This, my friends, is only the tip of the tomato iceberg.
It was clearly time for drastic action. It was Time To Can.
Step One: Turning the kitchen into a sauna by boiling three pots of water at once.
Back burner=pot of water to sterilize jars and lids. Front left=pot of water for tomatoes, to facilitate peeling. Front right=the big, bad pressure canner.
Step Two: The peeling. To peel tomatoes, you drop them into boiling water (preferably in a nifty little basket so they can all be lifted out at once) for about 30 seconds, then dump them into cold water. This causes the skins to slip off, leaving you with a slippery, slimy, naked tomato.
On the left, the gigantic bowl of cold water for the boiled tomatoes. On the right, the not-quite-so-gigantic colander to wash the worst of the dirt off the tomatoes before peeling. And now you see why a farm sink is so necessary on a farm.
Step Three: Mashing the tomatoes into the jars and putting on the lids and rings. When the tomatoes are peeled, cored, and cut into chunks if they're really big, they get smushed in the jars (along with some citric acid, because my tomatoes weren't very acidic and we do not want to die of botulism). There are no photos of this step, because my hands were completely covered in tomato slime, which I did not wish to get on my camera. But trust me that you really want to jam the tomatoes into the jar. It's cathartic, really. Then the rims of the jars get wiped off (if the top of the jar is dirty, it will impede sealing), the lids plunked on, and the rings tightened.
Step Four: The canning.
Can you believe this monstrous pressure canner only holds seven quarts? What a screw.
I used the pressure canner this time, but tomatoes can be canned with a hot water bath, too. That's how we always used to do it before we got the pressure canner this year.
(Fun, science-y side note: At this point, the temperature in my kitchen was approximately equivalent to the surface of the sun.)
While the tomatoes were doing their thing in the pressure canner, I faced this:
Ew.
There's a photo that will never make it into The Ball Blue Book.
And finally, the end result:
I see chili in my future.
So there you have it--the first of many, many canning days in the next couple of weeks. And by the way, remember that first picture, with the big colander and dish pan both full of tomatoes? Those seven quarts you see there only used the dish pan. I still have the colander full. And the tomatoes keep ripening.
I was in Dean and Deluca the other day, and yellow bell peppers were selling for $6 a pound. Not a misprint.
ReplyDeleteWell, in a few weeks, I'll be selling my organic, free-range peppers for the bargain price of $4 a pound. Place your orders now!
ReplyDeleteSeriously, that's totally insane.
I found ANCIENT canning supplies in a tiny room under the porch of our ancient-ass house. I also found a huge (empty) glass jar with a label that says "Cyanide." Hm. I don't suppose cyanide is part of the canning process? Should I be looking for bodies buried in my yard?
ReplyDeleteMmmm, lamb chili. Or was that not your intention?
ReplyDeleteJiveturkey, when I moved in I found a cabinet full of lawn chemicals and pesticides in the garage that was truly impressive. At least three different products that had been banned by the EPA, and two more that were in concentrations that are no longer commercially available without a license. Wheeee!
I can't even find information online on what to do with this crap. I'm afraid if I called the local authorities to ask, I'd get a visit from the men who don't exist. And I'm not interested in vacationing in Cuba this year.
Kristin: You should set up a tomato stand...like a lemonade stand! I'd buy some.
ReplyDeleteJive Turkey: Cyanide?! WTF?
I've been canning lately, too, but I just do jam. I don't know if it's good jam, and I don't even really eat jam, but I have a buttload of it. Also, I'm scared of the pressure canner, so I just do the hot water bath kind.
ReplyDeleteI wish I had the room to store canned tomatoes, though I doubt that's a part of your worries. Seriously though, if I was in upstate New York, which is obviously getting better weather than California, I'd totally buy some from you.
ReplyDeletei think you should sell them! eat some, sell some, send some to me.
ReplyDeleteRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!
ReplyDeleteI still do it the old way, with a water bath canner, but I'm semi-intrigued by your pressure canner.
Something else I'll have to store in the garage.
SO - 24 tomato plants you say? How many quarts of tomatoes do you can every summer?
I'm moving up to 4 plants next year which is a big step. Someday, I'll add 20 and you can help me with my suicidalness.
I know I"m insane, but that looks fun. It kills me that I bought an old house with a canning closet and I never can. I'm not living up to my destiny!
ReplyDeleteHmmm, it looks as if I have the base of my clientele should I ever decide to start a business. Though that would require a lot of work, so . . . no.
ReplyDeleteFinny--The pressure canner is really not necessary for things like tomatoes. What is IS necessary for are things like chicken broth and mulberry juice that are low in acid.
I'm not sure how many quarts we'll get this year. Last year we had close to 20 quarts, but we had less plants of our own and used some overflow from the MiL's sister's plants. The next round of canning will be sauce, then salsa, then the rest will be plain tomatoes. I'll be posting a roll call of all the food we've preserved at the end of the season (sometime in October). The list is already long, and we're not even close to done. It's going to be ridiculous.
If you're wondering about the orange tomatoes, they are named "moonglow." Terrific growers, very productive, very large, very beautiful. Mild tasting. They started life in the upstairs bathroom in the little paper pots that Kristin made.
ReplyDelete