expected), I took out one jar at a time, emptied the water, and filled it with near-boiling vegetable stock until all the jars were full. Then, I screwed the lid on, turned up the heat, and waited for the steam to vent for 8 minutes before putting the weight on. Once the weight was on, the pressure started rising. I had to regulate the heat a couple times to make sure that the weight wasn't "jiggling" too often--this indicates that the water is evaporating too fast, as the weight "jiggles" to release steam and to keep the canner from overshooting the pressure.
Once the gauge reached the appropriate pressure, I started the timer--35 minutes for vegetable stock; afterwards, I just turned the burner off, and let the canner de-pressurize on its own overnight. All seven quarts of the vegetable stock sealed quite firmly, and I'm looking forward to having those to use throughout the next few months.

A few things of note: because this was my first time handling the pressure canner, Matt helped me throughout the process--he encouraged me, read and re-read instructions, helped me screw on the lid, fill the jars, etc. If you're tackling pressure-canning, I highly recommend doing it with a friend. Secondly, the process took a lot longer than I expected, just because I wasn't quite sure what to expect: the canner took a long time to come to a boil, to come to pressure, and to de-pressurize. When I started out, I thought that I'd be able to just pop off the lid once it was done, and to take out the jars for instant canning gratification. But that's not so. The large warning label on the lid of the canner warns not to take the lid off too early, lest you want to acquire steam burns; thus, I decided to wait to extract the jars until the following morning. This means that if I'm teaching a class on pressure-canning, I will need to build in the time to let the canner come down to normal pressure.
Overall, I'm so glad that I tried pressure canning now, so I can have plenty of practice before I am canning corn and tomatoes. I wasn't thrilled about canning the stock (I make bullion to use in soups, usually), but it was worth it to have the practice.

Taking Stock

This morning for breakfast, we had scones with strawberry preserves, which were my first canning attempt at jam last year. And it's not really a jam, but strawberries in a thick syrup--which is just fine for scones, but I'm already thinking of ways I can make it better this year. I know it's only January, but I'm already thinking of May. And because in my mind I'm already gearing up for the strawberry season of this year, I'm taking stock of what we have, in terms of canned items. Last year was the first year we were serious about putting up, and I know that I got pretty excited about certain things and made too many, while we're already almost out of others (canned tomatoes, apple sauce, etc.).

Keep track, keep track! If I keep better track of the things that we make and the kinds of things that we're more likely to use, I think I can extend the list of things that I will never have to buy again pre-made. And besides, I like this kind of know-how, this kind of independence from unknown entities of food production (which is also dependence on the seasons, the local farmers, and my own ability to make time for making these things).

Marmalade Canning Class

I always get very anxious before teaching--whether it's the first day of a new semester at the college, or a new month and a new canning workshop. For some reason, I was more nervous about this marmalade class than any before--maybe it was because the first batch of marmalade I ever made was a failure; maybe it was because marmalade is finicky and sometimes, no matter what the measures, still doesn't set just right. I was so nervous, right up until the moment when I saw the group that had signed up for the workshop--they were excited to be there, excited to be doing this, and so I forgot about the nervousness, and told them everything I know about marmalade.

We had Cara Cara oranges, mango blood oranges, grapefruit, and minneolas at our disposal for the workshop. Because of this great variety of citrus, the marmalade had a good depth of flavor. I had also run into the co-op on my way to the Birdhouse, and got some vanilla beans, which added nice undertones to our marmalade.

By the end of the workshop, I had just about lost my voice (still getting over being sick), but was very happy with the enthusiasm of the canning group. Canning alone, as I often do, or even canning with one other person is one thing--canning in a kitchen with twelve other people is a different type of excitement yet: people who've come to a couple canning classes were filling in those who had never canned before; and canning veterans were still learning some new techniques. It just feels so good to share about canning--it's such a tangible way of teaching about food democracy, about eating in-season (and local, when possible), and about the flavors that surpass anything that is available in stores. I look forward to the next canning workshop already.

Half the class processes the citrus, half the class looks on--the Birdhouse kitchen has limited space, so people trade off working on the project.

You can see how careful everyone is with the peels;

in the pictures up top, you can also see the wonderful Heart of Fruit and the citrus bits in the preserving pan.

Canning Workshop

Earlier this month, and with the help/organization of my friend Katie Ries,

I led a canning workshop at The Birdhouse.

The group was very receptive, despite my nervousness. I tried very hard

to keep my hands off the process and let them handle everything.

In the end, everyone had had a turn doing just about every part of the preparation and canning.

We made ginger-garlic mustard, pickled carrots, and chunky apple sauce.

