I love hot pepper jelly. For the past few years, I've made a batch or two every summer. Pepper jelly is a little tricky. Perhaps it has to do with the level of capsaisin in the various peppers I've grown, or the ratio of hot peppers to sweet peppers (I'm never very precise about the hot/sweet ratio), but sometimes the stuff sets into real jelly, and sometimes it stays syrup-y. Most of the time, I don't care if it sets or not; the syrup-y stuff makes a delicious dipping sauce for chicken or smoked sausage. On a couple of occasions, I've left it in the jars for a couple of months, then opened all the jars, dumped the contents into a pan, added more fruit pectin to stiffen it up a bit, and re-canned it.
I made pepper jelly today. Judging by the film of jelly remaining in the pan after I filled the jars, it looks like this batch is going to set perfectly. I'm going to get the recipe down before I forget it.
3 cups of chopped peppers - half sweet peppers and half hot (jalapeno and chili) peppers. (I used both red and green peppers. I removed the seeds and ribs from the sweet peppers and from about half of the hot peppers. The seeds don't bother me one bit.)
3 cups of apple cider vinegar
13 cups of sugar
1 package of powdered fruit pectin
2 pouches of liquid fruit pectin
Mix the chopped peppers, the vinegar, the sugar, and the powdered fruit pectin in a pan over high heat. Stirring almost constantly, bring the mixture to a roiling boil. Add the liquid fruit pectin. Return to a rolling boil, stirring constantly, and boil for 1 minute. Take the pan off the heat. Skim off the foam. Pour into jars. (This batch made 6 half-pint jars and 3 pint jars.) Wipe off the rims, attach the lids, and water bath for 10 minutes.
I do not add green food coloring to my pepper jelly as some folks do. The natural color of the jelly is a beautiful gold color, with flecks of green and red peppers.
If I can remember to buy more supplies tomorrow, I may make another batch, as we go through the stuff like crazy. We brush it on chicken on the grill, or use it as a dipping sauce for chicken nuggets or smoked sausage. Mixed with ketchup, it makes a delicious topping for meat loaf. Though I haven't tried it, I bet it would make a good glaze for baked ham or ribs. And, of course, it's good with cream cheese and crackers.
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Sunday, August 23, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Misery loves company
I just read that Martha Stewart lost most of her tomato crop to blight this year.
http://www.themarthablog.com/2009/08/the-tomato-blight-in-my-garden.html?pid=11184#gallery-jump11184
I feel so much better.
Not that I have anything personal against Martha. In fact, I've been her fan for many years. So I'm not happy that blight got her tomatoes. In fact, I commiserate with her for her loss.
The point is that she has a lot of resources at her disposal. (I am particularly envious of her helpers, Shaun and Wilmer). She probably has the healthiest soil money can buy; I bet it's positively bristling with exquisite home-made compost; I bet there's not a weed or a blade of grass anywhere within the confines of the garden plot. And you know Shaun and Wilmer busted their asses picking off diseased leaves and dusting/spraying the vines with organic fungicides the minute the first signs of blight appeared. Shoot, I bet they even slept in the garden. (I mean, come on...how would YOU like to be the one to break the news to Ms. Stewart that her heirloom tomatoes are croaking?) So if her tomatoes can catch blight, the rest of us don't stand a chance.
Martha, if you're reading this, don't save seeds from this year's crop, and throw away those nice bamboo canes and get new ones. And if you figure out how to stop the blight from coming back next year, drop me a line.
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http://www.themarthablog.com/2009/08/the-tomato-blight-in-my-garden.html?pid=11184#gallery-jump11184
I feel so much better.
Not that I have anything personal against Martha. In fact, I've been her fan for many years. So I'm not happy that blight got her tomatoes. In fact, I commiserate with her for her loss.
The point is that she has a lot of resources at her disposal. (I am particularly envious of her helpers, Shaun and Wilmer). She probably has the healthiest soil money can buy; I bet it's positively bristling with exquisite home-made compost; I bet there's not a weed or a blade of grass anywhere within the confines of the garden plot. And you know Shaun and Wilmer busted their asses picking off diseased leaves and dusting/spraying the vines with organic fungicides the minute the first signs of blight appeared. Shoot, I bet they even slept in the garden. (I mean, come on...how would YOU like to be the one to break the news to Ms. Stewart that her heirloom tomatoes are croaking?) So if her tomatoes can catch blight, the rest of us don't stand a chance.
