Marinara sauce is a huge part of that goal. We [...]]]> It took a while for our tomatoes to really hit their stride, but at the end of August, they started ripening a thousand a minute or so. Since the whole goal of learning to can was to do something with our tomatoes, this was very exciting.

Marinara sauce is a huge part of that goal. We both enjoy simple, quick dinners involving pasta, cheese and tomato-based sauce on weeknights. It cuts into our Stargate: Atlantis viewing time much less than a full-blown meal involving 27 pans and a blowtorch. So why not make a sauce that was so tasty, it could stand on its own with some whole wheat pasta? Why indeed.

I scoured my favorite canning book, The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving, but it had nothing that looked exciting enough. Surely having both onions AND garlic in a tomato sauce does not result in instant death-by-botulism. It was my massage therapist, Natalie, who eventually pointed me the right direction with a link to Canning USA. Warning: their html will hurt your eyes and heart.

Since I have both renegade canning and mathematical adequacy in my genes, I couldn’t help but a) notice some non-death-inducing improvements that could be made (like caramelizing the onions and adding dried oregano), and 2) figure out that their input/output claims were nonsensical. You cannot gather that quantity of ingredients, reduce it by a third, and have 9 quarts of sauce.

So, here’s what I came up with. Tomato quantity and lemon juice are increased. I feel in my heart that it’s acidic enough to be safe, but, you know. Make this at your own peril. If the USDA kicks your door down, don’t come crying to me.

Marinara sauce

Yield: 9 quarts
Active work: 2 hours
Total time: 6.5 hours+-

Ingredients:

Destructions:

In a really, really large pot that’s stainless steel, begin caramelizing the onions in the olive oil. Heat should be medium to medium low. Adjust the heat on the onions as necessary so you don’t incinerate them. Don’t forget to stir them occasionally.

During the 45+ minutes that will take, roughly chop the tomatoes. Peeling and seeding is optional.

Fill a large glass with ice. Pour a shot of gin over it, squeeze a half of a lime in, and top off with sparking water. Give a gentle stir. Begin drinking. There’s not much chopping left.

When the onions are caramelized and smell like awesome, throw in your garlic and saute for no more than two minutes, until the garlic just begins to turn golden.

Add the chopped tomatoes, the wine, the salt, and the pepper to the onions. Stir a bit. Measure out the dried oregano and briefly crush between your palms before adding to the pot.

Simmer the sauce until it’s reduced by a quarter to one third. This will take 3-4 hours.  During that time, you can nap, pull out the remnants of the lemon cucumber plants, or drink the rest of the gin. It’s all up to you.

At the three hour mark or so, begin sterilizing your jars. Hurray, dishwashers! Also, heat up water in the other humongous pot you happen to have around the house.  It should be deep enough to conceivably cover lots of jars with about an inch to spare once their mass is displaced. Your lids shouldn’t be boiled, but rather heated gently in water so they are clean and stuff.

Process the fresh herbs with the lemon juice until chopped, about 15-20 1-second spins in ye olde Cuisinart.

Add the herbs and lemon juice to the tomatoes and simmer for 5 more minutes.

Fill your sterilized jars, working one at a time, leaving about a half inch of head space. Wipe down rims, center the lid, and screw on the ring until it’s finger tight. Oh yeah, baby.

Process the jars of sauce in boiling water for 35 minutes. Turn off heat, let them rest in the water for five minutes, then remove them and place them on a towel in a draft-free area. Let them rest for 24 hours.

Check and make sure they have sealed. If they have, you can remove the ring (if you want to) and store them in a dark, cool place. If they haven’t sealed, you’re pretty much screwed, since the weekend is shot and you may or may not have time to re-process half-spoiled marinara sauce.

I don’t know, though, since all of mine sealed and are now sitting happily in the kitchen. There was an extra cup or so that was really, really delicious. I ate a good portion of it using potato chips as a spoon. Ummmm…yeah.

