Cannery Row

As usual, I'm about two months behind on everything. Summer's bounty is long gone here in Pennsylvania, and I suspect even the warmest climes have exhausted their gardening days. However, I'm still going to pimp home canning, because I know there are a lot of people out there who are just like I was at first. You're interested in old-fashioned food preservation but at the same time, lured by the convenience of commercially canned foods, and intimidated to death at the idea of trying to can at home. Especially if, like me, your grandparents were more about golfing at the Country Club and cocktail hour than pickling and blanching (I loved my grandparents, but that's the truth). Was it hard? Would the canner explode? Would you open a jar to find that you'd just unleashed the newest Super Flu because you did it wrong?

Well, here's the deal. Big FrankenFood, Inc. would like you to believe that home grown and canned food doesn't taste any better than their versions, and also that it's a risk to your health akin to juggling chainsaws to eat things that you, or someone else who is Not A Giant Corporation, grew! In dirt! Fertilized by compost and/or animal poop! And then put up in jars! Without polybenzoatepropylene glycerolic plock plock*, or radiation, or food dye! You could DIE and also KILL YOUR NEIGHBORS. PLOCK PLOCK IS YOUR FRIEND.

Luckily, none of that is true. Especially that plock plock thing. Canning is actually not difficult, although it does require attention to detail and a time investment. See, it IS true that #5 cans of tomatoes are convenient. You break out the giant can opener, you dump the tomatoes in your pot, and voila! Goulash for 50. Nothing about canning is particularly convenient, except that part where you are eating fresh tasting, delicious, chemical free food in January. So here's what I learned, with no Grandma to teach me, and I didn't blow a single thing up, or kill any neighbors. As far as you know. I'M KIDDING. They got better. KIDDING AGAIN!

Anyway, if you're just starting out like me, the easiest thing in the world to can is tomatoes. They're readily available, they work in many recipes, and they're forgiving, unlike, say, jam. Now, I moved from the Land Of Giant Kitchen to the House of Tiny Counters, so I had to improvise a bit. If my gnome kitchen and I could do it, so can you. I highly recommend picking up a copy of the Ball Blue Book of Preserving, which is what I followed. There are about ten billion books on food preservation out there now, due to the surge of interest in homesteading and disaster prepping, but this is, in my opinion, the best guide for beginners and seasoned canners alike.

The bounty from the garden on canning day.
Always take a last run before you get started.

The first things you need are obviously going to be a canner and some quart jars. You can do smaller jars, but it's a pain in the butt, and unless you're feeding wood sprites, you're probably going to use up at least a quart in most recipes. You can always save the leftovers in the fridge. Buy a good basic water bath canner and a jar rack, and depending on your tomato volume, a case or two of jars, preferably Ball or Kerr. Most grocery stores have them, Wal-Mart has them, or you can order them online. About half a bushel (a small laundry basket), or 21 pounds, of fresh will yield 6-7 quart jars of tomatoes, so keep that in mind when buying jars. The other essential item is a set of jar lifters. You do not want to try pulling molten jars of food out of boiling water with regular tongs or anything else. Jar lifters look like big tongs, with wide rounded edges to fit around the jar necks. A canning funnel and lid lifter (basically a magnet on a stick) are nice, but not necessary.

Wash all of your jars, bands, lids and utensils in hot, soapy water. I add a tablespoon of regular bleach to the wash water to sanitize. You can also run them through the dishwasher, but mine always leaves gunk on glass. Fill the clean canner about 1/3 of the way with water and set the jar rack inside the canner, using the supports to keep it out of the water. Place 7 clean jars in the rack, face up. Set the canner lid gently on the top, and leave it on about medium heat. It will take some time for the canner to come up to a boil, and as it heats, the jars will get nice and hot, and stay clean. Place the lids in a pan of clean water and put it on low heat; you are not looking to boil this water, just keep it hot. Have tongs handy to grab lids from the water, because using your fingers makes you say loud, angry words and do a very bizarre dance that scares the cat, whether the water is actually "boiling" or not. I set the bands aside, but you can dump them in with the lids if you want.


