Today marks my first ever foray into canning. I have no idea if I did it right. I have no idea if I'm going to poison myself trying to eat the fruits of my labor (although I'm trusting that I'm still sufficiently instinctually hardwired not to eat rotten food). I canned a bunch of beautiful heirloom tomatoes that I bought at the farmers market on Saturday, in the hope that I would reach for these to make pasta sauce this winter rather than my old standby Ragu.
Canning wasn't as difficult as I expected, but it was time consuming, especially in the "world's tiniest test kitchen." Its title doesn't even deserve capitals. With about six square feet of counter space, a chopping block on a rolling cart, and a kitchen table covered in old newspapers and fresh produce, there isn't a lot of room to work in here. Because the kitchen is small, I tend to own mostly smaller pots, pans, baking dishes, counter-top appliances, etc., which makes it hard to do anything in bulk. There's also not a lot of elbow room - two people have to know each other pretty well (and be skinny) to work in this kitchen together. Luckily, I was on my own today, and had the gift of time from a surprise corporate celebration of Columbus Day (which isn't typically observed on the West Coast). All told, it took me over three hours to can six pints of tomatoes, since I could only put three jars in the steam bath at once. I have to say, it wasn't cheaper than buying four jars of Ragu, but it was a heck of a lot more fun. Similarly, making my own bread pays me about $2 for three hours of work, but probably saves me $300 on therapy sessions. As I was cleaning up the kitchen, I heard, over the running tap water, a low popping noise. I was so surprised by the first one that I wasn't quite sure what it was, but after the second one popped I identified it as the sound of the seals sucking into place (meaning I'd done something right). I was so excited I shouted to my empty house, "Oh my god, they POPPED!"
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