Canning Tomatoes Part 2

Wherein the real work happens.

Lesson 1: Do not start processing on the same day as picking. I could have gone home, taken a long shower and napped all afternoon, but instead I processed tomatoes for the next 6 hours. And then came back the next day for another 4.

Really the most tedious part of this whole adventure was peeling. Not Michael Landon, who would be happy as a clam eating all fruits and vegetables right of the vine with no processing or cooking whatsoever, was curious as to why we were removing the skins. They're too filmy and tough; once the tomatoes are cooked down they just kinda float around and refuse to breakdown.

The method we used for peeling was to scald the tomatoes. We washed them well, spread them out in a single layer and poured boiling water over them all. Just wait for it to get cool enough to handle, and they mostly slide right off. They seem to peel best when good and warm, not too cool.

Canning is, essentially, an effort in outwitting bacteria. The whole idea is to put the most sterile food possible into the most sterile jar possible and then sterilize it. Tomatoes are a prime canning candidate because of their high acid content - which is rather inhospitable to bacteria. It's very important to maintain sterility at every point in the process as much as possible. The kind of bugs that multiply in canned food are not always detectable to the eye or nose once you break that seal months later.

Now, my mother tells me I'm a paranoid person, but everything I've read about canning stresses sterility and following instructions and recipes exactly. We used the instructions in Joy of Cooking's 75th Anniversary Edition, which follow USDA guidelines. What follows is a narrative of my process - NOT precise instructions to be tried at home. You need Joy of Cooking anyway, put it on your Christmas list.

So we made sure all discolored bits and cores were removed from the tomatoes and tossed them in a pot to boil. I started out this adventure with my sights on canned tomato sauce with a great recipe; by the time we had started peeling, I settled for crushed tomatoes and compromised by adding a basil leaf. My grandmother commented that she used to cold pack tomatoes, but since they boiled while we were peeling more, the additional time/effort was minimal. Knowing she never killed anyone gave me extra reassurance that we were maintaining sufficient safety.

The jars, lids, and rings we washed with warm soapy water and then scalded with boiling. A jar filling funnel would have been very useful, but a ladle worked okay too. The jars get really hot with the boiling tomatoes poured in, so a pot holder is essential, preferably plastic to help with spills. We topped the jars with two tablespoons of bottled lemon juice (more acid; bottled is required over fresh squeezed, since the acidity in individual lemons is variable) and a basil leaf. Poked a clean, skinny spatula in to let out any air, left about a half inch of space at the top, topped them with a lid and screwed the ring on just until resistance was met - too tight and it's hard to get them off afterward.

While everything else was going, we set my giant canning pot to boil half full (an excellent hand-me-down). Setting the jars on the rack was a bit tricky; I had to pull it out and stack them dry to see how they fit first. There are handles that you could presumably use to lift the whole rack in and out, but I had visions of 7 jars of tomatoes crashing to the floor and crying a lot. We topped off the pot with more boiling water to cover the jars well, and set them to boil for 45 minutes.

After that the jars just had to come out promptly and set still for 12-24 hours. Moving the rack and/or pot around full is definitely a two-person job; that sucker is heavy. And now they're sitting on the floor in a corner in my kitchen, the coolest, darkest space I could find.

So, you'll remember we set out on this time consuming and work-intensive journey for two reasons: cost and taste. We used approximately 45 lbs of tomatoes, purchased at $0.50/lb, and yielded 13 quart jars of crushed tomatoes. This is $1.73/qt, or $1.51 for 28 fl oz (the size of most large cans at the supermarket). It's actually nearly impossible to compare what we made to something available at the supermarket. The organic tomatoes come from large scale industrial farms; the quality tomatoes with minimal additives come all the way from Italy; local just doesn't have the scale to make it to a store shelf. So it makes it easy that nothing - nothing - available at Safeway comes close to this price.

The true cost to me is higher. Gas brings it to $2.55/28fl oz. I wasted peppers and basil that I meant to can and freeze since I was so burnt out with the tomatoes. But even then it's only starting to come close to the Cento tomatoes I usually buy. You'd have to add in mine and my mother's hourly wage to make this whole endeavor more expensive than store bought. And while it was a lot of work and time, and my mom keeps saying she'll say no the next time I have a hairbrained idea like this, it was sure more fun than my 9 to 5.

