The Treasure of Tomatoes

As the summer come to an end, mutterings of an annual event begin to crescendo. It’s time for tomatoes.

My family has been canning (or should I say jarring) tomatoes for as long as they’ve been in diapers. In my youth my father, mother, my aunt and various other members of the family would attack the field of eastern Long Islands in search of farms bursting with rouge orbs. They would scatter about on the selected farm with the strategy of collecting bushel upon bushel of the fruit to bring home and jar for use over the winter.

Occasionally I’d join my family in their collecting (because it was before the school year started), squatting down amid the myriad plants – poking, pushing at the flesh and then picking a variety of shades from green to orange to bright red. After the assembly there was a sorting exercise that would occur. The green were placed in a basket to await their maturity; the orange ones sat in another basket to be ready for use in a few days. All the red ones would be for immediate preparation.

Back in the day we’d convene at my aunt’s house to fill the jars. We would wash the tomatoes, cut them half and clean out all the seed and then cut them into even smaller pieces. My aunt would occasionally flash steam some tomatoes so we could remove the peel. Some of my relatives had food issues so we had to cater to them and create a set of jars with no tomato skin.
When we had strainer upon strainer overflowing with tomatoes, the filling would begin. There was a very specific technique to pack the jars. We needed fresh basil and parsley on hand and sliced bell peppers to assist with the filling. Once we’d accumulated a certain amount of jars, we’d put lids and bands on the card and we’d boil the jars for a while. Voila a stash of summer lusciousness to have through the winter.

When my husband first saw this tradition, I’m sure he wanted to board a plane back to Mexico. Not only because we looked crazy (although that could have been a reason) but also because he didn’t really like whole tomatoes.

In the last couple of years, I’ve been assisting my parents in searching for good tomatoes as well as in filling the jars. This year my husband has been observing in preparation for our taking over the tradition in years to come. I think he’s beginning to see the joy of one’s efforts come to fruition in our year-round, fresh tomato sauce and in the blooming of our veggie garden. Tasting a fresh tomato while being stuck in a blizzard was quite a feat of nature; I enjoy seeing all the work that we do be available throughout the cold winter months.