Hedonia

The even greater tomato canning of 2009

Gluttons for punishment, we are. As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, we undertook our greatest processing and canning feat to date, dispatching with 200 pounds of tomatoes across two weeks. Thanks to our experiences over the past couple years, we've learned a few things that help speed the process and move things along.

For our purposes, as we were looking to get as much sauce out of the fruit as possible, two extremely large stock pots were of the essence. In addition, 23-quart pressure canners* were required so we could process multiple batches in parallel. A 36" range helped, but was not strictly necessary. Snacks and wine, however, were.

Whereas last year we merely scored the bottoms of the tomatoes and then blanched and cored them, this year we had an epiphany: If we cored the tomatoes first, then blanched them, the skins came away more easily, and we didn't need to handle the slippery devils with a paring knife in one hand. Good-quality rubber gloves prevented our skin from cracking from the constant exposure to acid. Our ducks were in a row.

Our first day of canning by the numbers:

• 100 lbs of tomatoes
• 2 large stockpots and 2 23-quart pressure canners
• 42 quart jars, lids and rings
• 12 hours
• 4 grown men
• 3 underfoot dogs
• 2 flaming kitchen towels

On the second Saturday, at our friends Nick & Russ's place in the East Bay, Nick mused on how we all enjoy this activity, and wondered how we as a society moved away from such labors. The answer, of course, is World War II.

The Eatsdropper will go blind doing that

While I'd absolutely love to present you with a lushly written and gorgeously photographed post on creating some mouth-watering treat today, our time is otherwise occupied. We are in the throes of our most ambitious kitchen masochism project to date. Whereas two years ago we and two friends processed and canned 50 pounds of tomatoes, and last year 80, this year we are tackling 200 pounds of the stuff. Yesterday we converted 100 pounds into 42 quarts of sauce, canned tomatoes and what can be called tomato jus; next week we will do the same at our friends' place in the East Bay.

Somehow, magically, despite our increasingly aggressive efforts it seems to get easier each year. We made some key changes to the process this time around, and things clicked along much more quickly. By coring first, then blanching amply, the tomatoes were much easier to skin and seed. And of course, many hands make light work.

Meanwhile, I leave you with the latest collection of audible edibles. My ears are always open for more, so send'em along to eatsdropper-at-seantimberlake-dot-com. Cheers!

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Receptionist: "I could use a credit card that gave me free movie tickets. I would love that."
Patient: "I would like a credit card that gives free cat food. My cat's idea of good cat food is maguro sushi."

- Eatsdropped by Genie at the chiropractor

Friend, in reference to a Greek BBQ: "Like yummy dog meat"

- Eatsdropped by Kevin at Toad Hall

One of two 20-something girls wearing Uggs:
    "Wait there's mold on the outside of the cheese?! Wow that's unreal."

- Eatsdropped by Jeanne at the Achadinha Cheese booth at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market

Female diner: "Wow, what a meal. I feel like a cigarette!"

- Eatsdropped by Ron at The Herb Farm

Jen: "This is the first Book Club where I've had drool all over my leg."

- Eatsdropped via Twitter by Genie at Forbidden Island, after which:

Genie: "I'm going to have to favorite my own Tweet."
Cam: "You'll go blind doing that."

Giambotta, Italian summer vegetable stew

I don't know about you, but I would have thought that a cookbook that was spun off from a foul-mouthed primetime premium cable drama series should be nothing more than a schlocky gimmick, a way to squeeze a few extra bucks out of a fawning audience. So imagine my surprise when my great aunt back in Schenectady said that the recipes in The Sopranos Family Cookbook were nearly identical to our family's repertory. Knowing I have an interest in documenting our Italian-American culinary heritage, she sent me a copy of the book, with hand-written notes slotted in alongside certain recipes, with an introductory note:

Hope you enjoy this cookbook. I never watched The Sopranos. The recipes are the closest I've ever seen to the peasant meals my mother cooked. She did not use a lot of hot stuff like red pepper or pepperoncini. The red pepper would be on the table along with the grated cheese for all meals.

Love as always,

Aunt Anne