A Curious Obsession

Canned Heat--"Going Up The Country" (mp3)
Summer Tonight--"Who Knew" (mp3)

Lately, for reasons I don't fully understand, I've become addicted to canning.

As I sit here typing this, I can look across the kitchen at a wall stacked with 10 jars of fig jam, 2 jars of strawberry jam, 4 jars of pickled jalapenos and onions, 4 jars of tomato and ginger chutney, 6 jars of chow chow, 5 jars of pickles, and, cooling on the counter by the stove, 6 freshly-canned jars of hot pepper jelly.

I probably have reached the point where I'm canning just to can. I was flipping through Donald Link's Real Cajun cookbook on Saturday and there was his recipe for hot pepper jelly and the next thing I knew I was headed to Linda's Produce to get red bell peppers, to the Bi-Lo to get sugar, and, later, to the Food Lion to get canning jars. I don't know that I even like hot pepper jelly, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm going to do with 6 jars of it.

My father says I'm developing a Great Depression mindset.

My younger daughter nearly screams now whenever the smell of hot vinegar permeates the house, "Are you canning again?"

Part of it is an attempt to validate my meager garden. The jalapenos in the pepper jelly and the pickled jalapenos are mine, as are the tomatoes in the chutney. But, most of the produce comes from Linda's. A neighbor lady gave me a huge bag of figs last year, and that probably started this whole thing, but perhaps I wasn't grateful enough, because a bag of figs did not come my way this year.

I haven't really analyzed it all that much, but it isn't too great of a reach to suggest that canning fulfills at least two primal needs: 1) the need to have food "put up" or "set back" for harder times or colder days, and 2) the need to have something to give to guests or visitors to take with them. I mean, if I kept 10 jars of fig jam and my family ate them, we'd all end up as diabetics, as much sugar as is in that recipe. And, while I'm not sure that I accept my dad's belief that I'm channeling those years that shaped his life, it is nice to have a few things in the cupboard that we won't have to go out and buy.

But there are other forces at play, too. It may not be true in your world, but in the world of cooking, a pantry full of house-canned items is a badge of credibility. When you take a look at a good restaurant these days, notice how often they're curing their own meats or making their own cheese (I've made homemade ricotta, if you're ever interested--it's the easiest thing in the world, and noticeably more delicious than store-bought) or canning their own jams, pickles, vegetables, you name it. Sure, it's probably cost-effective, but more than that, it suggests that the chef or the cook has a full understanding of and an ability to make use of everything around him or her. It's an expansion of one's repertoire. Plus, it's control. When you make it, you know exactly what's in it and exactly how it tastes. My hot pepper jelly is not as hot as the recipe calls for because I know who eats what I serve, and they don't tend to like things that hot.

Finally, canning is simply a way to honor the summer, and this summer has been a very, very good one for vegetables and fruits of all kinds. When you pry the seal off that lid in November or January, you can't help but recall a wonderful growing season and all of the adjacent memories that go with that, back when you stood in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals, evaluating fresh produce with careful eyes, the squeeze of your fingers, the hefting of it in your hands, and you thought, 'I'm going to do something good with this.'

All of which does little to explain why I'm actively searching for something else to cut up, mix with vinegar and/or sugar and spices, heat to boiling, ladle into sterilized jars, seal, and process in a boiling water bath.

Hmmm. Peaches?