The workshop was a great success and taught me a few good lessons.

Firstly, I love teaching, and I love canning.

Therefore, I love teaching canning.

Secondly, canning things that are in-season is very exciting.

Thirdly, just because I am able to can multiple things in one session in our own kitchen

does not necessarily mean it's a good idea when teaching a group.

By the end of the workshop, I was completely drained, as were several participants.

This is why the next workshop will be a single-item one.

The next workshop will be at 1:00 PM

on Sunday, November 14.

We will be making apple-cranberry rum relish.

If you would like to attend, contact me for details.

(Most of the photos were taken by Katie Ries, too!)

Canning

Last week, Matt and I canned a few jars of dilly beans, cauliflower, and one jar of pickles. I used the recipe from my canning workshop: mustard seeds, peppercorns, dill seeds and garlic. There were a couple notable things about this canning experience. It was my first time re-using jars that I did not get specifically for canning; we'd gotten some pasta sauce a few months ago, and I realized that the jars it came in were Mason jars! The large jar on the left with the dilly beans is the reused jar. This was also my first time using the large Weck jars. We'd preserved some strawberry syrup in a tall Weck juice jar a few weeks ago, but somehow, the large jars seemed to behave differently--they took longer to seal. And of course, because I was impatient to test the seals, I ended up unsealing the two Weck jars, and had to re-process them the next morning. The re-processing worked out just fine, and the jars sealed. I learned a valuable lesson: the heavy glass lids and thick rubber seals of the Weck jars take longer than thin metal lids to seal.

If any of you are wondering, I bought the beautiful Weck jars at the co-op. I've been coveting them online for a good few months, when I unexpectedly ran into them in the bulk isle of the co-op. When I was buying a couple jars for my mom, the cashier commented that she'd never used an "alternative" method of canning. I was quick to correct her that this method of canning--with the rubber gasket and glass lid--predates the metal lids that we are so used to now. The Weck jars, although more expensive, are much more aesthetically appealing than the Mason/Ball jars; the lids are also reusable, and I would imagine it would take a good few canning sessions to wear out one of the rubber gaskets. I think that as long as the co-op is carrying the jars, I will continue to add to my collection; I look forward to more canning with them, too!

Canning

A week and a half ago (or so), I went to a canning/pickling workshop with my friend Charlotte. The workshop was at the local community house, and there were about a dozen aspiring canners there; in about three hours' time, we made and canned (under the supervision of the canning workshop leader) Dilly Beans, Pear Chutney, and Pickled Daikon and Golden Beets. After going to the workshop, I couldn't stop thinking about canning--it was so easy! I suddenly had this new technology of preserving food at my fingertips! And so, I started planning a canning day for myself.
As with any food event, there was the question of what to make; I browsed and contemplated many recipes and finally decided on BBQ Sauce, Tangelo Marmalade, and Pickled Peppers.
Two of those, I knew, would be more involved recipes, and the peppers would be something easier--I had gotten a handful of banana peppers over the weekend, and our own little cinder-block garden had produced a few poblanos and jalapenos.
I planned the day along with my friend Megan, as she had an interest in canning things and is in possession of a canning pot; it also turned out that Megan and I make an incredible canning team--we work well together, and she's not afraid of picking up hot jars with her bare hands. (There she is, pouring sugar into the marmalade pot!)
We worked tirelessly for hours. One of the two large burners on our stove quit working soon after we moved into the house, and this was what slowed us down quite a bit, as canning involves several things going at once: a pan to sterilize the jars, whatever is being canned, and the big canning pot to process the jars once they're filled. Here is a picture of half-way through the day: the BBQ sauce was already blended up (I used fresh tomatoes to make it) and in a bowl, ready to be ladled out into jars; the tangelos ready to be cooked down for the marmalade; the peppers chopped up and waiting in a bowl... Including cooking time (and time to go out and get more jar lids, as we filled up more jars than we expected), we were hard at work for about six hours. And of course, as we were hearing the little "ping" of processed jars sealing themselves, all that work was worth it. I was especially pleased with the way the BBBQ sauce came out--we have enough to give to friends and family, and some
to use ourselves.
However, the marmalade never "set up" as promised by the recipe, which never mentions pectin... The taste was wonderful, but I was really hoping for marmalade, rather than tangelo drink mixer--we'll have to try it again, with pectin this time. I'm also looking forward to canning tomatillo salsa. And rosemary jelly. If you haven't tried canning, it's rather easy if you have the necessary tools. Also, it would help if you are making only one thing to can (especially if it's your first time). The sense of accomplishment in seeing the finished product is pretty great--and renewed each time I see the jars I purposefully left sitting out on the kitchen table.