Martha, if you're reading this, don't save seeds from this year's crop, and throw away those nice bamboo canes and get new ones. And if you figure out how to stop the blight from coming back next year, drop me a line.
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Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Evaluation
It pains me to admit this, but I have very nearly forsaken the garden, already. I blame it on the rain. We've had a lot of rain lately, and far more than usual rain all summer. Every time I plan to get in the garden after work, it rains before I get home. The low end of the original garden is so wet that it'll suck your shoes right off your feet if you try to walk the bean rows. I last set foot among the beans over a week ago, and had to fight my way between the tangled vines and battle squadrons of hungry mosquitoes to gather a bucket full of beans. Nanny felt up to doing the snapping and shelling. I came home the next day and canned what may have been my last canner-load of jars this season.
The tomato crop is officially shot. The once-lush plants are now bare, tangled sticks. What little fruit remains on the vines is sickly and unappetizing. When I braved the grass and the chiggers last week to gather some peppers, I noticed that some of the tomatoes are blooming again. It may be that we'll have a few more to eat before the season is over but right now even the green tomatoes are cracked and bursting.
Overall, this gardening season has been a huge disappointment. The 100+ tomato plants, though diligently tended, produced about as much usable fruit as last year's 50 plants. The yellow squash drowned right off the bat, and though I planted more seeds, they didn't come up. We've harvested ONE zucchini from our four zucchini plants. (With four plants, we should've been leaving zucchini on the neighbors' doorsteps by now.) Only the okra and - God bless 'em - the eggplants have performed as expected...but who likes eggplants, anyway?
I am tired of the garden. Tired of picking. Tired of canning. Tired of the boxes of jars and lids and canning equipment crowding my dining room table. Tired of finding stray tomato seeds stuck to every surface in my kitchen. Just plain tired. Last week, when Pop-Pop mentioned that he knew someone who would pick the beans for half of the take, I jumped at the offer. Let's see how well they deal with the blood-sucking mosquitoes and the shoe-sucking mud.
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The tomato crop is officially shot. The once-lush plants are now bare, tangled sticks. What little fruit remains on the vines is sickly and unappetizing. When I braved the grass and the chiggers last week to gather some peppers, I noticed that some of the tomatoes are blooming again. It may be that we'll have a few more to eat before the season is over but right now even the green tomatoes are cracked and bursting.
Overall, this gardening season has been a huge disappointment. The 100+ tomato plants, though diligently tended, produced about as much usable fruit as last year's 50 plants. The yellow squash drowned right off the bat, and though I planted more seeds, they didn't come up. We've harvested ONE zucchini from our four zucchini plants. (With four plants, we should've been leaving zucchini on the neighbors' doorsteps by now.) Only the okra and - God bless 'em - the eggplants have performed as expected...but who likes eggplants, anyway?
I am tired of the garden. Tired of picking. Tired of canning. Tired of the boxes of jars and lids and canning equipment crowding my dining room table. Tired of finding stray tomato seeds stuck to every surface in my kitchen. Just plain tired. Last week, when Pop-Pop mentioned that he knew someone who would pick the beans for half of the take, I jumped at the offer. Let's see how well they deal with the blood-sucking mosquitoes and the shoe-sucking mud.
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Tuesday, July 28, 2009
End of July
A quick glance at the tomato patch across the road would make you think that I ought to be over there picking tomatoes, but I am disgusted with them. All summer long, I have thrown away far more tomatoes than I've kept, either because the sun had baked them hard or because blight had made black lesions on them. When I was over there Saturday, looking for some ripe ones to take to my mother's birthday lunch, I could barely find a dozen tomatoes that were decent for slicing. We've had a good bit of rain lately, which has caused most of the ripe tomatoes to swell and burst like water balloons. Turtles and birds have been feasting on the rest.
The butterbeans and green beans are coming in. We've picked butterbeans twice now, but they've needed it more frequently than I've gotten around to it. Many of the beans have dried on the vines. Last weekend, having grown fed up with my tardiness in picking the speckled butterbeans, Pop-Pop pulled up about 1/3 of the plants, tossed them onto a wagon, and towed the wagon underneath a shade tree to pick beans the easy way.
