Last week, I decided that I needed to learn how to can before everybody I know crosses over & there’s nobody left to teach me.  I mistakenly thought this would be fairly simple.  I ask a coworker, who is known for her huge garden & her season-long canning of green beans.

She promptly informs me that she can’t can tomatoes, that her husband always does it, she’ll send him to talk to me next time he’s through.  Inwardly, I’m dreading this, I don’t talk to him a lot, because outwardly he projects a kind of gruff demeanor, even though I know he’s really not.  I’m not sure how he’s going to be on giving me direction for something so precise.

  The very next day he’s in, & I bring it up. 

“Oh, it’s easyyyy….it’ll take you twenty minutes, tops.”  This sounds promising. 

“Okay, is this something I need to come watch you do, or is it something you can tell me how to do right here, right now?” I asked. 

“I can tell you right now.  It’s simple.” 

“Alrighty-roo.  Hit me.  Wait, do I need to make notes?”

“You got a good memory?”

“Nope.  Hang on.”  I rip out a sheet of notebook paper, making an additional mess because it’s the spiral type.  “Ok.  I’m ready.”

“You getcha a tub of tomatoes & core them,” he begins.

“Alright, when you say a tub, how many is that, exactly?” (I’m used to explicit Pinterest recipes)

“Awww, just a bunch.  You know.”

No, I really don’t, but I nod like I do.

“You put them in a pot & boil ’em & the skin will come right off.”

“With salt?”  I’m writing frantically.

“No, no salt.  Then you pour the water off & boil them again for about ten minutes after you squash them.  Then you pour them in a jar & put your lid on real tight, tight as you can.  And just let them sit & they’ll seal themselves.  They’ll pop, don’t panic.”

Will pop, don’t panic, I scribbled.  I looked at my notes.  I felt like I was missing vital information.  “Okay, let’s go over this.  I get a buncha tomatoes.”

“Yep.”

“I core them, but don’t peel them.”

“Yep.”

“I put ’em in a pot with water–but no salt–& heat to a boil until the skin starts coming off.”

“Yep.”

“This is where I get a little confused…I drain the water off?”

“Yeah, & get all yer peelin’s off, but run them under cold water first.”

“Okay….and put them in a different pot?”

He nods.  “Then you mash ’em up real good with your hands & feel around for more cores.  There’ll be little pieces that you missed when you cut them out. But you’ll be able to feel them, they’re real hard.  Now, be careful, they’ll still be real hot.”

“Okay, can I use a potato masher?”

“Whassat?”

“You know, the thing that’s all swirly metal & has a wooden handle?  My grandmother used it before she used her mixer to break the potato into clods.”

“I guess you could, I just use my hand.”

“Alright.  But you’re tough.  I’m just a wimpy girl.”

That got a grin.

“So I mash them & boil them again for about ten minutes.”

“Yeah, & if you see any little green pieces, pick them out.  They’ll float to the top.  And dash your water off.”

“Wait–what?”

“As it boils, dash your water off.”  He demonstrates with a hand motion.

I could feel my wrinkles in my forehead deepen.  “But I drained them before I mashed them, right?  In a colander, then?”

“No, just pour your water off, but more water will come out of them, still. Don’t bother with a colander.”

“Ok.  But I don’t want to make a sauce, I want them to be like that jar you brought in.”

“Right. Just keep dashing your water off as they boil.”

“Ok. Do I stir them?” Twenty minutes my foot. This was complicated.

“Yeah, stir them.  Have your jars ready.”

“Oh, that’s another thing, do I need to boil the jars?”

“Nah.  I mean, you can if you want to, but you don’t have to.  I bake mine.” { oh, Lord, I thought}  “Just pour them in & clean the top off good with a paper towel & put your lid on right then.  Screw it on tight as you can so it’ll seal later.  That’s all there is to it.”

I’m running out of room to go back & write the directions that he left out the first time.  And I’m still confused about all the draining/ cold water/ switching pots step.

“Okay.”  I blow air out that I hadn’t realized I had been holding.  “Let’s go over this again.”  I recite it to him, & I think I’ve got it this time.  “And just fill one jar at a time, put the lid on right then.”

“Yes. Don’t ever, ever use a pressure cooker for tomatoes.  Some people will, but don’t.  You don’t need to.”

“All right….” I say uncertainly.

“Call us if you need to.  I can help you.”

I thanked him profusely & he was on his way.  I looked at Brion & Yankee, who had been witness to this narration.  “I see a facebook status in my future.”  They were cracking up already.  “You got like, step one, then one step in the middle, then the last step!”  Yankee giggled gleefully.

The wife came through & asked how it went.  We all exchanged glances.  “We-ll….” I hedged.  “I sorta got step one, then step nine, then step two, then the last thing to do, then step two-B.  But I think I got it now.”

We laughed heartily.  I sat down to improve my notes.  About this time, sweet Betty comes through.  I stop her.  “Betty, you ever can tomatoes?”

“Yeah, do you need some?”

She is so sweet.  “No, I was just wondering about how to do them.”

“Oh, well, I use a pressure cooker.”

Of course you do, I thought.  “Well, tell me how you do yours.”

“Okay, well, you just peel your tomatoes…wait, what are you wanting to do with them?”

“Just you know, for chili & soups & stuff.”

“Okay.  Just peel your tomatoes & put them in the pressure cooker for a few minutes, not long.”

You can see where I’d have trouble.  “Ok.  So you peel yours.  You don’t blanch them?”

“Naw, I just peel them.”

“Do you core them too?”

“Yeah, I do.  Sorry, I forgot that part.  I’m as bad as he was!” We giggle like schoolgirls.  “And you just squish them up real good, or you could do whole ones if you wanted…but be sure & drain your water off.”

“Do you salt them?”

“Yeah, Amy, I forgot that too!  Just salt them however much you think.  Oh!  And just put them on five pounds of pressure for about ten minutes.  It don’t take long.”  I thanked her & she starts walking away then doubles back.  “Have your jars & lids there, too.”

Yankee & I just looked at each other & burst out laughing.  Then here comes another coworker, who shall remain nameless, wanting to know what was so funny.

“Oh, we’re just discussing how to can tomatoes & it’s turned into a major ordeal.”

“Oh.”

“Do you can?”

“I do, but I water bath mine.”

“Oh, goody.  Please tell me how to do it.”

“Well, first you crack open a longneck beer….”  I quit listening because he was another one who talked about a rack you submerge, & the lids being tight, but boil your jars first, yada, yada, yada.  I come in today, & pecking away at this, & yet another coworker asks what I’m doing.  I explain that I’m writing about the methods of canning tomatoes.  She starts explaining to me, more in depth, about each process.  But of course, it’s a slightly different variation.

And this, ladies & gentlemen, is how you can tomatoes. Holler if you need to know anything.  I’m sure I can give you step-by-step instruction.

**it should be noted that the wife of the man I started with set him down, got all the details out, and transcripted them in order, in legible hahdwriting, just for me. 

I have yet to can the first jar.