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syncope at 05:12pm on 22/08/2009
syncope at 05:12pm on 22/08/2009Mostly I really enjoy cooking. It's kind of zen for me, and something I don't have to put much effort into being good at (from practice, once you know the basics it's all just following formulas); people also appreciate eating well.
There are two times a year when I do not enjoy cooking: the holidays (Thanksgiving sucks, dude) and harvest season when I'm near my family. When I was a kid what I truly dreaded was hulling peas. I remember that, but there's a nostalgia there. Not that I have ever grown peas, just for this reason--bruised and cracked fingertips stay with you into old age.
This morning I got up at ass o'clock (not just early for me, but fucking early) to go out to the farm to do some harvesting. I tried rather desperately to get out of this since I knew I would end up processing the food for hours, but I was railroaded.
So all the food below (and for days to come) was not only grown by a family member of mine, but also handpicked in part by me and cooked by me. PS: this is why I moved to NYC when I was 18. It wasn't far enough.
Somehow the foodie establishment has determined that blanched and frozen whole tomatoes are an acceptable way of preserving them for use in the winter. Who cooked up *that* cock and bull story? Complete bullshit! These anemic, pathetic specimen aren't even in the same species as home canned fresh tomatoes. I don't think I ever saw preserved tomatoes come out of anything but a Ball jar until I was in college (this means I didn't know about tomatoes in cans from the store)?
So this year I refused to let the shortcutters ruin the tomato crop by freezing the fruit of so much labor (if I had to spend all that time out there with pantyhose tying those mofos up, your ass itn't about to stick them in the freezer, over my dead and yadda). Which means I'm spending considerable time and effort to can tomatoes this year. Don't fool yourself, this isn't quaint--I don't put in this much effort unless I absolutely believe it's not only worth it but necessary (that is to say, I am lazy).
Pictures under cut, because I promised Julia. ( tomatoes and corn )
There are two times a year when I do not enjoy cooking: the holidays (Thanksgiving sucks, dude) and harvest season when I'm near my family. When I was a kid what I truly dreaded was hulling peas. I remember that, but there's a nostalgia there. Not that I have ever grown peas, just for this reason--bruised and cracked fingertips stay with you into old age.
This morning I got up at ass o'clock (not just early for me, but fucking early) to go out to the farm to do some harvesting. I tried rather desperately to get out of this since I knew I would end up processing the food for hours, but I was railroaded.
So all the food below (and for days to come) was not only grown by a family member of mine, but also handpicked in part by me and cooked by me. PS: this is why I moved to NYC when I was 18. It wasn't far enough.
Somehow the foodie establishment has determined that blanched and frozen whole tomatoes are an acceptable way of preserving them for use in the winter. Who cooked up *that* cock and bull story? Complete bullshit! These anemic, pathetic specimen aren't even in the same species as home canned fresh tomatoes. I don't think I ever saw preserved tomatoes come out of anything but a Ball jar until I was in college (this means I didn't know about tomatoes in cans from the store)?
So this year I refused to let the shortcutters ruin the tomato crop by freezing the fruit of so much labor (if I had to spend all that time out there with pantyhose tying those mofos up, your ass itn't about to stick them in the freezer, over my dead and yadda). Which means I'm spending considerable time and effort to can tomatoes this year. Don't fool yourself, this isn't quaint--I don't put in this much effort unless I absolutely believe it's not only worth it but necessary (that is to say, I am lazy).
Pictures under cut, because I promised Julia. ( tomatoes and corn )
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