I learned some things (the hard way) about running beans this year. (1) Do not plant three rows of running beans next to one another unless you want to end up with one giant, knotted row of butter-green-butter beans. (2) Running butterbeans are heavy; use sturdy a sturdy staking system unless you want the stakes to topple like dominoes as the beans mature. (3) In the event the first two suggestions go unheeded, get somebody else to do the picking. ;)
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The butterbeans and green beans are coming in. We've picked butterbeans twice now, but they've needed it more frequently than I've gotten around to it. Many of the beans have dried on the vines. Last weekend, having grown fed up with my tardiness in picking the speckled butterbeans, Pop-Pop pulled up about 1/3 of the plants, tossed them onto a wagon, and towed the wagon underneath a shade tree to pick beans the easy way.
I learned some things (the hard way) about running beans this year. (1) Do not plant three rows of running beans next to one another unless you want to end up with one giant, knotted row of butter-green-butter beans. (2) Running butterbeans are heavy; use sturdy a sturdy staking system unless you want the stakes to topple like dominoes as the beans mature. (3) In the event the first two suggestions go unheeded, get somebody else to do the picking. ;)
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Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Blasted Squirrels
Sunday evening, my husband and I went down to Nanny's house to fix supper for her and Pop-Pop. When we arrived, Pop-Pop was sitting on the back porch, his chair angled toward the little thicket of woods by the house. There was a shotgun laying across the arms of a nearby chair. Harley, the old black labrador retriever, was snoozing peacefully beside the back door.
"Waiting on the enemy?" I asked as I climbed the porch steps.
"Squirrel huntin'," he replied. "Blasted squirrels have et ever ta-mater on that vine," he said, nodding toward a healthy-looking tomato plant growing in a planter near the shed door. "I done shot four, but there's another'n."
My husband and I went inside the house and started to prepare supper. A few minutes later, my brother-in-law and nephew came in. We set two more places for them, put the food on the table, and called Pop-Pop in to eat. When the meal was finished, Pop-Pop went back to his vigil, taking my nephew with him. After cleaning up the dishes, I went out to join them on the porch.
We were sitting there, having some mundane conversation, when all of a sudden Pop-Pop interrupted: "There he is, Allen!"
I could not believe how very fast the next sequence of events happened. Allen, who had been sitting in the glider with his back to the woods, spitting snuff juice into the mouth of a Mountain Dew bottle, spun out of his seat, set the bottle aside, grabbed the shotgun, aimed, and fired, before I could even spot the squirrel in the trees. The shotgun blast, made from about a foot from me, nearly deafened me. Hearing the shot, Harley bailed off the porch like a young dog and began running, his nose to the ground, in ever-widening circles, probably having no idea what he was looking for.
"Missed him!" Allen hissed.
Then we saw a downward rippling through one of the trees, like something had been dropped from its upper limbs.
"Naw, you got 'im!" Pop-Pop crowed.
Allen went running toward the woods, calling for Harley. Harley disappeared into the thicket, and a few seconds later returned with a squirrel that was a little shy of fatally wounded. Allen grabbed the squirrel by the tail and whacked its head against a tree to finish it off. He held it up by the tail to inspect it. "A fat one!" he said, giving the squirrel back to Harley.
"He's full of ta-maters," Pop-Pop grunted.
Harley laid down in the yard with his trophy. I guess he's full of squirrels.
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"Waiting on the enemy?" I asked as I climbed the porch steps.
"Squirrel huntin'," he replied. "Blasted squirrels have et ever ta-mater on that vine," he said, nodding toward a healthy-looking tomato plant growing in a planter near the shed door. "I done shot four, but there's another'n."
My husband and I went inside the house and started to prepare supper. A few minutes later, my brother-in-law and nephew came in. We set two more places for them, put the food on the table, and called Pop-Pop in to eat. When the meal was finished, Pop-Pop went back to his vigil, taking my nephew with him. After cleaning up the dishes, I went out to join them on the porch.
We were sitting there, having some mundane conversation, when all of a sudden Pop-Pop interrupted: "There he is, Allen!"
