The Museum To Summer Produce.

Lewisburg.



Canning isn't exactly at the height of its popularity these days; mason jars show up more commonly as cups at coffeeshops than filled with the overflow of garden tomatoes. But I'm not one who regularly follows popular trends¹ or, honestly, even has a strong clue of what's going on in popular culture.

So I've begun my "museum to summer produce". I recall an article in the New York Times a few years ago, by Matt and Ted Lee, about quick pickling techniques; they noted that they had no interest in recreating that type of museum that their grandmother had painstakingly built every year to put up summer's bounty for winter consumption. They used those same techniques, sans the boiling-water canner, for near-immediate gratification. And I can't argue with that - I've got quick-pickled jalapeños in the refrigerator right now.

But I've also set aside jams. Blueberries, sour cherries, and even a few elderberries are hunkered in the freezer, bound for winter pies and cobblers. Tomato seconds are carefully sealed in jars in the basement, for chili and pasta sauces when it's no longer too hot to let dinner simmer away on the stovetop for hours. Pickles are curing in spices and vinegar brine; for the first time in years, we don't have dill overtaking, so they're garlicky, spicy pickles instead. And a string of cayenne chillis are slowly drying in the front window.



No, it's not the simplest solution, but the effort now helps alleviate the depression of the all-too-frequent supermarket trips throughout the winter. Especially in a small town, where "local" and "organic" are more difficult to come by, even at the peak of the summer season. Perhaps most importantly - this year, when we're essentially off-balance, without the established networks and relationships and personal production that kept us well-stocked in excellent food - it's an opportunity to keep the practice going. No, we won't have enough tomatoes to last all winter, unless we decide to eat significantly fewer than usual. But it's a step, and my skills stay sharper for next year, when we'll be better able to stock up as summer arrives.

And, one of these days, I'll be growing those tomatoes and peppers and such again.

* * * * *

¹No, I don't know anything about any current shows on television - we've been watching old episodes of The Tick, the cartoon version from 1994-1996. I don't know what's playing on the radio these days - I've been listening to John Zorn's Bar Kokhba (1996) and Tom Waits' Closing Time (1973). And I live in a place where the locals^a still consider the jalapeño pepper something of a novelty.

^aIn central Pennsylvania, like numerous other predominantly rural areas, you're bound to be considered an outsider for an alarmingly long time; around here, I'm told it's about thirty years. On the other hand, if you've grown up here, you can move away for twenty years, and still be considered a local. So most of the folks at the University aren't locals; I'm definitely not.