As for taste: the fresh tomato season is still in full swing, so I haven't cracked open any of those jars yet. I took one taste during processing and was impressed. San Marzanos are supposed to be the world's best sauce tomatoes, according to chefs. Stay tuned for the verdict.

Canning Tomatoes Part 1: U-Pick

Why would I want to can my own tomatoes? First, moving yourself off the industrial food complex is a rather expensive endeavor. Processed foods made from commodity corn are excessively cheap (thank you government subsidies), a luxury whole foods do not enjoy. So one of my methods for keeping costs down is to process as much of our food myself as possible. I've only found one brand of canned tomatoes (Cento) at my local supermarket with only tomatoes listed under ingredients. Seriously, you wouldn't think there could be that much else in "canned tomatoes", but take a look sometime. Anyways, this brand is at least $3 for a 28oz can.

But they do taste really good, which brings me to my second reason - taste. You know the difference between store bought tomatoes and homegrown tomatoes? I'm hoping the difference between store bought canned tomatoes and home canned tomatoes approaches that somewhat.

In order to tackle the first goal (cost), I needed cheap tomatoes. Local, organic tomatoes are tough to find for under $2/lb, so enter my local farm, which spurred this whole endeavor. We subscribe to a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), which supplies us with more veggies, and a bit of fruit, than we can usually consume from March to November. It's all locally and organically grown, for a little under $20 a week. Considering how much I spend at the farmer's market when I allow myself a trip, it's a great bargain.

This time of year they're a little overwhelmed with the tomato harvest, so they invite people out to the farm to pick their own at a reduced price ($0.50/lb). I recruited my mom, with the promise of a cupboard of tomatoes and an underestimate of the work involved, and we drove the half hour or so out to the middle of nowhere to pick tomatoes. By the way, I calculated the cost of gas and it was still far less expensive than the cheapest locally grown tomatoes I could find anywhere.

This was the first time I'd been out to the farm, and it was really fascinating just to be there. I can safely say it's probably the first time in my 26 years I've ever encountered the place my food starts out. I had a vague idea of the quantity of produce they... well, produce, but I was taken aback by the amount of land that translates to. The family were really nice, but down-to-earth no-nonsense type people. I got the feeling if I asked a question to the farmer about his crop, I might be there until next Tuesday still taking in the answer.

Picking your own produce is a rather quaint idea, but it doesn't feel particularly quaint while you're doing it. Don't get me wrong, I could use the free exercise, but when they say farm workers do backbreaking work, they're not kidding. Lots of up and down, lots of lugging crates of produce around, lots of sun, and no shade. We went on one of those hot Californian September days that take you by surprise, and we were way too far inland for the marine layer to cool us off.

After a couple hours, we had about 45 lbs of tomatoes (1/3 heirloom, 2/3 San Marzano), and we picked up some peppers and basil they had for sale also. We headed home, exhausted and dirty, for the real work to begin...

Yeah, I have a food blog too.

My husband, Not Michael Landon, hates blogs. He thinks people with worthwhile things to say are actually published.

And I'm not here to prove him wrong. I took high school journalism, but that's where my verbal prowess ends. My culinary skills aren't world class either. I'm probably not even unique in my quest to create old fashioned food for a modern family (scratch that, I know I'm not unique, given the trouble I had finding a blog name that wasn't taken).

So it's a good thing that my main purpose here is just to catalog my own adventures. Kinda like logging what you eat to loose weight, this is my way of keeping myself on track. If you find a solution that applies to your life, that's icing.

But exactly what is this track? I try to be a good hippie - do what's right for the environment and my own family's health. In terms of food, I try to accomplish this by eating locally, and processing as much of our food as I can myself. Of course, there are challenges too, and they're the regular ones: money, and time.

And who's on this track? I'm Not Laura Ingalls, a quarterlifer, working full time. I'm a crazy perfectionist with issues about tackling too much at once. I really do enjoy spending time on cooking and other domesticity, but it can bring stress when there's too much on my plate. Not Michael Landon is my husband of over two years. He works even more than I do, and he goes to school too, which means he helps out where he can, but where he can isn't much. He's a meat and potatoes kinda guy, but he continues to surprise me with his flexibility. Sometimes I test his limits. We live close to our families in the silicon valley, in a little bitty postage-stamp of an apartment.

And this is how we eat...