Gustatory greatness awaits all of those seeking to enter into the convenant of the realm of the fresh and local produce. Give praise to fresh asparagus and it's compatriots of fall...
Years ago, in days of yore, in hundreds of reverse fortnights, I would stand before my grandmother's pantry in wonderment, looking upward at things I could not yet reach, a kodachrome of vivid natural color, an aurora borealis of garden bounty, which beckond me. The reflecting glass of old Ball jars and metallic lids would flash at me as I opened the swinging doors, and light would reflect back onto my face, signaling me to look upward and notice the kalidescope of sweet and sour delights. The impulse was to climb on top of the washing machine and force open these briny secrets, and drain the contents as quickly as possible, and allow consequence to take control shortly thereafter. I was willing to get caught, because I was that hungry. My grandmother's canned peaches were never a waste of time.
One of my foremost goals aimed at expanding my gustatory repertoire was to learn how to can and pickle some of the food I had been growing since early spring. I planted beets and carrots, trusting that the carrots would grow, but worried about the beets intially. Until they became the hardiest crop in the garden. Beets are the Mr. T of the vegetable world. You can eat the entire plant, and it all tastes exactly like dirt tastes, with subtle undertones of Splenda. Yet my appreciation grows. This is a food that colors other foods richly, has incredible texture(s), is a prolific grower, has high sugar content, and vitamin rich greens, and is culturally relevant in Europe, especially if you have seen Eastern Promises, as I have.
The carrots did what they do. It seemed that only a little soul lifting, optimistic, Gun & Roses style patience was required. That means hardcore patience, like super reflective, and burned out from struggles on the road...struggles with strippers and heroin, junkies and gambling debts, and baby mamas and stuff. The ilk. Truth be sold, I enjoy nibbling carrot greens. I decided to pair these with some ginger for the pickling process. I picked 3/4 of the harvest and canned them same day. The brine consisted of vinegar, sugar, and salt. And just carrots and ginger. I sampled the brine to taste, because that is the only way to operate, and even solicted the services of an amateur brine consultant, who gave the requisite parochial blessing. It was determined that the stuff was, "leave it alone tasty".
Back to the beetboxing. I found a recipe online for pickled beets, and secured a pirates ransom in cloves. Whole cloves, in a bag, and not a little bit. They run about $27 a pound in bulk. I thought I would need them all for the beets. I was wrong, big bowl of wrong wrong. I used about a 16th of what I had purchased. The silver lining, is that now I have mad cloves, yo. Very similar to the carrots. I boiled them both for a minute in thyme, a few minutes, in a liquor of vinegar and salt and sugar. The vinegar gave me an instant thizz face. But the beets had that swizz taste, a flavricious lambaste, of lamb paste, a pate part-tay, not a pitty party, or even a pithy party, hearty-har-hare...? Mind you now, that canning is an easy and rythmic process, prone to enjoyment, nay jubilation. Especially when you have a garden from which to draw, full of tasty and nutritious scooby snackz. Like tomatoes, and cucumbers, and fruits and whatever. You can pickle and conserve near anything. Nigh? Nigh anything? Anyhow, my grandmother, and my friend-of-pickled-beets colleague both found them very enjoyable. I detected a twinge of envy, but decided not to exploit those weaknesses. But, being a werewolf can be disconcerting at times. Conflicting emotions, and a sizable amount of catholic liberal orthodox werewolf guilt, do not alleviate my burden by any measure. This is the most complex kind of guilt, of course.
The pepper jelly pictured above should be classified. It is that tasty. I succumbed to a thought planted in my brain, a needy thought, a thought requiring expression. It was talked about in the midst of another canning episode(potentially discussed in another post), that because we were in posssession of some garden fresh peppers, we might as well craft some pepper jelly while the pectin was in abundance. I did, at that suggestion, of course make some pepper jelly. And while it was decent, and will certainly be used, it was 'not the stuff'.
Day two finds me at the store collecting peppers, three of a kind: red bell, green bell, and pablano. I recall that there was recipe at home delineating some rudimentary guidelines, which I had previously ignored. I thought, perhaps this explains the lucklusterness of last night's wine pepper jelly showing. Or, is it as yet to be appreciated? Time will tell indeed. Anyway, a housewarming party on Saturday night evolved into the flavor litmus test for the pepper jelly. Many ate it, few abstained. All were positive, some understandably incredulous, as I could hardly fathom the complexities of flavor myself. It was sweet, nuanced, sour, visually appealing, the latent heat that never shows in mild peppers, dynamic and delicious. I ate half of a jar myself. I have three remaining. All natural and no preservatives, local ingredients, cheap and amazing. Only online poker is more exciting. Or, ALF re-runs.
I wanted to share a great article today on what must be the best tomato sauce. It is certainly the finest looking tomato sauce I've ever seen. The article is in NY Times and was written by Andrew Scrivani - Nice interactive feature there with photos and captions of an old school, super traditional canning sesssion from some old world italians:
http://bitten.blogs.nytimes.com/
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