Bless me blog world, for I have sinned. It’s been nine months since my last post. My confession goes as follows: a 26-pound creature made of chubbiness has redirected my life. I know tons of moms blog and that’s cool, but this mom just couldn’t blog and mommerjize and also work (write). Blogging used to be a way for me to kill time in between writing gigs, but now that I have NO FREE TIME (in between paid writing gigs I take care of my baby), so blogging has gone by the wayside. This little foray has been fun, and I do continue to can, of course (just remade that plum-apricot jam from two years ago – yum!), but I simply don’t have the time or energy to be bloggin’ about it. So, voila. C’est tout. I’ll let this site kick around a little while longer, but soon the pantry shall disappear. To all the jar heads: thanks for reading and commenting, keep cannin’, stay golden. G

So, one more boozy fruit post to come (cherries!) but I thought I would interrupt the series with a couple of luscious tomatoes. Because, why not? It’s fall and the fruit recipes won’t likely be used by anybody til next summer. Again: this is all due to my maternity leave getting in the way of keeping on top of seasonality! Still, since my little man was born three months ago, I’ve managed to make pickles, one batch of jam, to can peaches, cherries, figs and tomatoes – a heck of a lot less than last year, but not so shabby after all.

But I digress.

Where were we? Oh yes: the fruit that is forever mistaken for a veggie.

The bright red thing so often smashed and simmered into sauce, then paired with pasta. And such an easy thing to can. Two weeks ago I went with my friend N. to her parents’ lovely farmhouse in Prince Edward County, a bucolic agricultural and wine region halfway between Toronto and Montreal (a little closer to TO). We brought two bushels of Roma tomatoes with us and got busy with a giant pot and her mom’s big, hand-cranked food mill.

We did simple canned whole tomatoes and a bunch of tomato sauce. It was interesting to see our two canning styles come out over the weekend. N. comes from a big family (she’s one of six siblings) and they all seem to can and cook with passion and by following word-of-mouth family recipes and loose instructions handed down by her mum. I, one the other hand, am a bit of a recipe nerd and I follow all the latest, paranoid canning instructions from the latest canning books (i.e., I add lemon juice to my canned tomatoes, I process my jams in a boiling water bath, never re-use lids etc. – all things old school canners don’t seem to bother with).

So we made the sauce the way N.’s family’s being doing it for ages (no lemon juice) and the canned tomatoes my way (with about a tbsp bottled lemon juice in each jar) because supposedly tomatoes may not be acidic enough for water bath canning. And the reason why it’s bottled and not fresh is that that’s the only way to get the right amount of acidity as it varies from lemon to lemon. On which side of the debate do you stand? Lemon juice or no lemon juice? Does no lemon juice seem like reckless endangerment to you? Or does lemon juice seem like modern paranoia?

Anyway, here goes with the recipes, in pretty huge quantities (feel free to halve or quarter):

Canned whole tomatoes

48-50 lbs ripe Roma tomatoes (1 bushel)

About 1.5 cups bottled lemon juice (maybe more, maybe less), or 1 tbsp per jar

OK, use your biggest pot to bring some water to a boil. In batches, boil your tomatoes for about a minute, then plunge them into ice water, strain them and peel and remove that chunky white stem bit with a pairing knife. Spoon them into hot, clean jars (running them through the dishwasher is easy) and pour enough of the boiling water you briefly cooked them in to come to about a 1/2 inch head space. Add about 1tbsp of bottled lemon juice to each jar (if you are so inclined), and perhaps a basil leaf. Process in a boiling water bath for 40 minutes. We got 25 liters of these (15 one-liter and 20 500-ml jars.

N.’s tomato sauce

48-50 lbs tomatoes

1 head of garlic, minced

1 large bunch of basil, chopped

About 1 cup of bottled lemon juice, or 1 tbsp per jar

Salt to taste

Halve and boil your tomatoes for about two minutes to loosen skins. Drain them, put them through a food mill to remove skins and seeds, then pour the tomato pulp into a very, very large pot (we used two) along with minced garlic and chopped basil. Cook for about 45 minutes, stirring continuously to reduce. Keep adding salt until you get the taste you like, then pour your sauce into hot clean jars, leaving 1/2 inch head space. Process in a boiling water bath for 40 minutes. We got 16 liters of sauce (8 one-liter and 16 500-ml jars).

OK, this isn’t exactly new. And, yes, peach season is long over. But my maternity leave has meant that my next few posts are after-the-fact as far as seasonality goes. But, hey, there’s always next year!

Alas.

I talked about this one last year, in my Teaches of canned peaches post. That’s when I did peaches in honey-lavender syrup and also the brandied peaches recipe from the NY Times dating back to 1951 with new canning instructions by food writer and canning queen Eugenia Bone.