*Why bottled lemon juice? Because it’s a known acidity, unlike fresh lemons or limes. Yeah, I initially revolted at that one too.

Mom taught me, and a few other lucky women, to can. I’ve done research and read books, but having mom’s advice and lore from decades of experience was simply great. She’s a bit of a renegade [...]]]> Last weekend, as planned, my parents came up to our place and helped us out on a number of fronts.

Mom taught me, and a few other lucky women, to can. I’ve done research and read books, but having mom’s advice and lore from decades of experience was simply great. She’s a bit of a renegade canner, and when she mentioned sealing jams with wax and skipping the water bath entirely, I expected USDA commandos to break through the kitchen door. But we learned the importance of following the recipe, keeping the implements clean, and how to use a pressure cooker.

By the end of the weekend, we had canned two batches of blackberry jam (thanks for bringing the fruit, mom!), one batch of blueberry lime jam, one batch of Makers Mark peach butter, and a whole bunch of carrots and garlic, which we plan to use in soups.

While I was learning to can, Brooks, my dad, and a great group of volunteers were helping raise our new fence. Raise. I guess I say that because it was like an old-fashioned barn raising. A fence raising. We got most of the way there; I wimped out on the sealing with linseed oil Sunday evening, and there is a colorful and eclectic array of finials that are awaiting install. Plus the gate. But all in all, it’s really looking good:

The fence is based on one a few miles away that Brooks saw and liked. He has, however, made a number of improvements, and the finished project will be fantastic.

Now that we have (most of) a fence, the next step is obvious. We will get a dog. Tomorrow, we’ll meet Bella and fall in love with her (you just know some things in advance) and bring her home as soon as we are screened and approved. Happy day!

But even before the great canning fest of 2009, I had more immediate [...]]]> Our tomatoes have finally been ripening. This has occasioned all kinds of anticipation, as well as plans to have my mom come for a visit in a couple weekends and teach me to can (while Dad helps Brooks with the new, meth-head-deterring fence).

But even before the great canning fest of 2009, I had more immediate plans to use two huge heirloom tomatoes that were finally ready for eating. Oh yes. They were to be combined with our own lemon cucumbers, basil, red onions, and oregano into a delicious Greek salad tomorrow night, when my brother passes through Portland on his way to his new Coast Guard assignment in Alaska.

You will note the past tense. Were. For, when I turned the corner on the way home from work today, a meth head was picking one of them. And by the time I got to the driveway, he was eating it. While I applaud his interest in nutrition, this was Our Tomato. Really, the first of the heirlooms. And therefore special.

This occasioned some rolling down of window and yelling on my part, followed by some fleeing on meth head’s part.

Ok, I wish he had fled. But the bastard insolently ambled, and even turned around to shout at me when he overheard me tell my brother on the phone that he had said. “I took your tomato; I’m a moron.”

But wait, there’s more! Meth head later returned, clearly casing the joint out. I tremble for our carrots. But Brooks was in the carport and spied him, and bless him, he gave the meth head a Great Fright. OH god. I wish I had been there to see it. However, others were. I take comfort in that.

I also hope that our taillights aren’t broken out tomorrow.

On to more delightful topics. No one has stolen the flowers from the front yard. Yet.

Or so the server at Alameda Brewhouse claimed; in fact, their random blond seasonal she talked us [...]]]> While having a really good beer this evening at The 5th Quadrant, I was reminded of a terrible beer we tried at Alameda Brewhouse a couple weeks back. The two don’t really have anything in common, besides being beer.

Or so the server at Alameda Brewhouse claimed; in fact, their random blond seasonal she talked us into ordering tasted more like a root beer. So maybe it was very popular there, but the pub in question is dangerously close to Vancouver. Presumably the Washingtonians are throwing her count off. From my perspective, it was truly the worst beer I have ever tasted, outside of a friend’s undrinkable homebrew.

There’s a flash equivalent to the awfulness of that beer. Oh yes. It is to web design what that blond ale was to drinkable liquids. My eyes hurt. [Via Brooks, via something on teh internets]