Bright red, perfectly round, tennis-ball-sized tomatoes fresh from the vine…
dozens of them piled on the kitchen counter…
a wealth of bounty? Or a curse
of work?
Just when all of the cucumbers have been pickled - garlic dills, bread and butters, mustard pickles; - the tomato harvest begins.
There's barely a breath between canning cucumbers and canning tomatoes (and let's not even discuss all that zucchini!).
A pickle is a pickle is a pickle for the most part, with subtle variations of flavor.
But tomatoes - oh! tomatoes. So many possibilities. There's salsa; there's stewed tomatoes with onions and peppers; there's pasta sauce with fresh basil; there's tomato paste; there's tomatoes with jalapeños and chili powder; there's whole tomatoes for making fresh sauce in the middle of the winter.
On the other hand, the darn things can be overwhelming because they ripen by the truckload, even though I plant at least two different kinds to, theoretically, prevent this from happening.
So what to do with an avalanche of tomatoes?
Get into the zen of canning, of course!
In my humble opinion, all of that chopping and slicing and blanching and peeling is far better done while listening to great music or favorite podcasts, or having a great
conversation with a canning partner.
Alas, most often I can alone, so it's usually music and podcasts.
And that leads to zen moments. I've been in the middle of chopping an endless sea of tomatoes and been stopped in my tracks by something profound I hear a podcast guest say…
and I go down the rabbit hole of thinking about all the ideas that arise from that one thought while I continue to chop.
The rhythm of repetitive motion lulls you into a meditative state, and when it's done to the tune of soaring piano and guitar chords, it's meditation on steroids.
Epiphanies happen.
Ah-ha! moments occur.
Duh! moments arrive.
Before I know it, I've chopped up 40 or 50 tomatoes and I have enough for a canner load of quart jars.
All the tomatoes go into a big kettle, to which I add handfuls of fresh-picked basil, onions I've pulled from the garden and diced, sometimes pressed or chopped garlic. As it's simmering on the back burner, melding the flavors subtly together - but maintaining that fresh-from-the-garden flavor by never allowing it to boil - I steam the jars in the rack while the canner water comes to boil.
The Zen of Canning
By Kat Toazier