Kitchen Adventures: Tomato Sauce

There are only so many tomatoes two girls can eat and gift to neighbors. I briefly looked into canning, but reasoned that if botulism did not kill me, accidentally cutting myself with broken glass and/or burning myself with scalding water could. Alas, grace and coordination are not my strengths. (I actually found yoga classes a tad stressful - eight weeks into it, I was still the *only* one tripping over myself and falling into others. Shame and serenity do not mix.)

Sauce, then, could be ladled into individual servings, frozen into individual freezer bags, and boiled when needed. Roommate and I invested in a large chest freezer - we have a 1930s GE fridge that looks incredibly cool, but has two square inches of freezer space - so I set about filling it up with tastiness.


I pulled out my one enormous pot. Until today, it had never been used for food. For nearly two months, and in the dead of winter, construction issues deprived Roommate and me of hot water. The thrill at being forced to reap the alleged benefits of a bracingly cold shower every morning did not last. Roommate and I have very little in the way of kitchen supplies. Roommate and I started living together while I was still in law school. Roommate was recently divorced, and her spouse had taken off one day with virtually everything in the house, including what I am told are some dangerously good knives and beautiful cast-iron pans. I was a Poor Starving Student who had lots of books, a massive, beat-up desk that I refuse to relinquish to Philadelphia's trash collection, and two sun-yellow plates. But there it was - a shiny steel vat - and there we were, cold and bitter. One massive pot of boiling water to a bathtub of cold water made a wonderful bath. Those days are happily over, and the pot, now sterilized and empty, was waiting.

I researched a few recipes to get a basic idea, but was feeling terribly creative and no recipe came close to sating my ravenous addiction to olive oil and garlic. Dozens of tomatoes went into the food processor with several onions, tons of garlic bulbs, and about twenty jalapeno peppers I grew on the porch. Home Depot was selling jalapeno plants for only $1.99, and I immediately envisioned raising baby jalapenos that would one day be stuffed with sharp cheddar. One can only eat so many jalapeno poppers, after all, and I had a large bowl of them, well-ripened. Into this mix went lots of black pepper and herbs from a container marked "French herbs." I also tossed in a dozen bay leaves until I remembered that the "b" ingredient was basil, not bay leaves, and fished them out. No harm done. I used the entire tomato for the sauce, and had to let it simmer for hours to remove the extra water. The baddogs and I had a lovely time listening to good music and smelling good smells.

The results were quite hot, very spicy, and delicious. And I felt a bit like a squirrel, storing rations for the winter.

Lessons:
1. Insulate tomato plants with *red* plastic, but only if you are prepared to pick forty (yes, forty) tomatoes a day for three months.


2. Remember that jalapenos have a hotness than belies their irresistible cuteness.
3. It is "basil," not "bay leaves."