As mentioned in my last post, I noticed last year that the brandied peaches really went the distance, maintaining their shape and flavour longer than their syrupy counterparts. And so, I used the recipe again this year, changing a few things (smaller slices, less syrup). I like smaller peach slices just because, and I use less liquid cuz the last two times I made this, I had about a cup and a half leftover syrup. Also, less syrup means more brandy flavour.

So here’s my version:

3 pounds peaches

2 cups sugar

2 cups water

1/2 cup brandy

Boil a big pot of water. Use a sharp knife to to make a shallow ‘x’ cut at the base of each peach then lower them gingerly into the water, leaving them in for one minute (don’t over-cook!). Scoop the peaches out (I use a wire mesh colander with a handle) and plunge into ice water, then slip the skins off. You can do this in small batches.

Peel, pit and slice the fruit into quarters or smaller slices (but not too small). Set aside. Bring water and sugar to boil in large pot, then add the peach segments and simmer for a few minutes (3-5). Remove the peaches with a slotted spoon, packing them into your hot, clean jars.

Boil the syrup for another 10 minutes or so to reduce it a little, then spoon it over your fruit. Dole out the brandy equally among your jars (you should have two 500ml or pint jars), leaving about 1cm or 1/4 inch head space. Process your jars for 20 minutes in a boiling water bath.

Hiya can fans!

Woah. What a summer. It went by in a blur. Actually, time is still whipping by in a haze of sleepless nights, feedings, crying, burping, cooing, gurgling, diaper changing, rattle shaking and on and on. It’s been equal parts beautiful, magical and exhausting. And it’s meant canning time has diminished markedly as compared to last year, when I was footloose and child-free. No big surprise there. Strangely I haven’t hosted any of my formerly rather frequent rambling, wine-fueled dinner parties either. Funny that.

However: Hurrah! Hurrah! I have managed to claw my way back to my jars and canning pot and have eeked out a few yummy things just as harvest time begins to wane. So my next couple of posts will be about my new obsession: boozy fruit. I learned last year, when I did peaches in syrup (honey-lavender syrup to be exact) and brandied peaches, that a bit of booze goes a long way in preserving fruit. The brandy-less peaches went mushy and lost their colour much faster than their boozy counterparts.

The other upside to preserving fruits in slightly alcoholic syrup? It takes less time than making jam does. And for a new mommy like moi, this works out just peachily (sorry). Anyway, coming up at the Pantry: figs, peaches and cherries get sauced. Stay tuned…

The Quebec asparagus season runs from about Mother’s Day until Saint-Jean Baptiste (that’s our “national” holiday, June 24). So: welcome, oh tall, skinny friend, oh gentle perfumer of urine. Yes, besides sprouts and lettuces, asparagus is about the only thing from Quebec at the market at the moment. Though I did spot a bit of mangy, early-bird rhubarb.

Anyway, it was thrilling to bust out the canning pot and get to work on these locally harvested green spears. This recipe is extremely similar to my cucumber pickle recipe. Here’s looking forward to cracking a jar in a few weeks, maybe pairing some with creamy scrambled eggs and grated parm…

Pickled asparagus

4 lbs asparagus

2 1/2 cups water

1 1/4 cups vinegar

1 1/4 cups white wine vinegar

2 tsp kosher or pickling salt

5 cloves of garlic, halved or slivered

5 good-sized sprigs of fresh dill (or more)

1 tsp each peppercorns, coriander seeds and red pepper flakes

Rinse asparagus under cold water and drain. Slice off tough, brownish bottoms, then cut asparagus in two (if you’re using half-pint/250ml jars, make sure you cut them to fit). Bring a pot of water to a low boil, blanch bottom halves for about 90 seconds, blanch the top halves for a minute, plunging both into ice water and swirling them around immediately after blanching. Set aside to drain.

Combine vinegars, water and salt in a pot and bring to a boil. Reduce to low heat and prepare your jars. This recipe makes about 10 half-pint (250ml) jars or 5 pint (500ml) jars. Distribute garlic, dill and spices evenly across your hot, clean jars (I wash then boil mine in the canning pot). Stuff as many asparagus halves as possible into each jar without crushing or bruising them (tightness is key as you don’t want any bobbing up and out of the pickling solution), then pour your water and vinegar over top, leaving about a 1/2 inch of head space.

Now you have the choice of boiling the jars for 10 minutes or using the slow pasteurization method, which I prefer for pickles: process your jars at a simmer, somewhere between 180-185F (82-85C) for 30 minutes. This really helps them stay crisper.