Smile! We're Still Canning Peaches...!
Ripe Peaches
Some sugar
Vinegar and Salt
Water
Water Bath Canner
Blancher
Jar Puller
Jars at the ready, peaches on the step
- may the canning commence!
Or something like that.
In the previous chapter, you may
remember "Tim" the fruit seller selected a lug (box) of peaches that
were perfectly ripened and ready for canning. You may also remember that
"Tim" the fruit seller admitted to having never exactly conducted any
canning himself . . . (I know - my thoughts exactly).
Following the instructions in my handy,
dandy, well-read, somewhat sticky Ball Blue Canning Book, I filled the sink with
cold water and plopped some peaches in to be rinsed. (So good, so far!)
I started the water heating in the
blancher. For those who don't know a blancher is a two-part pot. The inside part
is perforated and holds the fruit to be blanched. The outside is just a tall
granite ware pot. And that's another thing - no one has yet explained to me why
all canning equipment is made from granite ware - you know that blue enamel with
white specks? So I asked mom - "Because it is", she said. Sigh.
Anyway the idea is to heat the water to
boiling and then lower the inside basket (which is filled with fruit) into the
boiling water. After one minute, you lift the basket out (let it drain over the
pot) and then race across the kitchen and spill the fruit into a sink full of
cold water.
Take a butter knife (you know, a bread
knife, dull, no point) to use as a lever to pull the skins off the peaches.
Sometimes, you don't even need the knife, the skins will naturally split at the
but of the peach (stop giggling) and slip right off. I don't understand the
mechanics behind it, but it works.
The next step should be so easy - but
"Tim" lied. I read somewhere that for canning, peaches need to be
"cling free" so a cook that when a cook splits the peach in two, the
pit nearly falls out. "Tim" assured me that these well ripened Rosa
Hale peaches were "freestone", which I took to mean the same as
"cling free". It was obvious to me the minute I tried to split my
first peach that "freestone" meant "no charge for the pit"
and these "perfectly ripened peaches" were ripe enough for canning a
month ago, and well past firmness by today.
The peaches split easy enough, though
due to the ripeness, I employed a bit extra care not to leave finger impressions
along the peach half. I mean, when was the last time you bought a can of Del
Monte peaches and saw finger marks? But the pits in these peaches were extremely
uncooperative. And didn't I read somewhere that peach pits contain arsenic. So I
can't leave them in . . . can I? No really . . . can I? All right . . .all
right.
Take your bruised and naked peaches and
put them into your vinegar mix. What do you mean I didn't tell you about the
vinegar mix? Well, then run quickly and grab your largest salad bowl (the one
suitable for bathing small cats) and fill it with water, six teaspoons of sugar
and three glugs of vinegar. And if you aren't the kind of cook who uses a glug
as an official measure of liquids, you will need to get the recipe from the Ball
Blue Canning Book. This bath of water, vinegar and salt will be used to
"hold" your skinned peaches until you have enough for a
"batch" (thus, the extra large bowl). The mixture combination should
keep those freshly skinned puppies from turning brown, and thus losing all that
pretty "glow" Tim boasted about.
Keep going like this, rinsing,
blanching, skinning and pitting until the cat-washing bowl is full. Place a
thirteen by nine cake pan on the counter (to catch drips) and place seven jars
(still warm from the dishwasher) in pan. Why seven? That's how many jars will
fit around in my water bath canner. Maybe you should check yours before you do
this part.
Heat a pan of syrup - three cups sugar
to one quart water. Mix up a double batch and heat to "hot" (you know,
not boiling, not cold . . . anywhere in the middle is fine).
Spoon the peach pieces (the biggest
piece would be a half peach) into the jars. The Ball Canning Book had the
audacity to suggest I use a spoon to turn the peach halves (as if I had that
many actual halves out of that darned mess) so the curve was to the outside. My
patience for trying to maneuver slippery peach pieces using a wooden spoon
through mouth of a regular quart jar lasted for about . . . half a jar. It
absolutely does not diminish the flavor to just cram the pieces in any old which
way. Just be sure to fill the jar "snugly" full. That way you avoid
jars with three inches of syrup at the bottom when the contents float to the
top. And I think even the Ball Canning Book said "snugly" and I would
check except I seem to have spilled syrup and now I can't open pages 32-33.
Anyway pour the hot syrup into the jars
of peaches. Yikes! Be careful, that stuff is hot and makes a horrible mess when
spilled onto the canning book, kitchen floor and that drawer that was open just
a bit. Did I mention to use a funnel? Well do use a funnel to control the syrup.
And never clean as you go, it just slows you down.
Use a clean paper towel (as if you were
going to grab a used one?) to wipe the rims of each jar of any peach debris to
ensure a clean seal. Think - Botulism! That will keep you efficient.
Slap some canning lids and rings on
these puppies and hand tighten the rings (that means, I guess, don't use a
wrench!). Use the jar puller to lower the jars into the medium to hot water
bath. Put the lid on the bath and turn the heat to high.
When it comes to cooking times, exact
measures are required. Once the water in the water bath canner begins to boil,
then set your timer for 30 minutes. When the thirty minutes are up, use the jar
puller to remove the cooked peaches from the bath. Set them on a towel on the
breakfast bar out of a direct breeze. Tip: Hot jars in a cold area equal an even
larger mess to clean!
"Tim" told me I would get
about 12 jars per box. He didn't mention it might take me three days. But now
that they are done, those peaches do seem to almost, I don't know . . . glow?
Are you a Damn Fine Cook? Are you sure?
Then check this out . . .
Damn Fine Cook