Fill the sink with cold water and place the tomatoes (and basil, if you're using it) in it, to wash off dirt and any hitchhikers. You do NOT want to open a jar of Preserved Spider Surprise. Now, you're going to need to blanch your tomatoes in boiling water to peel them, unless your idea of fun is peeling off tiny strips of raw tomato skin with your fingernails and a pair of tweezers, in which case, knock yourself out. I have a steamer pot, which has a strainer made especially for it, but if you don't have one, use a large stock pot and a colander or fry basket that can hold your tomatoes, is made of metal, and will fit in the pot. I know somebody out there is thinking, "Duh, of course it should be metal and fit in the pot." However, I know if I fail to provide these crucial safety tips, someone will write an angry e-mail to me, explaining that my technique was flawed because their laundry basket would not fit into their pot, and by the way, they are suing me for not telling them that plastic melted when it got too hot.

Fill the blanching pot about half full and bring it to a rolling boil. I also use this water for my canning liquid, to save space in my Oompa Loompa-Sized Kitchen, so make sure your tomatoes are clean if you plan to do the same. Fill your basket only with enough tomatoes for a single layer that you can still move around. You're only going to set the tomatoes in the boiling water for about a minute, until the skins start to crack open. Remove from the heat and immediately place into a sink or large metal bowl of very cold water. Allow to cool for a minute. Then peel and core. Small tomatoes can be left whole, but larger ones should be halved or quartered. I blanch and prep all my tomatoes first.

Blanched tomatoes in the cold water bath. Don't use bubble bath. 

Skin slips right off after blanching!

Once your tomatoes are ready, grab a clean, hot jar from the canner. Use the jar lifters or a towel. Remember, bad words and the cat scaring dance result from picking up hot things unassisted. Put 1/2 tsp of citric acid in the bottom of the jar. I splurged for the powdered citric acid, but if you have Fruit Fresh, that works too, and if you just screamed when you saw the words "powdered citric acid", you can use lemon juice. Either way, you need to add some extra acid to prevent discoloration and boost the tomatoes' defenses against spoilage.

Layer the tomatoes and basil, if using, into the jar, but not so tightly that you crush them. I don't even bother chopping the basil. Then add a bit of salt, if you like; I used about half a teaspoon per jar. Ladle the boiling water from your blanching pot into the jar, leaving 1/2 inch of space. Use a chopstick or flat spatula to run gently around the inside of the jar to remove extra air bubbles. Top off the liquid as needed to keep that 1/2 inch of space at the top, then use a clean damp cloth to wipe the rim of your jar. Center a hot lid onto the jar and hand-tighten the band on firmly, but don't overdo it. Set each jar back in the canning rack after you fill it, to keep it hot. Cool jars going into a boiling canner equals cracking, which equals All That Work Shot to Poop City, folks. That's Canning Math 101.

After all the jars are full and in the rack, lower the rack gently into the water. There needs to be at least an inch to two inches of water covering the tops of the jars. Add more hot water as needed to get that level, cover the canner, and crank it up to high. Now, you need to keep an eye on the canner, because you don't start the processing time until the canner is at a boil. Then process the quarts for 45 minutes. After the time is up, uncover, remove the canner from heat, and let the jars cool for about 10 minutes in the water. Using the jar lifters, set each jar on a prepared towel. Then walk away. No! Don't check or test anything yet. Let cool at least 12 hours, but 24 hours is better. Then remove the bands and check the lids. If they are sucked down tight and you can lift the jar slightly by the lid area without the seal breaking, you're golden. I put the bands back on, because otherwise I would lose them. If a jar didn't seal, sorry, kiddo, you need to dump it. Later, if you're opening your jars to use, discard anything that looks, smells, or tastes off. Important safety tip. Don't eat spoiled food. You're welcome.

My last tip, and then I swear this post is over, is not to use sticky labels on your canning jars unless you're giving them away and never expect to see them again. It sucks trying to get those things off your jars when canning season rolls around again. You can print out your own labels on card stock using PowerPoint or Word, or you can just Sharpie the contents onto the lids.

So, you're done! You've just canned tomatoes! Now, when the Zombie/Mayan/Vampire-Werewolf Apocalypse hits, YOU will be dining on some killer marinara in your warm and secure Apocalypse Bunker, while your less-prepared neighbors eat cold Spaghetti-o's and cat food, and try not to become Mayan Zombie Werewolf Chow. Remember that if I come to your door and ask to borrow some silver, would ya?

*Polybenzoatepropylene glycerolic plock plock is probably not a real food additive. Probably.