BARRISTER BITES By: Angelia Morie Nystrom The UT Foundation Institute of Agriculture
BALL JARS AND BIG FLAVOR My husband has often called me a housecat: I don’t go outside if the temperature is above 80 or below 60 or if it is raining. I have always been this way. As a child, it was out of necessity. I would break out in welts in the sun during certain times of the year, and I was allergic to all sorts of plants and weeds. Unfortunately, there was no such thing as Allegra or Sudafed, and I was often left to suffer in stuffy, swollen, red silence. Having a dad that grew up on a farm, I found little sympathy at home. His response was always, “Suck it up.” For that reason, I hated Saturdays during Spring and Summer. My grandmother had a farm, and my aunt and uncle had very large vegetable gardens. And my sister and I were free labor. I recall in the 4th grade telling my dad that there were child labor laws, which meant I could not work. He told me I was not a lawyer. While Amy and I wanted nothing more than to watch cartoons, starting with Jot or Casper at 6:00 am and ending with American Bandstand and Soul Train at 1:30 pm, my dad wanted nothing more than to see us working. And he always won. He often said, “If you don’t pick it, you don’t eat it.” I became a master at picking all sorts of vegetables: green beans, cucumbers, okra, tomatoes, corn, beets, potatoes, and anything else that would grow in East Tennessee soil. I’ve often said that you don’t know hot until you pick vegetables and then sit all day on a porch, breaking beans and shucking corn in 100% humidity with nothing but a box fan. When I got old enough to actually have a job (which, ironically, was as a lifeguard at a swimming pool), my picking, breaking and shucking days ended. At that time, I swore that I would not do it again. Old age has softened me, and I have done flower gardening for quite some time; however, I have not ventured into my “farm roots” of the past. Until COVID. In March when everything shut down, Hugh and I went to Dandridge to check on my mom and to be sure that she had enough food. Since her diet often consists of potato chips and Reese’s cups, Hugh was worried. And then he saw her basement. In that basement, my mom had a stash of canned vegetables: green beans, corn, okra, squash, tomatoes, and a plethora of jams and jellies. Hugh remarked that she could eat until 2030 and still have food left over. While we had gone with the intention of sharing our supplies with my mom, she ended up giving us more than we gave her. After making a few fantastic meals (and getting remarks about how good the food was), I asked my mom the question she thought she would October 2020
never hear: “Will you teach me to can food?” Although I wanted to learn, I was a bit cautious at first. My mom uses the pressure canning method, which has always scared me. I recall as a child something going wrong one time and the jiggler (the pressure weight) shooting off the cooker and into the ceiling. The dent is still there. I’ve also seen the videos of exploding Instapots, so I know that bad things can happen. My mom assured me that I could use the pressure canner and that I would not blow up the house if I followed her directions. For weeks this summer, we sterilized jars and lids, prepared vegetables, and then placed the jars of those vegetables in 4-5” of water and heated the cooker to at least 240 degrees. Mom explained that this was necessary because most vegetables are low in acid and have a pH greater than 4.6. Because of the danger of botulism, we had to use the pressure canner to destroy any bacteria. As someone who overcooks most foods out of precaution because of the chance of food poisoning, I was happy to do anything that would alleviate the fear of botulism. My mom has several pressure canners, and the newest of them has a very heavy lid, fitted with a vent, a weighted pressure gauge, a safety fuse, and an extra cover-lock as an added precaution. We used Ball jars (which became increasingly hard to find… since apparently a lot of people decided to can food this year) and two piece self-sealing lids, which consist of a flat disc with a rubber-type sealing compound around one side near the outer edge and a separate screw-type metal band. I learned that (1) wide mouth jars are easier to use than the small mouth jars, and (2) the flat metal lid is not reusable. I also learned that it helps to have a jar lifter, a funnel, and a jar wand (a magnetized wand for removing treated jar lids from hot water). I don’t recall my mom having such conveniences when I was a child, but it certainly made the process much easier. When we finished each run and removed the jars, we waited to hear the lids “pop” as the jars cooled. It became a game to count the number of pops, which was evidence that our efforts were successful. I now have a pantry full of green beans, okra, squash, and corn. I also have tomatoes, potatoes, and salsa. We should eat well for a while. More than that, though, my mom was able to pass her knowledge of food preservation to me. I’m certain she thought that I would never have an interest in learning, as I have tended to purchase food on as “as-needed” basis (ie., the day I am going to prepare it). With all that is happening in the world, it was great to spend so much time learning from my mom. It was also great to end harvest season having not blown up my kitchen.
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