I could not believe how very fast the next sequence of events happened. Allen, who had been sitting in the glider with his back to the woods, spitting snuff juice into the mouth of a Mountain Dew bottle, spun out of his seat, set the bottle aside, grabbed the shotgun, aimed, and fired, before I could even spot the squirrel in the trees. The shotgun blast, made from about a foot from me, nearly deafened me. Hearing the shot, Harley bailed off the porch like a young dog and began running, his nose to the ground, in ever-widening circles, probably having no idea what he was looking for.
"Missed him!" Allen hissed.
Then we saw a downward rippling through one of the trees, like something had been dropped from its upper limbs.
"Naw, you got 'im!" Pop-Pop crowed.
Allen went running toward the woods, calling for Harley. Harley disappeared into the thicket, and a few seconds later returned with a squirrel that was a little shy of fatally wounded. Allen grabbed the squirrel by the tail and whacked its head against a tree to finish it off. He held it up by the tail to inspect it. "A fat one!" he said, giving the squirrel back to Harley.
"He's full of ta-maters," Pop-Pop grunted.
Harley laid down in the yard with his trophy. I guess he's full of squirrels.
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Sunday, July 19, 2009
APB for Eggplant Pasta Recipe
I wasn't going to grow eggplants this year. No one in this family actually likes eggplant; we just sort of tolerate it if it's been battered and fried, or smothered in some spicy sauce that disguises the taste (or, rather, gives it some taste).
But my sister-in-law found me in the garden early this season and said she'd like to have some eggplants, as she'd seen someone on TV make pasta out of it and wanted to give it a try. I bought a 9-pack of plants. Right now, they are all busting their chops producing fruit.
Two weeks ago, I told my sister-in-law, "Your eggplants are ready," but she did not come to get them. A week ago, she told me that she could not find the recipe for eggplant pasta. I've been helping her search, and I can't find one, either.
Now, I am not talking about substituting eggplant for pasta, as with low carb recipes that use thinly-sliced eggplant instead of lasagna noodles. I am talking about using eggplant as an ingredient in pasta dough. If I had any experience making pasta, I might wade in and try to invent something. But I'm chicken, and I don't have time to waste right now.
So, if any of you know where I can find a recipe for pasta dough that uses eggplant, please hook me up.
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But my sister-in-law found me in the garden early this season and said she'd like to have some eggplants, as she'd seen someone on TV make pasta out of it and wanted to give it a try. I bought a 9-pack of plants. Right now, they are all busting their chops producing fruit.
Two weeks ago, I told my sister-in-law, "Your eggplants are ready," but she did not come to get them. A week ago, she told me that she could not find the recipe for eggplant pasta. I've been helping her search, and I can't find one, either.
Now, I am not talking about substituting eggplant for pasta, as with low carb recipes that use thinly-sliced eggplant instead of lasagna noodles. I am talking about using eggplant as an ingredient in pasta dough. If I had any experience making pasta, I might wade in and try to invent something. But I'm chicken, and I don't have time to waste right now.
So, if any of you know where I can find a recipe for pasta dough that uses eggplant, please hook me up.
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Friday, July 17, 2009
Stocking the Pantry
So far, this week's tomato frenzy has resulted in:
5 quarts of canned tomatoes
4 quarts of tomato juice
10 pints of diced tomatoes spiced with onions and peppers
8 pints of sweet "chili sauce" relish (the stuff you eat on your black-eyed peas)
The tomato juice is probably more like tomato soup. My original plan was to make spaghetti sauce. After juicing the tomatoes, I put the juice back on the stove to cook some of the water out of it. About an hour later, I discovered I didn't have all the spices that I wanted for spaghetti sauce, so I just stopped the cooking and started the canning. It's nice, thick juice - may need to be thinned with vodka before serving. ;)
On deck for tomorrow: 7 pints (according to the recipe) of green tomato "picalilli."
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5 quarts of canned tomatoes
4 quarts of tomato juice
10 pints of diced tomatoes spiced with onions and peppers
8 pints of sweet "chili sauce" relish (the stuff you eat on your black-eyed peas)
The tomato juice is probably more like tomato soup. My original plan was to make spaghetti sauce. After juicing the tomatoes, I put the juice back on the stove to cook some of the water out of it. About an hour later, I discovered I didn't have all the spices that I wanted for spaghetti sauce, so I just stopped the cooking and started the canning. It's nice, thick juice - may need to be thinned with vodka before serving. ;)
On deck for tomorrow: 7 pints (according to the recipe) of green tomato "picalilli."
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